Chapter Text
And that’s how she ended up in bed with the Winter Soldier. Near him, that is, not actually engaged in anything exciting. She had to admit, up close, his presence was giving her some pretty exciting thoughts, and she had no right to have those kinds of thoughts about him. She was playing a dangerous game here, but she felt helpless to pull back. At least she wasn’t sitting in his lap anymore… she wasn’t made of stone. Bucky lay quietly alongside her, absently stroking the cat’s ears as she settled in next to him. Zuri purred, content that she’d found someone to give her attention.
“Do you want me to get the light?” Hilly asked.
“No!” he answered quickly. “No, I leave it on,” he replied, his voice softer, tinged with embarrassment.
Hilly frowned, but eased back into the bed. He was watching her as if expecting her to judge him weak for it. “That way you know where you are?” she asked, careful to make the question sound matter-of-fact.
He searched her gaze and seeing what he needed to, nodded his agreement. “The dark is disorienting. Dreams are bad enough. Waking up and not knowing where, or even when I am, is worse.”
“Try to sleep. I’ll stay here.”
“Thank you. I—“ he shook his head, discarding the explanation. “Are you from Kentucky?” he asked instead, wanting to keep her talking.
She gave a short laugh, “Yeah, guilty. Franklin, a tiny little place right near the Tennessee border.
Well, I know you’re from Brooklyn. You probably don’t know Kentucky.”
Bucky cracked open his eyes and gave her a smirk, “Born in Shelbyville, Tennessee.”
Hilly grinned, “I know where that is. Wouldn’t have pegged you for a Tennessee boy.”
Bucky cocked an eyebrow, “Well, we left when I was just a kid, but yeah.”
“Huh. My mom was from near there. Murfreesborough, actually.”
Bucky smiled, “I know it.” His eyes drifted closed again. “Knew it,” he corrected.
“She used to tell me about growing up there. I think I still have some cousins…” she continued, sensing he just wanted the comfort of her company. The words didn’t matter, so she talked about fishing with her Dad and how her mother was always quick to tell people she wasn’t from Kentucky when they assumed it, and how Dad taught her how a carburetor worked and the difference between a Reed and Prince and a Phillips head screwdriver.
Bucky lay in his too soft bed, cat wedged next to his hip purring contentedly and a beautiful woman just a few inches away from him, her velvet voice like a balm to his stretched taut nerves. Right now it was hard to remember why he needed to push her away. He didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want to take the chance that he could, but he was so tired. And she’d put her arms around him and oh god it had been so long since someone held him, and in that moment it was all he’d wanted. He let his eyes drift closed and resisted the urge to reach over and soothe the ache in an arm that wasn’t there. All it would do was break the moment, and he’d do anything to protect the safe little bubble he was in. It wouldn’t last, but he could pretend, just for a while.
Hilly gave a soft smile as the lines in Bucky’s face smoothed out, looking younger as he slipped into sleep. She didn’t know how long he’d be out, but she knew he’d feel better if he could just get a few straight hours. If he was a regular patient, she could prescribe medication to help, but his serum burned it off too quickly. The only way would be to keep him on an IV drip at a high volume, and she certainly wasn’t going to go that route except as a last resort. She’d sit with him for a while to be sure he rested easily, at least until she felt like she could sleep. She had a book loaded on her phone to keep her entertained and she’d just be sitting in her own room doing the exact same thing anyway.
An hour or so later and Hilly decided she’d better go before she passed out in Bucky’s bed. She shifted her weight slowly, moving as silently as she was able. She froze when Bucky let out a low whimper. His forehead creased, face twisted in pain. He mouthed the word no, though he didn’t voice it. He reached over and cupped his left shoulder where the raw ends had been covered in black metallic mesh and moaned. He was dreaming, and by the looks of it, what he was seeing in his mind’s eye was likely the stuff of nightmares.
“No. Stop, please,” he muttered.
Hilly was afraid to touch him while he was distressed. He might strike out, and if he did, he could easily hurt her. She wasn’t worried as much for her sake, but for Bucky. If he laid hands on her, it would be a serious setback.
