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Steve,
I know I promised not to leave again and I'm sure you're probably pissed as hell right now and I don't blame you. But I'm not safe, you know that. I know you think what I did somehow doesn't count because I can't remember it, but I came to fucking cov I don't have to remember it to know I put you in the hospital. I'm not safe and you're not safe with me. No one is.
Guess I'm not as recovered as we thought, huh? You can tell Stark he won whatever bet he probably made about how long it'd take for me to fuck up go nuts again. I know he joked about it a couple times. Guess he's a genius for something after all. (You can tell him that too.)
Anyway, I'm wasting time writing too much cause I don't want to go. I'll be fine. I just can't be fine around you or anyone else. You can't tame a rabid dog, Steve. You can only take them out muzzle them. And I lost that damn thing on the bridge.
I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to hurt anyone, least of all you.
Don't come looking for me, okay? I couldn't take it if I did anything to you again.
Love,
Bucky
"I like what you've done with the place," Natasha said, making a show of looking around at the shredded wallpaper, broken furniture and shattered picture frames while Bucky re-holstered the Glock he'd levelled at her when the window opened. She leaned against the sill of the window she'd just come through, resting her palms on it on either side of her waist. The wind bit at her exposed nape and the heels of her hands, but she stayed where she was, ostensibly relaxed despite her concern for the man watching her like part of him still expected an attack. "Little chilly, though, what with you leaving the window cracked." She pretended to glance over her shoulder out at the snow-dusted ground, where new flakes were already hiding her tracks, but she never actually took her eyes from his face. "And on the ground floor." She looked back at Bucky and arched an eyebrow. "I guess you must want visitors."
He shrugged. "It was like this when I got here."
Natasha scanned the holes in the wall near where he'd been sitting when she came in. There were a lot of them, all obviously new and made by fists, and Bucky had used his left hand to pull the gun because his right was scraped and bleeding and clearly broken. But whatever. If he wanted to pretend she was talking about the older damage, she'd let him.
He saw her looking at his hand and shoved both of them into the pouch of his hoodie.
"I'm glad to see you haven't entirely lost your sense of self-preservation," Natasha said. She decided it was safe to move away from the window, and closed it fully before walking a few steps closer, keeping her hands in her coat pockets. Natasha's own guns were in there, and her sleeves concealed her Widow's bites, but right then she was far more interested in just warming her hands. She smiled, making it slightly mocking. "Though I can't say the same about your fashion sense. Nice hoodie."
He didn't take the bait, sadly, not that she was really expecting it. Bucky's hoodie really was ridiculous, though—it was the Canadian one with the stupid moose on it that he'd been wearing around the Tower all the time now that it was remotely cold enough. Natasha had been on the mission with Steve when he'd chosen it entirely against her fashion advice; she refused to find the adoring smiles he gave Bucky whenever Bucky wore it in any way endearing.
Of course, Bucky didn't normally wear it directly over his combat gear. His pants and boots were definitely the same he'd had on during their most recent mission too, though the dried blood was only evident on the cloth if you knew to look for it. At some point he'd washed his face and hands, probably when he took the hoodie and left the note. But Natasha could see the dark red clumps in his hair where the hood had slipped. He kept it shorter these days, much more like how he'd had it during the war, but with the blood and the icy blankness in his eyes she could only see the Winter Soldier when she looked at him.
It was a practiced blankness though, she knew. This wasn't the Winter Soldier. This was Bucky, trying not to be afraid.
"I found your note," she said mildly as she closed the rest of the distance between them, "interesting choice, to write it in Cyrillic." She leaned her shoulder against the wall, facing him. Her eyes skimmed over the wooden box on the floor, which he'd accidentally kicked over when he leapt to his feet. The box was about the size of the cardboard kind that held men's shoes. It looked old, with a large stain on the side that she was certain was blood. It'd spilled out most of its contents: a child's beaded necklace and a small scattering of drift glass; some mismatched coins and brightly-colored paper currency; a collection of feathers bound with an elastic; bottle caps and jewelry; several pamphlets and ticket stubs; at least two MetroCards; old photographs and marbles; a wooden lice comb with discolored tines; three toy cars; one plastic pony; two sketchbooks she was sure were Steve's; a ragged baseball, and a neatly stacked bundle of folded paper held together with twine. Most of the paper was yellowed, likely as old as the box. A few looked new. They were all obviously letters. The two lead soldiers that had tumbled out next to them were probably as old as the box as well.
Bucky glared at her. It was a relief, after his dead expression, but it couldn't mask the despair that flickered behind it. "It wasn't a choice," he said. "I couldn't remember how to write in English."
