Saving Bucky (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Chapter 3 - First Contact

The most valuable information you can have when interrogating a trained operative isn't professional, it's personal. So for the last week you've done nothing but eat, sleep, and breath the history of James Buchanan Barnes. 

He may have been the Winter Soldier for the majority of his life, but from what you've learned that's not who you need to get through to. After all, the Winter Soldier didn't have family or friends. The Winter Soldier didn't steal gummy bears from the candy shoppe to slip to little Rebecca after a meager dinner. The Winter Soldier never stole away to listen to Guiding Light each night while claiming he was actually polishing his boots. And the Winter Soldier certainly never stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to take off his own socks in the dead of winter, demanding his scrawny and sickly best friend put on the extra pair as the temperature dropped.

That was James Barnes. 

That's the man you need to connect with. 

And the only way you're going to gain his trust is by using an approach you've never actually had to employ in an interrogation, but one you've always wanted to try: you're about to become James Buchanan Barnes' best friend - his guardian angel.

Your heels click as you make your way through the empty halls of the Keep. The moment you slide open the door to central control, the two guards monitoring the screens stiffen, a reaction you enjoy seeing.

"Relax, boys. I'm here for the matinee," you croon. "Let's see what's playing," you hum, leaning over the shoulder of the guard on your right to get a better look at Barnes. "Ah yes," you hum. "My favorite program."

The soldier sits shackled to a steel chair in front of a metal table, same as always. There's a cot behind him, bolted up against the wall - a single pillow at the head and a threadbare blanket folded at the foot. But the soldier can't reach it, chained as he is. And to his credit not a single time has he asked to be unchained. In fact, he hasn't spoken once since his transfer to isolation - the one that had come at your command upon his arrival last week.

For a moment you marvel at his stillness. By now, a full seven days into confinement, you expect more mania - perhaps a bit of senseless mumbling to match what you had seen at his arrival. After all, isolation isn't easy for prisoners. Cement walls on all sides and a lack of natural ventilation can make anyone claustrophobic. The high-powered floodlights in each corner of the cell are programmed to come on at random intervals, lasting anywhere from 15 minutes to three hours, robbing Barnes of any regular sleep. You also stopped his meal delivery before he was ever fed, and had given instructions for him to be left a single gallon of water, which sits nearly empty at his feet. 

By now, he's hungry, thirsty, tired, and has lost all sense of time. Even the most highly skilled operatives you've faced have crumbled under these conditions. You have no doubt Barnes has already slipped into a paranoid and fragile state of mind. 

That pliability will help you.

Suddenly the flood lights in his cell go off and you tut, frustrated. "Bring them back on," you demand. "I want to see his pretty face."

"They're not programmed to turn on for another 62 minutes, ma'am," the guard says nervously.

You arch one unamused brow at the guard, who swallows and nods. 

"B-but I can manually override the settings, ma'am, standby," he says, typing a string of command codes into his control panel. 

The lights flicker for a moment, but the instant they turn back on Barnes looks up at the security camera for the first time - staring directly into the lens, his gaze piercing. It sends a thrilling shiver down your spine as a mischievous grin tugs at the corner of your mouth.