Certainty (A Bucky Barnes Fanfic)

━◦○◦2.5: Baltimore◦○◦━

episode 2 - Star-Spangled Man

Shamara didn't talk. Didn't have the words even if she had wanted to. She sat on the floor beside Bucky, who kept his arm around her. Part of her wanted to pull away, wanted to be alone. The other part of her was overheating again like she was a computer. So she just kept her gaze on the floor and her back stiff as they kept flying.

Her nightmares never followed her memories, but they drew on the emotional memories she had regained over time. Which was worse. Because when she woke up, she felt what she hadn't during the event and remembered the event. It made everything sickening. Her nightmares had been more vivid, more like memories when she was sedated, but at least she hadn't been able to fear. Or cry. Or be horrified at herself or what had happened to her.

Her hands and jaw clenched again. She glowered at the floor, unhearing as Sam and Bucky spoke in low voices.

"Shay," Bucky squeezed her shoulder. "Focus."

She inhaled through her teeth, shaking her head. She felt weak. Fragile. And the fact that her old scars were bruising wasn't helping. It wasn't just her tattoo anymore. When she changed, she noticed it spreading. Dark bruises had developed on her legs and arms, and less intense ones on her torso. Even scars she had gotten as a child.

Bucky looked at Sam with almost desperate frustration. Sam sighed but nodded and leaned back.

"I am not your patient," Shamara growled.

"I'm not a therapist," Sam shrugged. "Just less awkward than your buddy there."

Bucky didn't bother saying anything. His gaze didn't even sharpen.

"How are you feeling?" Sam eyed her ice. "I should have grabbed more ice. My nightmares are always worse when I am hot."

"Opposite for me," Bucky stiffened slightly.

"Yeah, well, you are a special case."

Shamara didn't want to say anything. She was sick of feeling sick in front of others.

"Shay. Isolation is never gonna make this easier. I get that you haven't known us long, but I won't ask for details," Sam leaned forward again.

Shamara looked down, "I'm furious."

"Yeah?"

"I hate what they did to me. I hate what they made me do. But I am not even . . . strong enough to feel guilty," Shamara wanted to pull away from Bucky.

"Anger is healthy, Shay," she had the feeling Sam was resisting the urge to look at Bucky. "Guilt and bitterness are vices to healing, but anger comes with acceptance."

"But . . . I feel guilty sometimes?"

"We all get survivor's guilt. We all have moments of bitterness. We all question and panic and grieve, but the difference is whether you define yourself by feelings. You have to carry and recognize your emotions and past, but that doesn't mean they have to cripple you."

Shamara hugged herself, " . . . you sure you aren't a therapist?"

Sam chuckled, "Nah. I lost my best friend on a mission and fought through surviving. Took some training to help others do the same. But I haven't picked it up in a while. I'm guessin' you want to talk about something else now?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. What do you want to do with your life when you get your pain stuff figured out?"

"I had many undercover jobs, but my favorite was working at a training center," Shamara rubbed her bleary eyes. "Kinda like a gym but self-defense courses. It felt like I was redeeming my skills. I would love to do something like that. I also want to do something with Arabic."