Chapter Text
Six weeks, six weeks , Steve had been in the ICU- according to one Nick Fury, that was- and then an ordinary hospital room, and even longer than that Bucky had been waiting in a glorified prison cell to hear what had really happened to him. What he’d done to him. Now that he was awake, and they’d deemed him ‘safe for personal human interaction’, whatever that meant... well, it was time.
He let the woman in the grey suit handcuff him without a fuss, not that he could have brought himself to do anything if he’d wanted to. She led him down a sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway to a mostly empty room. It seemed to him a lot like some of the labs from the HYDRA facility he’d only just escaped, despite the fact that most of the fixtures and equipment (aside from a metal table and a few chairs) were missing. Maybe it was the lights, he thought. Or the stainless steel. Maybe the poorly disguised two-way mirror? Who cared.
They’d passed through quite a bit of the building to get here, he knew, but he didn’t really remember. He didn’t care . He had other things to worry about, now. Steve was going to be here . In this room, with him. And they’d be… alone? Together? Maybe? It seemed like a reasonable option, at least, to have Steve talk to him. After all, they’d been friends, at one point, and he hadn’t displayed any signs of aggression over the last month or so to warrant too much caution. Besides, Fury had said Steve had wanted to see him, the one time they’d spoken. That had been, what, three weeks ago? He was really losing track of the time. That had been back when Steve had first gotten out of the ICU, anyway. Maybe he hadn’t been lying? Why would he lie, come to think of it?
The woman- Maria Hill was her name, maybe? Had left. He was alone, both of his hands cuffed to the metal chair. It hurt , the metal digging into his tender, just-healed skin, which surprised him. He’d conditioned himself not to feel pain, hadn’t he? What had happened to that? Still, it was refreshing, in a way. Almost… humanizing, somehow. Nice. He wasn’t fighting it.
Some time later- ten minutes, twenty, maybe an hour?- the metal door slid open and (no, it wasn’t Steve, his heart sank a little at the realization) a red-haired woman entered the room.
“Sergeant Barnes?” She said, her voice surprisingly low, almost… husky.
He nodded, mutely, not sure what to say despite it being a yes or no question.
“Can I sit down?”
Another nod. She shut the door behind her and went to sit down across from him at the table, one of the legs of her chair catching on the carpet as she tried to pull it out. “I’m Natasha Romanoff. I work for SHIE- Nicholas Fury. I don’t know if you recognize me, I’m… one of the people who helped bring you in after… well, you know.” She looked reluctant, and a little awkward, as though it was maybe something she shouldn’t mention. He rather shared the sentiment.
“I- yeah. I know.” He remembered that, at least. It wasn’t like it was exactly easy to forget.
“Can I ask you, just… a few questions? About what you remember?”
God, he didn’t want to fucking talk about what he remembered. All he wanted to do was see Steve again. Apologize, maybe. “I- sure.”
She hadn’t brought a laptop, or even a notepad. He supposed that meant someone was listening in. That, or else she just had an excellent memory. Maybe both. But what did he care, he was just kind of… here. Because it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be. Who gave a damn if someone was listening in, as long as he wasn’t in federal prison.
The woman- Romanoff, was it? Was she Russian?- Was talking again. “-Could tell me about what, exactly, led up to you and Captain Rogers being taken into the HYDRA facility?” She sounded like a reporter, he thought. And judging by the look on her face, she was well aware and not entirely pleased about it. It might have been funny if not for the question.
“I- Can’t Steve tell you that?” He asked. God, what if he couldn’t ? What if he’d had some sort of memory loss, what if HYDRA had managed to do something to him after all, what if he’d taken some kind of turn for the worse before they could ask, what if- deep breath. He forced himself to relax a little, unclench his fists, let his back fall against the hard metal chair. He couldn’t look this tense, this… scared. Not in front of this stranger , not to mention whoever else was watching through the mirror.