Natasha winced inwardly, because she hadn't expected that. She was worried again, afraid for Bucky. It was the weary resignation in his voice, like this was a battle he'd always expected to lose.
She didn't show it, just blinked slowly at him. "You're speaking English now." Bucky had understood it as well when they'd found him, though this was the first time she'd heard him speak since then.
He shrugged, but then slumped against the wall, shoving his hands deeper into his pocket. With his shoulders hunched and his head down she couldn't see his face, but he looked vulnerable and sad and very, very young. "I might lose it again."
"Will you?" she asked, knowing damn well he wasn't talking about the writing. She licked her lips, glancing at the box again and the fist-sized holes in the wall just above her head. "Did you come here to kill yourself, James?" It was difficult to keep her voice calm, but she did. It would do Bucky no good at all to know she was fretting over him, or that they'd all been terrified about what he might do to himself, after what happened.
Bucky shook his head, which was comforting, but he wasn't surprised or even upset that she'd asked. She wished he were. "No. I came here in case I had to."
That answer she'd expected, but it didn't make it any easier to hear. Natasha stepped carefully over the box and its scattered contents to stand next to him. She reached for him. "Bucky—"
He flinched away. "Don't touch me!" She could finally see his eyes again, and they reminded her of Clint's after what Loki had done.
She pulled back immediately, leaving her hands up, but he kept backing up until he was forced to stop against the adjoining wall. He lifted his hands to ward her away. "Don't touch me. I'll hurt you." He gritted his teeth, grinding the words through them like he was in pain. "I'm going to hurt you. All of you. I'm going to hurt Steve. God help me, I already did." She could hear his breath speeding up, anger teetering on the edge of panic. "I can't. Not again. I won't--!"
"Stop." Natasha kept her voice calm but resonant with authority. Bucky stared at her wide-eyed, but he lowered his hands into fists, stopped looking like he might shatter.
She went closer, though she stayed well back of where he'd accidentally cornered himself. "Listen to me," she ordered. "Steve is recovering. He'll be released tomorrow morning. That's why I was in your apartment—to bring him clothes. He'll be fine, James. Do you understand?"
Bucky nodded, but he looked just as stricken as before. "But I hurt him."
"Yes you did," Natasha said, because there was no point in denying what they both knew. Bucky swallowed but stayed quiet. "But not for the reason you think." She held up her hand to silence him when he frowned and opened his mouth. "I'm going to ask you something and I need you to tell me the truth."
Bucky looked away from her, but he nodded again. "All right."
"Good. What's the last thing you remember from the raid, before you came-to covered in blood?"
He sucked in a breath and crossed his arms, still refusing to look at her. "We were surrounded. There had to be an informant somewhere who squealed on us, because they were prepared for our infiltration attempt," he started in that mixture of slang and Winter Soldier precision that she normally found amusing. "They came at us like a damn pack of wolves. Steve and I were back-to-back, attempting to neutralize as many of the operatives as possible until the other Avengers arrived, and then…"
"And then what do you remember?" Natasha prompted. She kept her voice gentle now, coaxing instead of commanding. "You're safe. Just tell me what you remember."
Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shut his eyes. "I'm not safe," he whispered. "I'm not…" He hunched further in on himself like he was cold. "One of them… He—he'd been one of my handlers. I didn't remember until I saw him. But he, he said something…" His breathing sped up again and Natasha tensed. "A trigger phrase. I don't remember the words, but I could feel them, in my head. Like…like poison. They…" Bucky shook his head mutely, chest heaving. He used the side of his right hand to wipe his eyes. "Steve tried to stop me. I-I hurt him." He looked down at his left hand, clenching and unclenching his fist like he couldn't quite believe it was his. It was, far more than the original. Tony had made it for him based on Bucky's specific requests, recreating the original from the blueprints up. This one was lighter, stronger and even more powerful than Bucky's original had been, which Natasha supposed was a mixed blessing when its owner couldn't always feel certain of how it would be used. "I shoved him out the window." Bucky's voice went dead. "He fell."
Natasha nodded. She and Clint had slammed their way through from the lower level in time to hear Bucky's cry and see Steve crashing through the glass to drop out of sight, falling farther than she wanted to think about. She knew Steve had willingly jumped from higher, but he'd had his shield at the time and a glass ceiling to slow his fall. This time he had neither; nothing to protect him except his prodigious strength and ability to heal. "Do you remember why?"
Bucky's head snapped up to look at her. His eyes were like storms. "Is that a fucking joke?"
"No," Natasha said. "I told you to tell me what you remembered."
He glared, but there was no hiding the misery behind it. "My ex-handler said a trigger phrase and turned me into a God-damned maniac. What the fuck other reason is there?"
