The long lost Barnes

The Weight of the Past

Day Thirty-Seven: Echoes of the Past

The compound felt different when they returned from the Arctic. There was an oppressive silence hanging over everything, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. What they had uncovered was too much for anyone to process in one go. Hydra's Project Phoenix—the revelation that Leia had not only been experimented on, but that her very genetic blueprint was being used to create an army of soldiers under Hydra's control—was a nightmare. It was a step beyond anything Bucky or Steve could have anticipated, and now, they were all caught in its wake.

Bucky could feel Leia pulling away again. It was subtle at first, just a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but it quickly became obvious that the weight of what they had learned in the Arctic was too much for her to bear. They hadn't spoken much on the way back to the compound. Bucky had tried to reach out to her, but each time he did, she'd retreat a little further. He knew that look. It was the same one she'd worn all those years ago when Hydra had first taken her from him. The same look he'd seen in the mirror countless times after his own betrayal. She was slipping back into that cage of isolation, and he wasn't sure how to reach her.

The worst part? He couldn't blame her.

Bucky himself was haunted by the echoes of his past, the memories of what he had done as the Winter Soldier, and the ghost of what Leia had endured in the years they'd been apart. But unlike him, Leia had no way to escape the pain. Hydra had left her with nothing but their cruel imprint. The files, the experiments, the serum—it had all been designed with her at the center. She was their greatest weapon, their ultimate creation, and she was forced to live with that every day.

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The team gathered for dinner that evening, but it was clear that no one was truly hungry. It wasn't the usual camaraderie that usually filled the room. Tonight, there was an air of exhaustion, of deep unease. Everyone had their own thoughts, their own burdens to carry, but Bucky's attention was fixed entirely on Leia.

She sat at the end of the table, her gaze distant, hands folded tightly in front of her. She was there, physically, but her mind was far away—probably back in that lab in Siberia, or in the holding cells where Hydra had kept her for so many years. He knew she was battling her demons again. He just didn't know how to fight them for her this time.

Steve was uncharacteristically quiet as well, his eyes flicking between Leia and Bucky, but he said nothing. He was still wrestling with the guilt of what he'd learned about Leia, the pain that had emerged between him and his sister. The wedge had driven deep into their relationship, and even though he tried to be there for her, Leia wasn't ready to forgive him—or forget.

Sam and Natasha were talking quietly across from each other, but their glances often darted to Leia, as if they, too, could feel the tension. Wanda was the only one who didn't seem to be avoiding the issue entirely. She noticed Bucky's watchful gaze and, after a few seconds, met his eyes with a look that spoke volumes. She understood. She knew what it was like to live with a broken past.

"What are you thinking about?" Wanda's voice broke through the silence, pulling Bucky out of his spiraling thoughts.

Bucky shifted in his seat, trying to shake off the sense of dread that had been building in his chest. "I'm not sure. I just... I don't know how to help her." His voice was quiet but laced with frustration. "She's not talking to me, not really. It's like she's slipping away again."

Wanda nodded, her expression soft. "You can't fix everything, Bucky. Sometimes, all you can do is be there. The rest... it takes time."

"I know," Bucky replied, his eyes drifting to Leia again. She had not moved, not even to take a bite of the food in front of her. "But time hasn't healed anything for her. It only makes the silence louder."

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After dinner, the team scattered to their various tasks, retreating into their own worlds as they processed the latest developments. Bucky lingered in the common room for a while, but as the night deepened, he found himself heading towards Leia's quarters.

He had promised her space, but this wasn't about pushing her. This was about making sure she knew he was there, even if she couldn't fully reach back. She didn't have to speak for him to understand that she was in pain.

He knocked gently on her door. A moment of silence passed before it opened a crack. Leia stood there, her eyes dark, but her face was unreadable.

"Can we talk?" Bucky asked, his voice a little softer than he'd intended.

Leia hesitated for just a moment before she stepped aside, allowing him in. The room was dim, only the soft glow of the desk lamp illuminating her as she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. Bucky closed the door behind him and leaned against it, unsure of how to approach her.

"I've been thinking a lot about what happened in Siberia," Bucky began, his voice quiet. "About Hydra and what they did to you. I know I can't take that away. But I just... I need you to know that you're not alone in this. Not anymore."

Leia didn't look up, but her fingers trembled slightly as they played with the edge of the blanket. "I don't know what you want from me, Bucky. I don't know what I can give you anymore."

His heart ached at her words. He could feel the distance between them growing, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bridge it. She was retreating into herself, and he didn't know how to stop it.

"I don't want anything from you," he said softly, pushing off from the door to sit beside her on the bed. "I just want you to know that I'm here. I always will be. Whether you want to talk or just... sit in silence. I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."

Leia let out a shaky breath but didn't answer him immediately. The silence stretched between them, a tangled web of grief and longing that neither of them knew how to untangle. Finally, Leia spoke, her voice low but steady. "I don't know how to live with this. Every part of me is broken. I can't fix what they've done to me. And I can't keep pretending to be okay."

Bucky felt his chest tighten. He had seen that look before—the exhaustion of someone who had fought so long they didn't have the strength to fight anymore. But this time, it wasn't just her physical strength that had been drained. It was her will, her spirit, the part of her that believed things could get better.

"I'm not asking you to fix anything," Bucky said gently. "I'm asking you to let me help. Let me share the weight with you. You don't have to do this alone."

For a long moment, Leia said nothing. And then, finally, she shifted, just slightly, moving until she was sitting beside him. Her hand reached out, hesitant at first, but then her fingers curled around his. The contact was like a spark—a connection that neither of them had felt in what seemed like a lifetime. She didn't speak, but in that simple touch, Bucky knew she was trying. She was letting him in, even if just a little bit.

Day Thirty-Nine: A Glimmer of Hope

The next morning, the quiet between them had shifted. Leia wasn't smiling, but there was something softer in her gaze when she met Bucky's eyes. Something that wasn't there the day before. The silence that had hung over them like a thick fog had begun to clear, just enough for them to breathe again.

The mission wasn't over. The work still needed to be done. They were still deep in the fight against Hydra. But for the first time in a long while, Bucky felt like there might be a way forward. Not just for the mission, but for them. Together.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the first step toward healing.