Back to Barnes // the winter soldier

11: weary

     Hours passed and I laid awake for every minute of it. On purpose of course, even though I was still very tired and slightly hungover. On the other hand, Bucky slept heavily with very little need to be awoken from nightmares. He changed position multiple times though. He went from stick-straight to sprawled out, to the fetal position, to throwing his right limbs over my torso. I allowed him all of them. After all, it was a queen bed, I could spare the room.

I would have left him there all day if not for the fact that he had a prior engagement according to Fury. When I didn't answer the door or come to work, Fury called my radio and informed me that since the captive was allowed to be outside the cell, he had to meet with Steve. I knew Steve was worried and missed him, but he had to learn self-control. Regardless, I had to "beautify the captive" before they met.

Personally, I was terrified of the outcome of their meeting.

"Are you going to make me pretty?" Bucky asks quietly, toying with the canister of dry shampoo he found on my vanity.

I laughed from behind him, pulling on a tan pencil skirt and a navy button-down. "No, not exactly. Maybe in our spare time."

Flipping my head over, I pulled my hair into a bun as Bucky turned around and watched, fascinated.

"How many women were at the facility?" I asked, hoping me asking about it wasn't triggering.

He shrugged. "None."

"Hmm," I hummed in response. I guess that wasn't surprising. I gestured to the stool in front of the vanity. "Sit."

He obeyed, parking it on the stool and putting the can back. "So what are you going to do?"

"Pull your hair up, help you shave your neckbeard, and get you changed because sweatpants aren't the most desirable fashion choice." I listed as I motioned for him to hand me the brush.

Due to his constant sliding around on the pillows, his hair was a mess. I had to scold him for trying to pull away as the brush hit constant knots, even though he just washed it the previous night. Once it was tangle-free, I asked him to hand me one of the hair-ties from one of the drawers. He reached his left hand in to grab one, then pulled back and replaced it with his right hand. I took note of that as he handed me the tie before shutting the drawer with his right hand.

As I pulled his hair into a bun, he decided to speak up.

"Why don't you ever talk about my arm?" He asked suddenly, glaring down at his left hand. Cold, hard, metallic, and something I never really paid much attention to.

My quick-paced yanking at his hair slowed as I thought about it. I shrugged. "Not much to talk about." After I was greeted with silence, I elaborated. "It's a part of your body, I mean. I know what it is, its origin, and what it feels like, so I haven't much to talk about. You don't talk about my arm, do you? You know why it's there and what it feels like, so you don't really have anything to say about it. If it makes you feel any better, I think it's pretty cool ... in more ways than one." I flashed him a smile through the mirror.

"The world needs more people like you." He commented quietly, a small smile gracing his face.

Funny, I think the same thing about you.

"Alright, put back on the clothes from yesterday and I'll show you how to use a razor, grandpa."

____

     Once Bucky and I were set in an interrogation room, once he was sat down and silent, I squat down in front of him but remain quiet. He had started, he was freaking out. He did it around me earlier on in his cell, but he was doing it again. And he wasn't thrashing or yelling or bawling - he wasn't freaking out like that. He was silent. Clenched fists but the face of a sad puppy. His posture slanted forward, his lips parted, gaze in space, skin paling. He was scared.

"I need you to listen to me, Bucky." His still empty gaze trailed down to my forehead. I pursed my lips. "You can't do this. You can't close up and stop talking or pass out or anything. I need y-"

"All ... all I remember is trying to ki-" His voice broke. He sighed. "all I remember is trying to kill him, Maisie. I can't do this."

"That's all you remember?" I plead. I knew Steve and Fury could see us through the glass, but they couldn't hear anything, so I tried to pry it out of him.

He exhaled slowly. "I do, I guess." His eyes went glassy. He wasn't crying, he was just upset. "But it's not him I remember. I mean, I remember his face. I remember a kid named Steve Rogers. He looked like the guy in the pictures you showed me but he was so ... tiny." He finally looked down into my eyes.

I pressed a hand to his flesh forearm and smiled, hiding my laughter. "He's a super-soldier like you, that's why. Remember that he's your friend, okay? There's no need to hurt him. He won't hurt you either. I'm going to be right behind that glass." I pointed behind me. "If you need me. All you have to do is nod, and I'm here. Good luck, Bucky."

He nodded and I walked out, my stern expression back as I faced Steve and Fury.

"How is he?" Steve asked anxiously. From the way he rolled onto his toes, how he clenched his fists by his chest and the way he bit his lip to raw, I could tell he was nervous.

I nodded. "He's going to be okay. He's worried that he won't be able to control himself but he's okay. Listen," I cleared my throat. "The only reason he can remember some things is that whatever they did to him wears off. Meaning some of his memory is back and he's better in control of himself, but not completely, and you must remember that. The treatments wear off over the course of a few months as far as we know, so he has a while to go. He's still pretty self-aware, though anxious, so he may be slow to answers."

Steve was about to thank me, until I stepped forward

"Heed my warnings. If you don't, I will be there with a gun to your chest faster than you can say my name." I flashed him a curt smile before opening the door for him. As Fury directed, I stepped into the hall while he watched. He feared I would be too sensitive to the situation and interrupt too much. I made sure to tell him of the signal, but I doubt he cared.

I sat on the floor in the hall, picking away at my nail polish and researching PTSD as I waited for a solid three hours.

____

     Time ticked on slowly until Steve and Fury swept out without a word. I walked into the interrogation room to see Bucky with the same expression on his face: flat. He was a very inward person, but that grew annoying sometimes.

"How'd it go?" I asked in a low voice, walking over to him.

"He seems nice." He exhaled, eyes placed on mine.

"Do you remember anything?"

He shook his head.

I pursed my lips. "C'mon," I held my hand out and he took it, standing up. I took our route back to my room and climbed onto the bed. He sat atop it wearily, confused. I leaned back onto the headboard and folded my hands on my stomach.

After a moment or so, he breathed out so heavily his weary body collapsed onto the bed, right beside me. I pulled his hair tie out and began playing with his hair. Bucky closed his eyes and sighed, placing a gentle kiss on my wrist.