The Fluffy Adventures of Yelena and Bucky

Part 5

   Don't look back, Bucky thought into the night wind as it whipped his hair. Yelena's form dissapeared slowly but surely as she followed his instructions. 

   She'd be okay, right?

   But he knew what would happen to him.

   Cold rain splattered down on his face. Once, he'd kissed a girl in the rain; many years ago. Those days were gone, but he clung to them desperately. They made him himself. He couldn't let go. He remembered thinking that it wasn't all that romantic, since she kept trying to use tongue, and he didn't want to. He pulled away as soon as it started. She got mad, and he got madder; they stomped away from each other, shivering and cold.

   He'd do anything to see that girl smile again. For all of the lines she crossed, she had an unmistakable look that always seemed to say, "I love you." Even when it wasn't romantic, she wanted to give something; always. 

   The day after the kiss, she'd come back to see him at school during lunch break, and apologized for that embarassing kiss. Unable to stay mad, he smiled and told her they were okay. They stayed friends after for a long time. 

   No one cared, and he'd never say it, but he wanted to see kindness. The fact that he had helped Yelena escape made him want to laugh. He changed something. He had some semblance of control in his mind. He had shown his own kindness.

   Steve would have done the same thing, and that thought brought him hope. Not hope for himself, but still hope. Hope for his little, impressive friend. She'd be alright, even if he wouldn't.

    Tears streamed down his face, mixing with rainwater. He heard shouts from the base of the hill, and fear arced through his muscular frame. He gulped, but when the arms hoisted him up from the ground and dragged him back across the road and toward the torture room, he smiled.

   He had no memory of the moment one of the men around him pulled out a syringe, but suddenly he was unconscious. 

   He woke to the sound of his own ragged groans of pain. Immediately his body lurched, regecting the restrains and everything, trying to let loose what little food he held in his stomach. He was strapped into the chair. Bucky squeesed his eyes shut, his hands clenched. "Shit."

   "[Hello, Soldat.]" Karpov's dead eyes glarded at him peircingly. "[You did something wrong, didn't you? And now you shall pay for it.]"

   Bucky, still groggy, tried to lift his head to see his exspression. He wanted to see how angry Karpov was. "Why... Why even talk to me? Just do whatever you'll do to me already."

   "[You're right.]" Karpov growled, jabbing the needle of a syringe into Bucky's arm. Immediately, Bucky knew what it was, but he fought for control of his limbs anyway. The liquid he put inside him would untense his muscles, make it so that he couldn't use them.

   His body relaxed fast, his muscles loosening. He'd still feel everything, he just wouldn't be able to run, fight, or hide. All of which he desperately craved to do. 

   Bucky gulped, his tongue heavy and his words slurred as he spoke, "Do what you like, mother f*cker, I'll come back." 

   He was completely unprepared for the ripping pain the seared his whole body, his mind, and even his soul seemed to grope desperately at nothing. For what, one cannot be sure.

   Yelena was greeted in the morning by the faint chattering and chirping of birds. Even thought the sun's rays barely reached her bed, she could feel light seeping out of her. 

   As she brushed her teeth in the guest bathroom connected to her new room, she felt... shiny. But the architecture of the bathroom distracted for completely. It was a small, tiny room, but cozy nonetheless, just like the rest of the house was. 

   Vintage, it screamed. It held an air of the past that no amount of time passed could change. Just like Bucky's eyes. The wallpaper was a creamy white, painted with beige flowers that almost blended in but stood out just enough to be noticable. The cupboard and drawers were hand-fashioned from a dark, firm wood and they had flower designs engraved on their surfaces.

   Yelena stares into the oval-shaped mirror as she styled her hair in a dutch braid. As she lowered her fingers from her hair, she was reminded of Natasha and the way she loved braids. She took a deep breath. 

   In and out. In... and out. 

   She grabbed a new set of clothes from her bag and winked in the mirror as she changed. Yelena had chosen a pair of grey sweatpants and a black cropped T-shirt that had a modest scoop neck. Next, she popped on some powder blush and a quick dap of concealer and headed out for breakfast.

   In the main living space, it was quiet and warm. Yelena heard someone, whom she assumed to be Bucky, moving on the couch even before she rounded the corner. "[What's for breakfast, Barnes?]"

   A large lump of a head rose over the back of the couch as Bucky sat up, a blanket pulled over his face and shoulders. She could tell it was him from the shape of his muscled shoulders. "My name sounds really weird in Russian," he stated, his voice sounding... weak.

   "Hey, are you okay?" Yelena asked him in a casual tone as she stepped into the kitchen. A toaster that was plugged into the wall sat on the dark marble counter with a plate stacked high with Eggo waffles placed next to it. "Oh."

   She took one and bit into it. The waffle's surface crunched softly and crisply, but softened the deeper her teeth got. Yelena let out a groan of approval, hearing a chuckle from the couch. She swallowed, and walked out with the plate.

   "Yelena, can you pass me some of those waffles?" Bucky's right hand crept out from under the blanket and made a cute, desperate grabby motion at her. 

   She grinned. "Are blankets the new jeans?" she asked, taking around five waffles and placing them in his warm, strong hand. His fingers touched her's as he thanked her. 

   "You never answered my question, Bucky. If you were okay."

   "Eh. I'm guessing I can't get away with saying I'm fine?"

   "Never. You know that,"

   "Right. It's just... I'm going to be honest with you, Yelena. I can't tell you only a little, either. It's impossible to lie to you, even with - even with a blanket over my eyes. So, I'm going to just... Tell you, alright?"

   Yelena crossed her legs, frowning in his direction but staring at the ground. "[Alright...]" she muttered softly. It was almost a whisper, but she knew he had good ears. He must've heard her. 

   Bucky sighed, his head lowering slightly. It shifted the way the blanket hung and rumpled at his shoulders and arms and torso. "I get triggered by the most random things, and the not so random things. It makes me very... displaced, like I'm living two lives and they're both taking over, but the one that's linked to the triggers is always slightly overpowering the other. The triggers give me flashbacks... dreams. Bad dreams. I think I've even had a waking nightmare."

   She gulped. Yelena had been triggered before, but probably on a lesser scale mostly.

   Suddenly, she felt her hands shake at the realization of what Bucky was getting at. She knew what he would say, but wasn't sure that she could take it.

   Bucky took a deep, shaky breath. He sounded as if he were shivering.

   "And... you coming here, it - it triggered me."