Bucky's Anchor

Chapter 16 - In Chains

The cold metal of the handcuffs bit into my wrists as we were marched down the sterile halls of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. The fluorescent lights overhead were blinding, and the tight grip of the agents on either side of me made it clear there was no room for escape.

Steve walked beside me, his expression a mask of calm determination. But I could feel the tension radiating off him. We had been captured, caught in the aftermath of our attempted escape with Bucky. And now, Bucky was locked away somewhere in this facility, isolated and alone. The thought made my stomach churn with fear.

"Where's Bucky?" I demanded as we were shoved into a small, cold room. I could see the camera in the corner, the red light blinking steadily, recording every move we made.

"Quiet," one of the agents barked, shoving me toward the metal chair in the center of the room. I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of the table before sitting down.

Steve was already seated across from me, his hands cuffed in front of him. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw a flash of something—fear, concern, maybe even anger. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same steely resolve he'd shown since this whole nightmare began.

The door behind us opened, and two more agents walked in, followed by Director Ross. His presence filled the room with an air of authority and disdain. He stood before us, looking down at us as if we were nothing more than traitors to be dealt with.

"Where's Bucky?" I repeated, my voice shaking with anger.

Ross raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "He's in a secure location. Exactly where he should be," he replied coolly. "You should be more concerned about your own situation."

"My situation?" I spat. "My situation is that you're holding an innocent man prisoner. A man who was brainwashed and tortured into doing things he had no control over. And now you're treating him like a criminal."

Ross chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. "The law is clear, Miss—"

"Agent Robinson," I snapped, meeting his gaze without flinching. "You don't get to dismiss me that easily."

He leaned forward, his expression hardening. "Agent Robinson, your actions have consequences. You chose to assist a fugitive. You and Rogers both. And now, you will face the repercussions of those choices."

Steve shifted in his chair, his eyes locked on Ross. "Bucky is not a threat," he said firmly. "You know that as well as we do."

Ross let out a sigh, turning his attention to Steve. "What I know, Rogers, is that Barnes is a highly dangerous individual. And until we can be certain he won't pose a threat, he will remain where he is."

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the frustration and helplessness building with every word. They didn't understand. They didn't want to understand. To them, Bucky was a ticking time bomb, not a man who had been through hell and was trying to find his way back.

"We can help him," I insisted, trying to keep my voice steady. "You don't have to do this."

Ross's eyes flicked to me, cold and unyielding. "That's not your call to make, Agent Robinson. Barnes will remain in custody until further notice. And as for you and Rogers, you'll be detained until we determine the appropriate course of action."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. I glanced at Steve, searching his face for any hint of a plan. But his jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on the table in front of him.

Ross turned on his heel, signaling to the agents to take us away. My heart sank as I was yanked to my feet, the cuffs digging into my wrists. They began to lead us out of the room, but I wasn't done yet.

"Wait!" I shouted, wrenching against the agent's grip. "Let me see him! Let me see Bucky!"

Ross paused at the doorway, glancing back at me with a look of annoyance. "And why would I do that?"

"Because you owe it to him," I shot back, my voice cracking with the desperation I could no longer contain. "You owe him at least that much. You owe him a chance to know that someone still believes in him."

Ross stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small nod, he motioned to one of the agents. "Take her to see Barnes," he ordered. "Five minutes. And make sure she doesn't try anything."

The agent nodded, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the door. I looked back at Steve, who gave me a slight nod. "It's okay," he mouthed silently.

As they led me down the corridor, my heart pounded harder with each step. They were taking me to Bucky. He was here, somewhere close, and I would see him again, even if only for a few minutes. I needed to see him. I needed to tell him that we were still fighting for him.

Finally, we stopped in front of a heavy, metal door. The agent swiped a keycard, and the door slid open with a hiss. Inside was a small, sterile cell, lit by a single overhead light. And there, sitting on the edge of the metal cot, was Bucky.

"Bucky," I breathed, stepping forward, my heart aching at the sight of him. He looked up, his eyes hollow and tired, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders. His hands were shackled, the metal glinting in the harsh light.

"Emily," he whispered, his voice rough, as if he hadn't spoken in hours.

I moved toward him, but the agent behind me grabbed my arm. "Five minutes," he reminded me gruffly. "And keep your distance."

I nodded, forcing myself to take a step back. I met Bucky's gaze, trying to convey everything I was feeling—anger, sorrow, and the fierce need to get him out of here.

"I'm so sorry," I said, my voice trembling. "I tried... We tried to stop them."

He shook his head slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. "It's not your fault," he muttered. "They won't listen. They never do."

"They don't understand," I replied, my hands clenching into fists. "They just see you as a threat."

"Maybe I am," he said quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"No," I insisted, my voice hardening. "You are not a threat. You are not a weapon. You're Bucky Barnes. You're... you're my friend."

He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mix of pain and disbelief. "Emily, I don't know who I am anymore."

I felt my heart break at his words. How many times had I seen that look in his eyes? The confusion, the doubt, the struggle to piece together the fragments of his shattered identity.

"You're not what they made you," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "You're more than that. And we're going to get you out of here, okay? We're going to fix this."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "How? Look at me, Emily. I'm a prisoner. They're not going to let me go."

"We'll find a way," I promised, my eyes burning with determination. "I don't care what it takes. I won't stop until you're free."

Bucky stared at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine as if trying to find a reason to believe me. And maybe, just maybe, he found it. Because he nodded, a faint flicker of hope in his eyes.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "For not giving up on me."

I opened my mouth to say more, to tell him that I would always fight for him, but the agent behind me stepped forward, his grip tightening on my arm. "Time's up," he said coldly.

I glanced back at Bucky, wanting to say so much more but knowing our time was over. "I'll be back," I promised him, my voice thick with emotion. "I swear, I'll be back."

And then I was being dragged out of the cell, the door slamming shut behind me. The sound echoed in my ears, a reminder of the walls that now separated us. But as they led me away, I held onto the image of Bucky's face, the glimmer of hope that had sparked in his eyes.

This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.