"That you did it to save him."
Bucky stared at her, then his expression blackened with such fury that Natasha backed up a step. "I put my boyfriend in the hospital and you're telling me I did it to save him?"
"That's exactly what I'm telling you. Hear me out," Natasha said, glaring right back at him when he opened his mouth to snarl another denial. "I saw you, James. Clint and I got your call for backup and we arrived just in time to see what happened. I heard what the operative said to you, and I…" She stopped, shocked to find herself suddenly fighting for composure. But she had her own memories of handlers, and words that slid like snakes into your brain and cut you away from everything that made you real. And she could keenly recall how she'd frozen for a single, horrific second there on the landing, while the phrase intended for Bucky had reverberated inside her own skull.
She swallowed heavily, helpless to prevent the shudder that ran through her before she regained control. "And I saw your face, just before you pushed him. And I heard you. You were terrified, but you were there. You were still you. And you told him to get away from you, and you pushed him so he would."
Bucky made a thin awful sound nowhere near a laugh, then looked away from her again, rubbing his right palm over his closed eyes. "Right. Sure. And the fucking window just happened to be in the way."
"Yes it did," Natasha said simply. "You panicked, and you pushed Steve too hard and he fell. But you weren't trying to hurt him. The only ones you hurt were Hydra."
Bucky dropped his hand to stare at her. "Bullshit."
Natasha stared back coolly. "You know me well enough to know when I'm lying, James," she said in Russian. "I know what I saw. So does Clint. So does Steve," she added pointedly, this time in English. "And the other Avengers heard it over the radio, so they'll tell you the same thing."
Bucky shook his head. He ran the fingers of both hands through his hair, knocking his hood to his shoulders. "You're wrong. You have to be wrong. It was a trigger," he bit out. "I remember it, like—like an animal in my head. And I was…I—"
"You walked right past me and Clint," Natasha snapped, cutting him off. "You walked right past Clint. You could've killed him with one blow and I might not have been able to stop you. But instead you shot the operative who nearly got the drop on us both while we were worrying about you."
"I did?" Bucky blinked at her. His expression was almost childlike, like he wanted it to be true but didn't dare hope. It was heartbreaking. "I protected him?"
"Yes you did." Natasha nodded. "You protected all of us. All that blood on you, it's Hydra. Every drop. No one else."
Bucky looked down at himself, at his hands, as if he could still see the bloodstains. When he lifted his head his eyes were huge. "I don't remember," he breathed. "I just remember you finding me. And…and Steve. What I did."
"You tried to protect him too," Natasha said. "He was the only one of us you injured, and that was by accident." She took a step towards him. Bucky tensed but didn't move away. "We found you in the lowest level of the base, behind a door marked Versuchspersonen. You locked yourself in a cage intended for human test subjects. Do you remember that?" She waited until he gave her a slight, uncertain nod. "You locked yourself in a cage, Bucky. To keep us safe. Thor yanked the door off. You begged him not to."
Bucky blinked again and his eyes were wet, but the turmoil she knew raged inside him was only betrayed by the barest hitch when he spoke. "I was sure Steve was dead, and…and I didn't want to hurt anyone else."
"Steve will be fine," Natasha said. She took another step and when Bucky didn't move she cupped his face in her hands to make sure he was looking at her eyes. "You didn't hurt us, and you didn't hurt Steve intentionally, and you probably saved Clint's life as well as mine. We told you that, but you were in shock and you couldn't hear us. And then you ran away from the hospital." She used her thumbs to gently clear the tears from his cheeks. "The only thing you've done since you broke Hydra's programming is to protect us. And you protected us even when your ex-handler tried to turn you into a weapon again. He tried to destroy you, but he couldn't. You're James Buchanan Barnes and you're right here and no one will take away who you are ever again."
"You mean it?" His voice was so small that there was hardly air behind the words, but his eyes were bright and glistening. "I-I didn't…" He swallowed like his throat hurt. "Steve's okay?"
"Yes he is," Natasha said. She cleared the fresh tears from his face before pulling away, only to take his hands. "I swear to you that you didn't hurt us, and that Steve will be fine."
Bucky tried to say, 'thank you', but his voice cracked over the word. He let go of her and put his hands over his eyes, turning away from her like he was trying to protect himself. Or hide.
Natasha thought of Clint, and the long, terrible weeks after Loki stole him, and how often he'd turn from her—from all of them—when it was actually the last thing he wanted. And so she only hesitated for a moment before carefully sliding her arms around Bucky's waist, giving him plenty of time to move or push her away. But he didn't.
