Doll. // Bucky Barnes X OC

TWENTY-NINE

A week later, Bucky woke up in the lab, already monitoring his surroundings. He rolled over onto his side, pushing himself up to sit. He sighed, running a hand over his face. The pit in his stomach wouldn't go away since he ended things.

He stood up, grabbing his pillow and blanket, walking out of the lab. He passed Bruce's lab, looking in and seeing Melany. Her eyes were red around the edges, and she looked exhausted. The pit grew stronger in his gut seeing her this way.

"Fuck," he muttered, pushing away from the lab and to his room. His eyes burned as he walked down the hallway. He stopped in the middle, restraining himself from turning around and telling her everything. That it wasn't really his choice.

He was forced.

Bucky stopped at the end of the hallway, hand braced against the wall.

The lights overhead flickered — just once — then steadied.

He frowned. The compound's power grid was triple-backed, monitored constantly. Flickers didn't just... happen.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He froze.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled it out.

No notification banner. No sender.

Just a lockscreen alert.

STILL HOLDING.

His pulse didn't spike. That was the worst part. His body had already learned this rhythm — threat without urgency, control without force.

He stared at the words until the screen dimmed on its own.

A second later, another vibration.

This time, an image.

Not new.

Not threatening.

A still frame from the hallway camera behind him — timestamped thirty seconds ago.

Him. Standing exactly where he was now.

Bucky swallowed, jaw tightening. He didn't turn around. He didn't move. He didn't give them the satisfaction of reaction.

Another message followed, text-only.

Good restraint.

Deviation increases exposure.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, grounding himself the way he'd been trained — the way he'd trained himself out of being controlled.

"You don't own me," he murmured under his breath.

The reply came almost instantly.

No.

But we understand you.

That was worse.

The screen went dark.

No trail. No signal spike. Nothing for SHIELD to trace even if he handed the phone over right now.

Bucky slid it back into his pocket and finally pushed off the wall, forcing his legs to move. His muscles felt tight, coiled — not with fear, but with fury he couldn't afford to spend.

They weren't rushing him.

They were testing consistency.

He reached his room, shut the door quietly, and stood there longer than necessary, breathing through the burn in his chest. The instinct to go back — to tell Melany everything, to warn her, to choose her openly — screamed through him.