She was talking again. Shit. “Just want to make sure that your accounts of the event line up, that he didn’t leave anything out… as he does.”
So… Steve was… okay, then? It sounded like, maybe… he was all right. He’d heard enough that he could be reasonably certain, anyway. SHIELD (or whatever) just wanted to make sure he wasn’t lying about anything to protect Bucky, maybe? He couldn’t get all that just from those few sentences, of course, and even if he’d listened Romanoff would certainly not have said that. It was just… what he wanted to hear. And he was going to let himself believe it, as long as he needed to.
“Are you going to answer the question, then, Barnes?” She sounded a little impatient. There was a little piece of blue plastic protruding from her left ear, unobscured by her hair. He would have thought they’d have hidden that better. Was she receiving instructions from someone? Fury, maybe. He wouldn’t be surprised, certainly. A piece of her hair was sticking up, at odds with the perfect, shiny ringlets. “Barnes?”
He jumped a little, startled. “S-sorry.”
“What do you recall that led up to you and Captain Rogers being taken into the HYDRA facility?”
He looked down at the scratched surface of the table, forcing himself to focus. “I- I don’t remember much of… anything, really.” He was being completely honest.
“Well, could you tell me what you know, then?” She asked impatiently. Maybe if he kept dodging the question they’d just lock him up again. Or send Steve in.
He didn’t really know if he’d be able to get around it much longer without seeming suspicious. Maybe it would be for the best just to answer now and get it over with. “You know all about that… that mission he had, to come and rescue me, don’t you?” Fuck it. If he was going to spill the beans, he might as well do it right, save himself some trouble later.
She nodded, which was a relief. He didn’t want to go into any kind of detail on that for the moment. Even with HYDRA still burned into his mind, the memories weren’t… pleasant.
“And… um, where he took me afterwards?” She nodded again, and he continued. “Yeah. I think it was- might’ve been in Red Hook. I don’t really remember the specifics.” He shrugged as best he could within the confines of the chair. “Still kinda hazy, y’know? Everything just started to come back. Didn’t really know what was going on yet. Anyway, we spent the night there. Most of it, anyway. Before HYDRA found us. There was a tracker in my arm, I guess. They smashed down the front door and of course by that time everything had come back, I remembered all of it, what I had to lose if I let either of them get to us again, so I tried to run, and so did Steve. He said we had somewhere else to go, and all we had to do was get away, but we never even made it through the door. I woke up… a while later, I think. I dunno. I was on this… metal table, like an operation table, kind of. Sorta felt like I’d been drugged, but maybe they just hit me in the head. I dunno. Then… I think after a while I started to hear screaming, and I just thought, ‘Hey, Steve’s here, too,’ and then I blacked out again. Next thing I know, I’m in a different safe house—I think it’s really just a regular house this time—and I have no idea how I got there, and then… I don’t remember much after that either. They fucked my head up pretty bad.”
He looked across the table at her. Her expression was unreadable again, a little unnerving to him. He was used to being able to read people, used to being good at it. It was unsettling to say the least to not have the slightest clue what this woman was thinking or feeling, beyond little twinges of irritation or impatience now and then.
She spoke, finally. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
Then she was silent for a moment, and it occurred to him that that had been maybe the most he’d spoken in about seventy years. Maybe more. He wondered if his throat would hurt in the morning. His mind wandered back over to the more pressing matter at hand- Romanoff. What the hell was her agenda? Should he ask? That seemed like… a bad idea. It went against everything he’d been trained about for the last three quarters of a century, and even if he wasn’t going to be punished for it now, well… old habits died hard. Besides, she wouldn’t tell him that, most likely, even if he’d asked. Still…
She stood up, readjusting the earpiece in her ear. Apparently it wasn’t supposed to stick out like that, after all. “Thank you for your time, sir. Someone will come and bring you back to your room in a few minutes.”
