Run (A Bucky Barnes Recovery Story)

61

The Winter Soldier-no, no. That wasn’t his name. Think, think, it’s James. My name, my name is James. Call yourself James.

James had begun to look forward to his time training Natalia Romanova. She was beautiful and fiercely intelligent and she seemed to care about drawing emotion out of him, yet not in a taunting way, no. She was concerned. The Win--JAMES couldn’t remember the last time someone had been concerned for his well-being in such a way. His handlers were impersonal and more than often rough and he didn’t fight them, but he realized that they were his only other human contact. He thought long and hard about this one day, staring at a wall in his holding cell, and it most certainly was a cell, bars and all, but he didn’t think he minded. He’d long grown used to being caged. James-yes, yeah, that sounds good, maybe it is sort of right-came to the conclusion that he really liked Natalia and he almost hoped she liked him too, although he knew he wasn’t there to be liked and regardless, there wasn’t much to like anyway. He had next to no personality to speak of, not next to Natalia and her charming wit, and his job wasn’t to make friends. He was the Winter Soldier. Well, his name was James. But he was still the Winter Soldier, as a sort of title, he thought. Like a second name, of this person he had become. Because James was not who he was, not exactly, not anymore. At least, he didn’t think so. He would have to put more thought into it. But regardless, human contact was not James’s/the Winter Soldier’s number one priority, although he was beginning to question whether or not he liked it that way.

James also put a lot of thought into the folder Natalia had brought him. He had some sort of origin now, and a name, and a birth date, and a story. It brought him closer to himself, like he had to meet himself again, shake hands, exchange pleasantries. He knew he didn’t know all the details, but this was so much closer. He had come from somewhere. He had been taken. He wondered if he left behind anyone who loved him. He wondered if they ever tried to find him again. Would those people want him now that he was this? James wasn’t sure. However, he also wasn’t sure who he had been to begin with, so he didn’t have much to compare. But he knew one thing; he had not always been the Winter Soldier.

In the middle of his thoughts, the cell doors rattled and the Winte-James-James looked up. His handlers were there, men in black, several holding guns. James looked back down. He avoided eye contact if he could help it. He didn’t want to provoke them, because he knew if he did, he wouldn’t, or rather, couldn’t, fight back when they retaliated.

“Stand,” one of the men said and James did. “Walk,” the man said and James did. They took him down the hallways in a familiar direction, handlers flanking him and encircling him around, hands on their guns, and James almost smiled. They were going to that training room, he was going to see Natalia.

James waited there for Natalia until she arrived, like usual, and he smiled at her. He wasn’t very used to smiling. His smile was slow, sort of stilted, and it felt a little unnatural, but when she smiled back, he felt an ease with smiling sink in around him. This was right.

“Hello again, James,” Natalia said and hearing his name come from someone other than himself felt great. It was like confirmation, yes, this is who you are. You can smile now, you can have a name now. “How are you?” James wasn’t sure how to answer this. He realized he was staring at her and he looked down. He was good, he was great now that she was here. But on the whole, no, he thought, like this was all coming to him now. No, on a regular basis, overall, he wasn’t too great and he thought it might have something to do with the Winter Soldier, but he couldn’t be sure because he remembered no other life.

“I’m, uh,” James said, trying out the words now. They were new to him. “I’m alright.” His bruises had healed from before, from when he had asked questions, and that was good. His right collarbone was healed, too, from the same incident. And everything else that had hurt was fixed. And he was just so glad that she was here. “How are you?”

“Good now,” she said with a teasing smile and James didn’t quite understand. Did she mean the same thing he meant? Was she glad to see him?

“I don’t… understand,” James said slowly, his awkward stuntedness making him cringe, but Natalia laughed and he felt a little better.

“It’s called flirting,” she said, her eyebrows raised expectantly. “Heard of it?”

“Oh, how could I have forgotten,” James replied sarcastically, but he was smiling. He was trying to make a joke, he thought it was almost clever in a self-deprecating way, but he hung on her every movement as a response. Natalia smirked.

“Cute,” she said.

“It was a joke,” James added, just in case.

“I know,” Natalia replied and then chuckled, as though more at James himself than his words. “But you should use English, I need the practice.”

“It’s easier to talk to you in Russian,” James replied in English, as per her request. And I want to talk to you. She smiled at him and took her time thinking before responding.

“With practice, it will be easy in both,” she said, her accent thick and he repeated her sentence back to her with the right inflection and she tried again, then continued. “Besides, languages aren’t that bad. English will come.”

“Didn’t you say you spoke Latin?” James asked and Natalia nodded proudly, a smirk on her mouth and James scoffed playfully at her. “Who speaks Latin?”

“I do,” she replied in English and James smiled, watching her. He was so appreciative of the time spent with Natalia, where he got to be human again for a while before he returned to his handlers. When he was with Natalia, he didn’t feel so hollow. It wasn’t that she filled him up, which he was sure he wouldn’t have liked because Hydra and the Soviets did the same thing. It was more that she removed some barrier and let him fill himself up. The truth of the matter was, he felt more like James when he was with Natalia.