Certainty (A Bucky Barnes Fanfic)

━◦○◦3.7: The Struggle with Feeling◦○◦━

episode 3 - The Power Broker

Bucky stared at his metal hand as they flew away from the morning again. Silence filled the plane, even as no one did anything. Shamara sat on the floor, trying to brush her hair with her fingers. Her computer was opened beside her but untouched. Zemo stared at the passing dark clouds, and Sam was on his phone. Torres had called Sam and announced that their lead--Donya Madani--had died in Riga, Latvia. Zemo, of course, had a place for them to stay.

Zemo really was getting to Bucky. The worst part was, Bucky couldn't stop him. Zemo knew his past, knew him, knew what he wanted all too well. But he couldn't blame Zemo for his own aggression or violence. Bucky knew that was on him.

And it was terrifying.

Bucky clenched his fist, looking at the cloth he had cleaned his metal hand with. It was brown with dirt. And blood. He couldn't keep himself from rubbing his knuckles again. Even though he knew it was pointless. All the scrubbing he could do wouldn't make him feel better.

"I need a small nap," Zemo announced as if any of them cared.

He lifted a hand as he stepped away. As soon as his back was turned, Shamara grasped Bucky's metal hand. He nearly stilled in shock, then met her gaze. Her eyes were heavy and distant. She moved closer, leaning against his seat. He wanted to ask what was bothering her but found he didn't have the energy.

"What did Nagel tell you?" Shamara flexed her hand.

"I'm more curious about what you can tell us about how you knew him," Sam turned to face her, whispering. "And why you didn't recognize his name."

"I only met him once before. And I was comatose with searing pain for most of it. They merely had him handle the injections the first time."

Bucky leaned forward and squeezed her shoulder. She stared at the floor. Blank.

"Sorry," Sam hissed through his teeth. "Buck, you wanna explain?"

Bucky glanced at the rest of the plane, lowering his voice, "Our theory was correct, but Shamara . . . you aren't experiencing withdrawal from the drug but the serum."

"What?" She stiffened.

"The drug--some Hydra thing--was a carrier. It kept the serum from permanently attaching. As long as you had the drug, the serum only interacted with that. Nagel said it was inefficient, but no one cared because you and your colleagues were more controlled. Even if you were less powerful."

"So . . . now the serum is attaching to me?" Shamara met his gaze with terrified eyes, and he fought a grimace.

"Not if we trust what Nagel said," Sam shook his head in the corner of Bucky's eyes.

"It can't," Bucky pushed back Shamara's hair. "It is an incomplete version."

It took everything in him not to grimace as he delivered the bad news. But relief overwhelmed Shamara's face. Her shoulders slumped, and she took Bucky's hand.

"It'll kill me then," she said simply.

"No," the word came a little too quickly, forcefully.

"Not if we can help it," Sam cracked a smile. "You just need something to interact with the serum and draw it away from you again. Hopefully, something that gets rid of it for good."

"What could possibly do that except sedation? And I would rather die than go under that again," Shamara looked so . . . impassive at the prospect of death.

Which made his dread grow, devouring his senses. Losing Shamara . . . just the other day, he had been worried about it. But this was different. He had functionally lost Steve, lost more people than he wanted to consider to death and distance. But losing Shamara would be different. She was the warmth he hadn't known he was missing.