He looked up from the spotless, metal tabletop, which he’d been rather thoroughly examining until the sound of her voice brought him back to reality. “Wait… sorry-” he looked away for an agonizing moment, almost forgetting what he’d been about to say. God, why had he decided to ask…? This was stupid, he should just- “Is Steve okay?” He blurted out. “He’s not… he’s not really hurt, is he?”
“I- well-” She suddenly looked slightly uncomfortable. “You- you know… with the amount of damage he sustained… even with the serum he’s lucky to be alive. But yes, he’s all right. Fury informed you when he was transferred from the ICU, I remember, and since then he’s been recovering… pretty steadily, I’d say.”
He got the impression that she was trying to make him feel guilty, as though she were making sure he knew it were his fault. As though he didn’t know that already. He’d had plenty of time to think about all that while he’d been recovering from his own injuries, and then while he’d been in his cell, waiting for news of Steve’s recovery.
If he hadn’t fallen from the damn train, if he’d just died then, if HYDRA hadn’t captured him, if he hadn’t let them , if only he’d tried to escape or something . It really was his fault. It didn’t take this woman- this girl, really, she was what, twenty-five?- to convince him of that.
Speaking of Romanoff, he was alone again, sitting in the metal chair under the fluorescent lights in this environment that was all too similar to any of those HYDRA facilities… God, he’d love to be anywhere but here. Or here, with Steve. That would be all right, too. Even better than all right… But he didn’t have him here to help this time. He was on his own for now.
He closed his eyes, leaning back slightly in the chair and taking a few deep breaths. He needed to relax, before he started to lose control or something. He didn’t need to have some kind of panic attack, not here, not the first time they’d let him out of his cell.
Before he could get anywhere close to relaxing, though, he was startled by the sound of the door opening. Romanoff was back, and she looked pissed. Kind of familiar, now that he saw the concentrated expression on her face while she twirled the set of keys between her fingers. Freaky.
He tried not to flinch as she unlocked the handcuffs from the chair using some sort of metal cube and tried not to let out a sigh of relief when she stood back to let him up. Her stormy eyes were unnerving, too, like everything else about her. Sort of... intense. Not in a good way.
He stood up, shakily, his hands still cuffed together, and followed her as she silently led the way out of the room. He was afraid of this woman, for whatever god damn reason. He couldn’t really imagine why. She was about the least frightening thing he’d had to face in recent memory, at least. Hell, one swipe with his metal hand and he wouldn’t even have to worry about her anymore. Problem solved, just like that, just a little snap and a soft thud as she fell to the ground…
God, no, no he wasn’t allowed to think like that anymore. If he was going to get out of here he had to be normal. He couldn’t listen to the Winter Soldier anymore, he knew that. He couldn’t just solve all his problems with a wave of that damn arm like some kind of fucked-up magic wand. It just didn’t work that way, after all. Even if he had a reason to kill her… even if he did , which he didn’t , he’d still have a hell of a time justifying it to Fury, who was his only hope for getting out of this hellhole.
And anyway, what was the Winter Soldier doing, popping up just now? It was like he was being ridiculed, almost. It certainly seemed that way- first he hadn’t gotten to see Steve after all, then he’d told Romanoff all that bullshit that had happened to get him here in the first place… And now this. Now he had to deal with that , too.
He let her lead him down a long series of hallways that he thought was different than the way he’d come. That was no reason to be worried or anything, of course. She wasn’t the one who’d brought him here. Maybe she knew a shortcut. Maybe she had some kind of errand to run and she was bringing him along? Or maybe he was going somewhere else entirely.
But where, exactly, he couldn’t fathom. This seemed to be some kind of medical center, and far out of the way of wherever he’d been before. Of course, he had no clue what building this was, or where- as if anyone would tell him - but it seemed to be some sort of headquarters. For what, he didn’t know. Whatever it was, it was clearly enormous. They’d been walking for nearly fifteen minutes already, and they were nowhere near his cell, or so his enhanced navigational abilities told him.
