Drive. ~James Buchanan Barnes

Chapter 10

Bucky has begun randomly scribbling down words into the book I gave him, and it's filling up very quickly.

He's become much more...human in the three weeks we've been stuck together. He smiles for one, although really it's more of a grin, and occasionally he'll just start talking.

The stories he has to tell...life in the forties, buying "dames" drinks at crappy bars in Brooklyn, the war. He never talks about what happened after the war.

I don't blame him.

What little he has told me chills me to the bone. He mentioned cryogenic storage, and torture, and hypnosis, but he never went into detail.

I know just enough.

We've slowed down just before the Georgia/Tennessee border in order to let things settle down in Atlanta. We've booked a room for three nights to prepare. We've run low on several things...and if my math is right, Mother Nature is about to come knocking on my door.

Bucky brings a box of our things from the truck into the room. Simple things like soap, toothbrushes and paste, and other random items.

He has just made it to the door when I hear a crash.

I shoot up from my position on the bed and observe what's happening. Bucky has dropped the box, spilling its content on the floor, and is supporting himself against the door with one arm and clutching his head with the other.

"Bucky?" I ask as I make my way to him, "What's happening?"

His head hangs low, and his breathing is heavy and rapid.  I watch as his hand clenches and unclenches around the doorframe.  I reach my hand out to rest it on his shoulder.

"Bucky-"

I am cut off as his metal arm swats my hand away roughly.  I stumble backwards, and I feel my wrist break at the impact.

I do not cry out, but instead hold it gingerly to my chest, turning back to the man in the door.

"Bucky? It's okay.  It's alright.  Whatever is happening isn't real okay?" I get closer again, this time I'm careful not to touch him, "You're right here.  You're okay."

I feel tears begin to prick my eyes as the pain in my wrist grows, but I push it away as much as I can.

"Bucky." I say gently, "Look at me."

He begins to relax as his breathing slows, and his hand comes away from his face.

He raises his head to meet my eyes, still not fully aware of what's happening.

I give him a tiny smile and hide my hand from his view, reaching out with my other to gently cup his cheek.

To my surprise, he lets me.

"You're okay." I repeat in a whisper, "You're okay."

His eyes search mine for a moment before roughly exhaling.  He slumps over slightly, and I use my good hand to guide him to the closest bed.

He sits down on the edge and puts his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry you had to see that." He mutters.

"What happened?"  I ask, sitting next to him.

He turns his head in my direction, still not looking at me.  I put my injured hand to my side, hiding it behind my leg.

"Memory." He says tiredly, "Big one."

I nod, my brow furrowing as the pain grows, "You wanna write it down?"

"Yeah." He says, slipping the small book out of one of his pockets.

I retrieve a pen from the nearby table.

"It's like the longer I'm out of cryo, and away from Hydra, the more memories come back.  They're getting stronger." He explains while writing, "That one wasn't a good one."

I feel tears well up again now that nothing is distracting me from the pain in my wrist, and I get up and cross the room in order to hide it from him.  It isn't his fault anyway.  No point in giving him something else to blame himself for.

I fiddle with something on the vanity area, hoping he doesn't notice my blatant distraction.

He does.

"Verity?" He asks, twisting around to see me, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah!" I say too cheerily.  My voice wavers unsubtly, and I scold myself in my head

C'mon V, you're a better actress than this.  You have a broken wrist, Bucky has a missing arm.  Priorities.

However, he doesn't believe me for
a second, and I hear him cross the room until he's standing behind me.

"What happened?" He questions, I hear an edge in his voice.  Is that worry?

I shake my head, refusing to look at him, "I um... I'm just missing my parents.  Worried about them I guess."

He remains silent in his place behind me, and though I can't see him, I can feel his eyes on my back, analyzing.

"You're lying." He states simply.

Crap.

My shoulders slump in defeat, and I bring my left hand up to cradle my right against my chest.

I say nothing, only let out a shaky exhale as my hand continues to burn.

Bucky's hand grasps my shoulder gently, pulling me to face him. 

I watch his face as he takes in the expression on mine, and sees my already swollen hand against my chest.

This is why I was hiding it from him.  The look on his face is absolutely horrified, disgusted, and filled with self-loathing and guilt.

"Did I do that?" He asks.

I shake my head determinedly, "It wasn't your fault."

"I can't even control myself while I'm free." He states as he guides me to the table, pulling out a chair and gesturing for me to sit.

"I came too close too soon.  I should have known better." I argue.

He roughly pulls out the cloth bandages from the first aid kit and sits across from me, wrapping my hand.

"I should be able to tell what's real and what's not, Verity." He murmurs.

I scoff, "It's only been three weeks since you got away from them, Bucky.  I'd say you're doing very well."

He pauses when I wince in pain, "I'm sorry."

"I'm just glad it isn't totally shattered." I say.

He shakes his head, "Not just for the hand.  For everything," he sits back in his chair, "All of this. Dragging you into it."

I am dumbstruck at the apology.  He hasn't shown any kind of remorse so far, but I assume it's because he's a better actor than I am.

"It's alright, Bucky." I reply genuinely, "Or maybe it isn't... but I understand.  I forgive you."

He looks up at that, "Why?"

I search his face for a moment, before turning my lips up into a smile.

"Well, if it weren't for this road trip I would have never met Scott." I wink.

He shakes his head, and lets out a small laugh for the first time, "You're a strange girl, Verity."

I roll my eyes, "Oddly enough, you're not the first person to tell me that."

"You know," he grins, "I think I believe you."