“Hurts. Sorry, ‘m sorry.”
Hilly’s heart broke for him. He sounded so lost and alone, his voice nothing like his normal soft baritone.
“Bucky, shhh. You’re safe. I’m here. No one is going to hurt you here.”
His eyelids fluttered, confusion twisting his face.
“It’s Hilly. I’m here, and you are safe.”
“Safe?” Bucky asked, still deep in the grip of his dream.
“Safe.” Sensing the shift within him, she dared to reach out and smooth the hair off his face, letting her fingers trail across his strong jaw in a soft caress.
“But my arm?” he asked, his tone plaintive. “Hurts, it hurts.” He frowned, “Always hurts.”
Hilly’s eyes widened, horrified. He’d not once mentioned any symptoms of phantom limb syndrome. Then again, knowing Bucky, why would he? He was convinced he earned every bit of horror, pain and discomfort he suffered through. If he could see that others could forgive him, it might help him to accept that he should forgive himself. She had to try. And she had to put on the pressure to speed up the work on Bucky’s arm.
They’d been working on it the entire time he’d been in cryofreeze, but the integration of the system into what was implanted into Bucky’s body was proving to be more difficult. Bio-integration to the degree to where the prosthetic was fully part of the body was something that only Hydra had managed to achieve. Unless the recipient had some version of super-serum, no one else could survive the process. For that reason, research in the area was slim. Exception of Steve, Bucky was the only other super-soldier in existence.
Bucky’s face smoothed out, his breathing slowing as he again relaxed. She bit her lip as she realized she was still stroking his face, tracing his high cheekbones, the cleft in his chin, the line of his jaw… she paused at his lips. She didn’t want to wake him now that he’d settled back into sleep. She pulled her hand back, hesitated, and then began to stroke his soft hair. What she’d give to have hair like his! Thick, with a gentle wave… no fair. Hilly sighed, it was time to go. Tomorrow, she’d see what she could do to help him.
$$$$
Hilly painstakingly edited together the scenes of Bucky’s wipes, his punishment when he resisted, and the subsequent wipes when he asked questions, painting a clear picture of a confused man who knew he should be loyal, who protected others, but couldn’t remember who his loyalty belonged to or who deserved his protection. A man who had to be repeatedly broken because what they used him for was anathema to the man that had been Bucky Barnes. He had an element of the killer in him. You couldn’t be an effective sniper or soldier without it, but he’d never killed for joy of it, even under Hydra control… unlike their other attempts at winter soldiers. She watched the tapes. They were evil before they went in, and fanatically committed to Hydra’s cause. They were also violent and aggressive, attacking without provocation. Bucky was easier to use, because he wasn’t like them. She made sure to show the contrast between them, not only in how they acted, but how they were treated. They were well cared for, and Bucky was a thing, a tool.
Her hands shook and tears leaked down her cheeks as she watched, and she knew she had it right. This was what people needed to see. It was powerful, and painful, and raw. It was perfect.
She didn’t know how she was going to face Bucky in therapy with all this fresh on her mind, especially because they were starting on some deeper work, painful work today, like it or not. She’d put off their session until this afternoon so she could get the footage together and see T’Challa before he left the country for the next couple of weeks. The timing wasn’t ideal, but she didn’t want to wait until he returned. She might lose her nerve. She saved both files to a jump drive and attempted to straighten up her appearance. The king was waiting.
$$$$
She was a bundle of pure nervous energy after putting together the files, and making an impassioned plea to T’Challa was dead last on her list of things she’d like to be doing. She believed it was the best way, although not the cleanest, but T’Challa may not agree. She put on a smile for the king and strode in with a confidence she didn’t feel, exchanging pleasantries as it was both their customs to do before getting to the purpose of her visit.
“How fares our guest?” he asked.
“That’s why I’m here. I need your help. I need to get some files on Bucky to the Black Widow. We have to create some sympathy for him with the public, or he’ll never be free.”
“I’m listening,” T’Challa replied.
