Certainty (A Bucky Barnes Fanfic)

━◦○◦5.2: Zemo's Farewell◦○◦━

episode 5 - Truth

Their search at the camp revealed nothing. Neither did the search at the building where Donna Madani's funeral took place. There wasn't much to say and less that anyone wanted to. Heaviness lingered in the air and Sam's broken wings.

Bucky leaned against one of the tables, flexing his vibranium fingers. It had been a long day. Week. However long it had been since he left New York--felt like ages. He felt empty and overwhelmed, still raw from electricity. Despite being too tired for nightmares the previous night, the memories that shock brought him were nightmarish enough.

"She's gone. We'll never find her," Sam heaved a heavy breath, standing across from Bucky.

Shamara sat on one of the tables, swinging her legs back and forth. She had been distant also, but Bucky kept catching her glances. Confusion and anxiety captured her gaze, not that he could blame her after the past . . . days. He was pretty sure she was hurting again but didn't want to say anything.

"Hey," Torres stepped into the room. "You got your sleeve back."

Bucky fought to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Shamara snorted, then coughed as if to hide her amusement. Bucky glanced over at her, barely lifting his eyebrow, but Shamara just winked. He straightened, walking towards the door.

"Are you off to take care of Zemo?" Sam asked, making Bucky look back.

Bucky held his gaze for a moment, his face unmoving. Then he beckoned Shamara. She followed with a shrug and wave to Torres.

"All right," Torres called. "Good to know you survived."

They stepped into the hallway, making their way towards the stairs. Bucky shook his head.

"That was pretty funny," Shamara chuckled softly.

"I'll probably appreciate it later," Bucky rubbed his forehead, his bruises itching as they healed.

"Hurting?"

"Are you?"

Shamara bit her lip, " . . . not bad."

"Yeah?" He held out his arm.

She took it, her face tensing. No surprise, given how warm her touch was even through Bucky's jacket.

"Mhm," He took off his glove and held her hand instead. "I am mostly just sore."

"Your arm not hurt at all? Really?" Shamara rubbed his metal knuckles.

" . . . it's all in my head."

"Hurting in your head?"

"Yeah, I know it too well. Remember feeling . . . fried after each . . ."

"What does it . . . feel like?" Shamara asked hesitantly.

"Like my mind has been fused out," Bucky could hardly believe he was saying it. "It's a mental ache, and it makes me feel . . . metallic."

"Would anything distract you from it?"

That was a dangerous, dangerous, very distracting question. Bucky stared straight ahead, stepping into the cloudy morning. He tried not to think about when he kissed her. The feel of her lips, her warmth, her hands tight on his arms. So powerfully close.

He cleared his throat, deciding to be a little reckless, "You are welcome to try."

Shamara stilled, lifting her eyebrows and shading her eyes against the morning light, " . . . was that meant to be flirty?"