Who Killed Jack Thompson?

Chapter 16

"We have somewhere for you to go," Peggy said after Bucky explained the abuse and brainwashing that he endured all of those years. He looked up with tears in his eyes, pure fear showing in them. "You'll be safe," she assured. After some coaxing, he finally agreed to go with her.

The car rumbled down the rough road, but it was dead silent inside the vehicle. Jarvis drove in silence, also affected by the sadness. "Where are we going?" Bucky asked quietly. The tone of his voice suggested that he was taught not to speak out against anyone higher than him. "A friend's," Peggy answered from the front seat.

She couldn't bear to see Steve's best friend so malnourished, with his ribs poking through his shirt. So, she sent Jarvis to retrieve some from Howard. Despite Howard's small size, the clothes were still quite baggy on Bucky's withered frame. Daniel and Dottie followed in a car behind them, while Howard was waiting for them to arrive at his house.

The cars came to a stop in Howard's driveway, and Bucky took in the vastness of the estate. Yet for some reason, he was scared. What if they brought him there to torture him?

"Let's go inside, sir," Mr. Jarvis said, opening the door for the visitor. He looked at him confusedly, as if he were not used to such kind treatment.

---

Peggy went to find Howard before the rest did, and whispered to him in the kitchen, "Be calm around him. He's scared and confused, and he probably doesn't remember you." Howard nodded, pouring himself a glass of wine from his vineyard in Maine.

Mr. Stark welcomed his visitor into his spacious living quarters, offering up drinks and snacks of all sorts. Bucky looked about like a frightened young animal, afraid to speak. Peggy took a seat on the armchair across from the couch he sat on, and in a smooth voice, said, "How did you survive the fall?" He stared off into space, his mouth slightly open as if he were waiting for the words to speak themselves. "I— I don't know. I just remember waking up and seeing them dragging me. My arm was gone," he answered, nearly in a whisper. Dottie watched from the doorway, fiddling with her necklace nervously. Bucky still held his stare at nothing, and asked, "Why didn't you handcuff me?" He looked at Peggy confusedly.

There was so much pain in his eyes. The years of torture and abuse showed, and so did regret. He would have been better of dead. "We trust you, Bucky," she said, and the side of his mouth turned up slightly in what one would consider a smile. "I remember him," he muttered, "He called me Bucky too."

He was remembering his best friend. No, not the Steve Rogers that everyone knew as Captain America. Not the hero. He remembered the little guy who stood just above five feet tall, and had absolutely no luck with the ladies. He got in lots of fights, but not any that Bucky couldn't get him out of. They were together 'til the end of the line.

"What did they do to you?" Peggy asked calmly. Tears welled in Bucky's eyes, like water against a dam. It was only a matter of time before the levies broke. "They erased everything. Then— then they made me kill for them. When I would start to remember, they would hit me. Not give me food. Then they would erase everything all over again," he said with a mix of pain and hatred in his voice, "I wanted to die."

Peggy couldn't even begin to imagine it. The pain, the nightmares, washing blood off of your hands. But Bucky remembered it all now. The whips. The small food portions— sometimes no food. The immense pain in the brainwashing. Often times, they would come into his cell to whip and tease him in hopes of unleashing the monster. He would lay defeated in a corner, bruises and cuts covering his thin body. His punishment would be days or weeks without food. If they caught him crying, or smiling, he would nearly starve.

It was growing dark outside, and Howard showed Bucky to an upstairs bedroom at the end of the hall, but it was still close enough for him to call out to someone if he needed something. He got into a pair of silk pajamas that Howard lent him, which was easily the nicest thing he had ever worn. He couldn't remember being treated this well in a long time.

There was a knock on Peggy's door, and opening it, she found Daniel Sousa standing there in his white button up shirt and brown suspenders that matched his pants. That was the most casual she had seen him in ages. "Can I come in?" He asked. Peggy nodded, "Of course." And motioned him inside. She was still in her pantsuit from earlier, and for good reason. "I'm sorry," Daniel said, "about all this." He sat down in one of the armchairs that sat in the corner beside a coffee table. "He doesn't deserve it," she answered, "No one deserves to live like he did." "I know," Daniel said. "You know, I didn't come in here just to tell you that I feel your pain," He said, "I wanted to ask you a question."

Peggy sat down on the bed, facing him. She cocked her head, listening to his question. "After all of this is over, would you want to go out sometime? I mean, if you don't I understand. But if you do, you can decide what we do. I really don't mind, I just want to spend some time with y—"

Her answer was simple. There were no words, just a kiss. Just like in Los Angeles.