Hilly did her best to convince T’Challa it was necessary to send the file and message she’d prepared on Bucky to Natasha Romanov. She hoped that Natasha could ensure the release of file one to the appropriate media channels and when the time was right, ensure Tony Stark saw file two. She knew for a fact Natasha could get the publicity he needed, and if she couldn’t get access to Tony Stark, no one could. Bucky needed his help, and she really couldn’t see another way.
“Your idea has some merit. This will do what you want it to, but—“he looked at her hard, “Will Bucky want the world to see him stripped to the bone and ripped apart? He won’t be seen as a man, but as a victim.”
Hilly nodded, “Yes. That’s the point.”
T’Challa narrowed his eyes, “And he agreed?”
“No. I’m not telling him.”
“You would take this choice from him? What did the Captain say?”
She didn’t have an answer for that. She knew Steve wouldn’t like it, but she wasn’t going to clue him in on it.
“If I make the world see what was done to the longest serving POW in history, let their outrage create some well-deserved sympathy, when the time’s right, the world will be ready to clear Bucky’s name, and by association, Steve’s.” T’Challa didn’t look convinced, so she pushed on, “If the deprogramming works and it will, he should be able to have a place in society again. He shouldn’t have to hide. This will do that. Nothing else will. Clearing his name legally isn’t enough. I have to sway their hearts, or he’ll never be able to go home again. He’s a survivor and a hero. I just want everyone else to see that.”
T’Challa gave her a single reluctant nod. He’d agreed. Probably. She was pretty sure he agreed. And maybe he was ruthless enough in his own way to see the simple beauty of her plan. She knew people, and she knew what power public opinion could weld, if harnessed and channeled. He was a king of a land rich in resources and wealth. She imagined he did. She hoped Natasha would understand what she was trying to do and help her in Steve’s name… and hopefully keep silent about it to Steve until it was too late to stop it. Steve said Natasha was a friend, and said she’d help them if he ever needed her. Well, he needed her, he just wasn’t the one doing the asking.
“Thank you, King T’Challa.”
“I hope it’s worth the price.”
She nodded, knowing full well Bucky was going to be furious when he learned what she did.
T’Challa grinned, “You are remarkably ruthless when protecting those you care for. You remind me of my mother. She was fierce, like you. It’s a good match.”
“Match? No. No, I just—“
“I must go; the plane is waiting. Please give me an update when I return. Goodbye, doctor.”
“Um, goodbye. Really, he’s just my patient.”
T’Challa just laughed.
Part two of her plan was to get the man his arm back. He needed it back not only to show him that they all believed he could be trusted, but also to take the look off his face she saw every time he looked over and saw a missing limb. T’Challa’s scientists were amazing, and although there was progress being made on Bucky’s new prosthetic arm, there were some obstacles with integrating the prosthetic into Bucky’s body. Thanks to what had been done to him, he couldn’t use a traditional prosthetic, even if he wanted to. The grafting of titanium went deep into his shoulder and spine, reinforcement to carry the arm. The way it was wired into his nervous system and brain was well beyond her ability to comprehend, although Jak seemed to understand it well enough. Not how exactly to do it, just how it worked, and that they couldn’t figure out how to make that body-machine connection.
A mind like Tony Stark’s could overcome such obstacles. The science team had told her as much. She couldn’t imagine anyone’s heart was so hard that they could watch what had been done to James Barnes and still blame him for his deeds under mind control, so she was determined to make him see it. She’d created Stark’s version of the video file specifically for him, using what she gathered from his personality and what she learned from T’Challa regarding his view of Bucky. So yeah, she was using her psychiatry to manipulate him… so sue her. It was for a good cause, and for his own good. Tony Stark carried around a lot of pain, and misplacing it on a pure victim wasn’t going to give him any sense of closure. If she could get him to mend fences with Steve and help Bucky out, it would be good for everybody.
Ruthless? Was that what T’Challa called her? As she said before, sometimes she didn’t feel like a very good person, but she would do her damnedest to get Bucky his life back, even if it meant he hated her for it. She really hoped he wouldn’t. What was the road to hell paved with again? She sighed and tried to pull herself together. Bucky was waiting.