Instead the Winter Soldier let the Black Widow hold him while he cried his relief in her arms. And she murmured to him in Russian and kissed his cheek and stroked his filthy hair, until his breathing finally settled and he lifted his head and let her go.
She stepped back as casually as she'd climbed through the window, then walked the few steps to where she'd first found him, crouching next to the box and carefully setting it upright.
"Thanks," he said quietly, then sniffed a few times. She was sure he was using the sleeves of his stupid moose hoodie to wipe his face.
"For what?" Natasha put the photographs in first, smiling at the people she guessed were Steve's parents. He definitely had his mother's hair and his father's nose. She picked up the collection of pamphlets and put them in the box over the photographs, then put the bundle of letters on top of the photos. Finally she set the unopened candy box on top of the stack to keep everything flat. She added the lead soldiers and the coins, and was gathering up the pieces of jewelry when she heard Bucky coming back.
He knelt across from her, started repacking the box as well. "The older stuff is Steve's, from when we were kids," he explained. "The other things are just…" He shrugged. "Just things I found while I was…remembering, I guess." He played with the tattered skin of the baseball and she knew it was so he didn't have to meet her eyes. As if his collection embarrassed him.
"I like the colors," Natasha said, plucking the orange toy pony off the floor. She smiled at it before tucking it next to the soldiers. "I stole things, after Clint brought me in," she continued, far more carelessly than she felt. "Toys, sometimes. From stores, not from children. Baby toys—I liked how bright and happy they were. Or costume jewelry. Sometimes I took colored pens. I took Coulson's S.H.I.E.L.D. mug right off his desk, once." She grinned. "He still thinks Clint has it hidden somewhere."
Bucky had gone still, listening. "Why?"
She knew he wasn't asking about Coulson. "Because I could," she said, lifting her head to look at him. "Because it was my choice, if I took something or not. Because it was bad but it wasn't evil. Because Coulson didn't want me to and it was my way of showing him he didn't own me." Natasha picked up the MetroCards, set them in the box with far more care than they needed. "I have a drawer I keep everything in. I can show it to you sometime."
"Sure," Bucky said, as nonchalantly as if she'd invited him over for videogames and beer, and Natasha smiled. He put the feathers into the box and closed the lid, but stayed where he was, running the pads of his fingers over the worn, smooth wood. "Does Steve know about the letter?"
"What letter?" Natasha rose smoothly from her crouch and put her hands back in her pockets. "You should take a shower before we go to the hospital, though. And change out of that ridiculous moose hoodie."
"What's wrong with the hoodie?" Bucky scooped up the box as he stood, tucking it securely under his arm. "It's nice and warm and the moose is funny."
Natasha rolled her eyes. "Says the man who thinks plaid shirts are the height of sophistication."
"That's Steve," Bucky said, falling into step behind her as they walked through the kitchen to the back door. The snow was still falling outside the closed window, turning grey with the fading daylight. "But seriously, what's wrong with the hoodie? You have a problem with moose or something?"
"It's not the moose I have a problem with," Natasha said as she went out the door.
Bucky smirked, but she heard him stop on the front porch. "Nat?"
She turned around.
Bucky had the box in his left hand, his right one deep in the hoodie pocket. He'd put the hood up again to hide his hair, shadowing his face. "Promise me, you won't let me hurt anyone."
She kept her gaze steady as she looked at him. "You mean, put you down."
He nodded. "Yeah. Steve's too nice. You know…you know what happened before. He won't protect himself. So I need to know you'll protect him if I…" He swallowed. "If I can't."
Natasha drew herself up a little, rolled her shoulders back and lifted her head. "I promise that I won't let you hurt anyone."
"Even if you have to kill me."
She nodded once. "Even if I have to kill you."
"Thank you," Bucky said. His shoulders slumped in relief. "I knew you'd understand."
Natasha nodded again, before she turned around and started walking, keeping her hands in her pockets. She could hear the crunch of the snow as Bucky caught up to her.
He didn't speak, just wordlessly threw his right arm across her shoulders, pulling her against his side. His hoodie might have been ridiculous, but she had to admit it was warm.
She leaned into him as they walked. It was almost romantic, in the drifting grey of the evening with the snow falling down. They'd been lovers once, a lifetime ago for both of them. They were both too different now to be more than best friends, but it was nice sometimes, to allow herself to remember. For Bucky too, it seemed.
She wondered if he knew she'd lied to him. She would never kill him, no more than Steve would. She knew she'd never have to.
Natasha took her left hand out of her pocket and put it around Bucky's waist, despite the cold. Bucky dropped a kiss on her temple as they walked deeper into the night, going home.
END