Songs From Siberia

Menswear

Chapter Inspiration: Menswear, The 1975

It always felt like drowning. Just before he came around. After they drained his unit, he'd wake up, gasping for air, banging against the glass. Every damn time.

It didn't make a difference that it was a Wakandan unit he was being kept in. The only difference was that there were always people on the other side of the glass to help him when he came to.

The defrosting had gradually become more regular, happening once a fortnight, instead of once every month or so.

The routine kept the same though. He had insisted on that.

First they'd get him warm, then medical plus exercises, before a light breakfast. After breakfast he'd meet with a trusted psychiatrist for an hour. Then it'd be lunch and whatever mental or physical tests they pulled him out of cryo for. He'd work out till dinner, which T'Challa had made a point of sharing with him. They'd give him 10 hours to sleep, before waking him up to go back into cryo.

"Mr Barnes, what is on your mind today?"

She slipped her hand in his so quickly and easily, he barely had time to register it, before she pulled him into her.

"< Cotton candy or ice cream? >" she asked, her green eyes full of mischief. He hesitated. Should he respond?
What could be the real harm? Besides he'd never heard that Russian word before. He was kind of curious to find out what it meant. Although that went against his training...

But then he looked back into her eyes. They were giddy with excitement. Like a little kid. He'd never seen her like this before. What could be the real harm?

"<Cotton candy >" He replied. She threw her head back, and laughed.

He must have pronounced it wrong....

"Mr Barnes?" Dr Amani Okilo leaned forward slightly, but his expression remained patient. Dr Okilo was not exactly a young man, but he wasn't an old one either. There was an eternal twinkle in his eyes, but it rarely reached his mouth. He was a softly spoken man, and Bucky liked the way he pronounced words. He never mispronounced anything exactly, but his words did seem to dance off his tongue in the most dignified manner. The man held a certain air of intrigue for Bucky, but he was so completely resolved in his profession, that Bucky would never dare ask.

"I was just thinking about the beach." Bucky said, eventually.

"What made you think of the beach?"

Half an hour later Bucky excused himself to go to the bathroom.

Splashing water onto his face usually helped him clear his head. Temporarily shake off the dreams that wouldn't go away.

His guard was completely down. Yet he hadn't felt so completely calm in... He couldn't remember. It didn't matter. He had never felt safer than when his head was laying on the lap of the most potentially dangerous woman he'd ever known. Even if she was explaining every ballet she knew of, in extensive detail, whilst subconsciously stroking his hair.

"<... I think that's the reason why Coppelia is my favourite. I've been talking for ages, Soldier. Aren't you bored?" > he shook his head. He liked the way she explained things. She could never be boring.

He wished he could stay here forever. Listening to the gentle sound of her voice, whilst she ran her hand through his hair.

He eventually gave up splashing water onto his face, and just let the tap run, putting his head under it.

Bucky had often mused how he'd escape T'Challa's palace, more out of habit than intent . It had required a lot more stealth than he had anticipated, but he'd managed it all the same.

The ride into town was a long one, longer than he had expected. And hotter. Much hotter. He could never seem to get completely warm before he lost his arm. For the second time. By the time the bus had made it's way through the jungle, however, Bucky had stripped three of his layers off.

The town was busy when they finally arrived. This was good, Bucky thought, the crowds would help him dodge the palace guards that were inevitably following him. He wouldn't mind usually, it was a necessary security measure. But this was something he wanted to do alone, uninterrupted.

He wandered around for about 20 minutes before he found what he was looking for.

"<Don't run>" He spoke softly.

"<I see no reason to stay>" she replied, her cocky little smirk faltering, slightly.

"<They'll catch you. They'll make you pay. >" his voice shook a little.

"<I know the risks. But I'm old enough to make my own choice. >" The smirk was gone.

"<But not strong enough. >" He retorted. "<But one day you will be. And no one will be able to touch you. You won't be running away. You'll be leaving. For good.>" His words tumbled out of his mouth, a certain strain of desperation caught within.

His tone surprised both himself and her. She contemplated the tracks, again, then stared back at him.

"<One question.>" she said after a long silence. "<Why do you care so much?>" She tilted her head to the side, her gaze daring him to answer.

He considered. He knew her decision was conditional on his answer. Why did he care so much about her? That was what she was really asking. Would it be enough to say that for some reason he didn't know why, but the thought of her being hurt or worse scared him.

He wished he could think of a convincing lie. But the truth would have to do. He sighed.

"<I guess it's because I want you to be free. Truly free.>" He said eventually.

It was enough.

The door hit the wind chimes as he opened it. The barbershop was fairly quiet when he entered, but he still sat down at the waiting area. He had just started flicking through a magazine when one of the two barbers came up to ask him if he needed any assistance. Realizing from Bucky's lost and apologetic expression that he didn't understand him, he pointed to the magazine, motioning for him to choose a style.

Bucky smiled in agreement and pointed to a style of his choice.

Clean shaven. Short back and sides. The usual.

"We have trained barbers at the Palace." A woman he recognized as T'Challa's Security Chief, met him as soon as he stepped out of the shop. She motioned for him to step into to the black car parked on the curb.

He readily slid into the car, but was not prepared for who he found inside.

"Barnes." Natasha said looking up. "You look very sharp."