He was just working up enough courage to ask her where she was taking him, when all at once the breath seemed to leave his body. It was Steve , leaning against a counter talking to a nurse or someone whose back was to the doorway. Steve saw him, too. He could tell from the way his eyes widened, the way he took up an almost defensive posture, before Romanoff steered him away, back down the hall.
There was an almost smug look on her face now, he saw, and she wasn’t even bothering to hide it. He couldn’t imagine why that was, and he couldn’t begin to care, because why would he? It had been Steve . And he’d looked afraid .
He’d seemed perfectly intact and completely fine otherwise, of course, he didn’t even look tired, but he’d been scared, and it was perfectly obvious why that was. He let Romanoff lead him back to his cell (it was another ten minutes- they’d taken some sort of roundabout way back, and from what he could tell she hadn’t done anything to justify it, so the only explanation he could think of was that it was so he could see Steve. Or possibly vice versa?) without another word, no longer paying the slightest bit of attention to his surroundings.
As the cuffs around his wrists fell away and the metal door (it had looked to him like the ones in the police station back in Brooklyn that he’d gone to pick Steve up from so many times back home, it had made his heart ache and his throat close up just a little, the first time he’d really seen it, at the memories it had brought back) slammed shut behind him and Romanoff’s black kitten heels began to click away in the opposite direction, he sank down on his cot and put his head in his hands, trying to just block out some of the thoughts rushing through his head. It didn’t work that way. He was too weirded out by whatever had just happened with Romanoff (she looked so damn familiar - and angry, but that was another matter), and then Steve. And he was still in this cell, which still occasionally brought back pangs of homesickness for 1940’s Brooklyn, as sad as that was. And, on top of all that, his arm hurt and he was still afraid and in the dark about what would happen to him now. And of course he fucking missed Steve , and nothing he could do was going to help that, he was realizing.
He stretched out on the cot, looking up at the blank ceiling. He’d known Steve was here, of course. Fury had mentioned it, the one time he’d come to visit and update him on everything that had happened. That had been.. So long ago. If he weren’t so exhausted and otherwise occupied, he might be angry at Fury for leaving him in the dark like this, but the truth was, it didn’t really matter to him. He was far more concerned with Steve.
Steve had always been his number one priority, back when they were kids and Steve had been little and always sick or trying to pick a fight with someone, it had been his responsibility to keep him out of trouble. Then when they’d gotten older (and moved in together), Bucky had gotten a more… up-close view of what things were like for him, helping to take care of him when he was sick (despite his protests) and occasionally having to go and pick him up from the police station or drag him away from a fight. Then he’d been drafted, and, well… he’d tried everything he could to get out of it, just to stay with Steve. He’d had nothing against serving his country, of course. He just… didn’t want to leave him alone to get killed in a bar fight or some stupid shit like that. But he’d been poor, absolutely broke. And short of getting married (which would have cost money, anyway), that left him with absolutely no options, legal or otherwise. So he’d had no choice but to leave him, and of course that hadn’t lasted long. While they’d been in the army together, again, Bucky’s first and most serious priority had been to keep him from serious harm. He’d managed it all right, and then, well… he’d fallen. And the rest was history, so they said.
He pulled himself out of his thoughts, realizing that they were only making him more of a nervous, depressed wreck than he already was. Maybe he should just cut his losses, get out of here… he didn’t really have anything else to lose, did he? Except for Steve. Okay. He had Steve.
Maybe he could sneak out and go see him, then. Before he committed to this whole escape plan thing. It wouldn’t even be hard, would it? The door to his cell unlocked with an old-fashioned metal key. The same kind that had been on his and Steve’s front door back home. Sure, there would be cameras and shit, but he knew how to get around those, didn’t he? He’d been trained for about fifty years on how to get around cameras . No big deal, even.
He rolled over and went to sleep, already feeling a little refreshed by this new idea in his mind, keeping him from completely sinking into the pit of despair he’d already dug for himself.