I Never Told You What I Do For A Living | Bucky Barnes

3. I Can Live Through This

The poem by Alan Seeger, called Rendezvous. I have it in a book called 'Up The Line To Death,' which is a lot of poems written by soldiers in World War One. Regina is reciting this poem in her head - like some in stressing times may think of their family to escape the pain.

Chapter 3
I Can Live Through This

    I have a rendezvous with Death

    At some disputed barricade,

    The first thing that I noticed when I woke up, was that my head was killing me. I tried to put my hand up to my head, but I couldn't move my arms... And they ached. It didn't take me long to find out that they were outstretched to the side, and tied to surface I was laid on. No amount of pulling could get me loose.

    So I just stayed put, trying to stop my heart from beating so fast. They can explain the theory of being taken, but they can't prepare you for the reality of how scary it is, or what runs through your head. I kept thinking about Bucky, and how he doesn't know what I do. About how he will feel when he finds out about what's happened. Will they find my body? Or will I just be another grave in the Larson plot, with no body in the coffin? It was my one of my worst fears... That my body would never be found.

    Then there was the time. How long had I been here? Was it hours? Days? Weeks? Had I woken up before, and I just couldn't remember it? Did anybody actually realize that I'd been kidnapped?

    When Spring comes back with rustling shade

    And apple-blossoms fill the air –

    There were muted sounds coming from somewhere, but I didn't know if they were coming from close by or not. The green light in the room was the only thing that I was sure of with this place, but at the same time, it was disorientating – not knowing if it was night or day, what day it was, or even what time.

    I don't know how long I was laying there, but soon, the metal door opened; banging against the wall. It shocked me because I think I'd dropped into a slight slumber at the soothing sounds of far-off noises.

    The man was short, with glasses, thinning hair, and a bow tie, carrying a stack of papers against his chest. Even if I wasn't in some Nazi base, tied to a table, he wouldn't be somebody that I trusted. He just had that air about him. That he was untrustworthy and would do anything for the person he deemed could give him protection, power, or the resources to do what was needed.

    "I see you are awake, fraulein. You've been asleep for a long time." He said, but I just stared defiantly at the ceiling, "But now that you are conscious, I can start on my little project."

    He put down the papers he was carrying on a table close by and started fiddling with something that I couldn't see. I'd started stealing looks when he turned his back to me, trying to figure out what he was doing.

    I have a rendezvous with Death

    When Spring brings back blue days and fair

    "This may sting a little." The man told me, turning round and holding up a needle, but I knew he wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know. I mean, it is a sharp, pointy object, and it normally does hurt when it goes in.

    But I didn't say anything. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me react to anything he had planned for me. Even when the needle pierced my skin, and the cool liquid was injected into me, I didn't react. Although that didn't last long.

    Soon the substance started to burn; slowly at first, but it soon became unbearable. I went from no reaction; to grimacing; to screaming as the pain got worse. All the while, the man was smirking at me.