Saving Bucky (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Chapter 11 - Burned

A cold, metal barrel presses against the back of your skull as a hand at the small of your back reaches beneath your sweatshirt, pulling out the concealed pistol in your waistband. You cringe as spindly fingers reach into your ear, yanking out your ear-comm.

Defeated, you squeeze your eyes shut as your heart races. You're trapped. And no one knows you're in any danger.

You try desperately to think through a way out, but your thoughts are starting to fray as that leftover noise from earlier in the evening scrambles your thoughts, like two competing radio waves. You take a deep breath to calm your heart rate. You shove aside the noise as best you can to begin cycling through the steps of your hostage negotiation training. Granted, you hadn't actually been a hostage in that situation, but presumably the lessons still apply. You just need to slow down, stay focused, and take it one step at a time.

Step one - active listening.

"What are you doing, Walthers?" you ask, keeping your voice calm as you freeze, still kneeling above Haskins' body.

"I'm creating an opportunity," he sneers.

"An opportunity?" you ask, keeping your eyes on the ground ahead of you, watching the movement of the controller's shadow in the flickering red strobe of the emergency lights. You keep your eye on the outline of his arm. "What kind of opportunity?"

"A job opportunity," he answers coldly. "A promotion, if you will."

Understanding dawns as you realize that this really is an opportunity - an opportunity to undermine the credibility of the Hold's current regime.

It's time for step 2 - empathy.

"You're tired of Gabe's leadership," you say quietly, keeping your eyes straight ahead. "I understand."

"Really?" the controller scoffs. "You think you understand what it's like to sit by for years, watching everything you've worked for get passed above your head? I deserved that seat. Me!" he shouts, pressing the barrel so tightly to your skull you can feel where the bruises will sit.

But at least you've gotten him connected to his emotions.

Step 3 - rapport.

"I do understand," you say firmly, but keeping your tone submissive. "I've been an interrogator since I was a teenager. You think I've never wanted anything more?"

The gun against your skull lightens, and you stifle a relieved exhale. It's working.

"You're his pet," the controller seethes. "You could ask for anything you want and it would be hand delivered. If you really wanted more, you'd have had it."

"Not true," you say quickly. "Do you know how many years I had to put in for a field assignment? Four. Four years of sitting around this place just waiting."

You take a deep breath to keep your voice steady before continuing.

"You think I don't sit in that staff room on 20 and watch as everyone gets to go home to their friends? Their families? Things I've never even had?" you ask.

The controller is silent for a moment, processing your words. You can feel his skeptical hesitance in the weight of the gun he still keeps to the back of your head.

Step 4 - influence.

"Listen to me," you say gently. "The only step up for you is the directorship."

"Precisely," he says, voice tense. "A position I should have been put in 13 years ago!"

"Maybe," you say. "But the fact is, someone else sits in that chair right now."