Chapter Text
“No no no, please!” I can’t control the sobs as they strap me down to the table. “I-I’ll listen next time. I’m sorry. I-I can’t.”
“Shut up bitch.”
My head jerks to the side from the slap. I shouldn’t have tried to escape.
My eyes shoot open as I wake. I don’t move yet from the place I lay. It’s unfamiliar. A soft surface beneath me, yet.. This place still resembles that of a cell. Trying to recall the memory just creates a sharp pain in my head and my eyes instinctually close.
At the sound of the door opening, I push the pain to the side and quickly stand up next to the soft cot I was laying on. My hands rest behind my back and I look straight ahead rather than trying to catch a glimpse of who walked in the room. Something in the back of my mind tells me not to make that mistake again.
A woman with fire red hair moves to stand in front of me. Her posture is guarded, yet her features seem soft. Almost.. Sympathetic? I file that thought away as I wait for orders.
“Amyra?”
Unknown Command. I don’t move as I wait for clarity.
“It’s Natasha, remember? How are you feeling? You tore your stitches,” she speaks softly and gestures to my left shoulder.
I can’t risk consequences, so I don’t look. Maybe this woman, Natasha, is my new handler and hasn’t been properly briefed? I shouldn’t speak out of turn, yet.. she did ask me a question…
“Unknown command,” I say plainly. “Awaiting directive.”
Natasha lets out a low breath and looks over to the door where I take notice of someone else standing—a man with blonde hair.
“Tell me your name,” Natasha commands. Something I can understand.
“Subject 09, Tempest,” I state. She nods and turns to the man by the door. I continue looking straight ahead. Don’t break protocol.
“Get Wanda,” she commands him. “She’s not going to be much of a threat in this condition.” Natasha looks at me, but I struggle to read her thoughts. I force my mind to stop wandering. Stand here and await orders.
“I need to take a look at your arm. Would you prefer to remain standing or sit down?”
“Unknown command,” I state. Natasha sighs as she rubs her forehead in thought. Did I misunderstand the order I was given? “Awaiting clarification.”
“She’s giving you a choice, dear,” a woman says from the door. Her brown hair flows past her shoulders, and the blond man is no longer here. “We will not be giving you commands while you are here.”
No commands? No orders? I was created to fulfill the commands of my handlers. Who are my handlers? They are… it’s… I don’t know. My thoughts are racing as I try to appease the people in front of me.
“This is Wanda,” Natasha shares. “We will both be helping you adjust while you are here.” Natasha’s words were slow and calculated, as though she was weighing each word. “You were injured, and now torn your stitches. We are here to help.”
I think of what she says and search her words for some sense of direction. Without commands, I will create unnecessary punishment. Yet, if I don’t make a choice, I could also receive punishment.
Slowly I move my arm from behind my back and hold it out in front of me as a gesture for them to fix the stitches. Wanda nods and walks towards me.
“I’m going to touch you and help you to sit down, okay?” she asks. I nod and she guides me back to the cot to sit down. I obey instinctually.
Wanda continues talking about what actions she will take as Natasha brings in a med kit. She asks for permission and I simply nod at each order. They phrase commands as questions. This realizeation brings me a sense of relief. Soon, my arm is stitched again, and Wanda moves to speak with Natasha. They speak with each other softly as I stare straight ahead. Their information is not mine to interpret without directives. Engagement not required.
Natasha turns back to me. “You said your name is Tempest. Is that what you want to be called?”
Desire is irrelevant. The name brings a bitter taste to my mouth, but the command does not register. As of now, I have yet to be punished for choosing silence in response. But choosing what I want to be called… Unknown command. Awaiting handler directive. I feel my jaw clench at the conflicting thoughts in my mind.
“You don’t have to answer that. I just want to know what feels right to you,” Natasha clarifies.
I still don’t understand. Avoid punishment at all costs.
“Okay. I don’t want to call you Tempest. That name isn’t yours—it was given to you. Until you’re ready to choose one, I’m going to call you Tee. Just Tee. That okay?”
Directive Identified: Alias changed to “Tee”. Something clicks in my head. Finally, a command I can respond to. I nod my head in agreement to the decision she has made for me.
“Okay Tee!” Wanda exclaims. I register her new emotions of excitement. “Let’s go to your new room! You’ll be living on the same floor as Nat and me.”
Wanda leaves the room and Natasha goes to follow, but she stops at the door and looks back at me.
“Tee, walk with me.”
Directive initiated. I rise and follow her.
I keep in step with Natasha as we follow Wanda down the halls to an elevator. The building is sleek as though is has been recently renovated—or at least been upkept very well. As we walk, Wanda rambles off information about different levels of “The Tower” as she calls it. I stay attentive and store the information in my mind for a later date when it may be used. My handler, on the other hand, is silent as we walk.
The elevator has no buttons in it, yet it begins to move once we step inside. We are taken up to a higher floor which reminds me of a penthouse from… the memory fades. I pay it no mind.
I follow Natasha and Wanda down a hall to a room where we stop. My eyes scan the painted “A” on the door. A crown is drawn just above it. Something tugs at the back of my mind. Processing failed.
“Here we are!” Wanda says as she opens the room. She gestures for me to step inside first and I obey. I scan the room slowly for potential threats as I walk into it. When I reach the center of the large room, I turn around and stand at attention. Awaiting directives.
Natasha stands by the door with Wanda, and I expect them to close the door and leave. Instead, she speaks.
“This is your home now, княжна.” The word she uses is foreign, so I pay it no mind. Possibly another alias. “Wanda and I are going to join the others for dinner in the common area. You are welcome to join if you desire—”Desire is irrelevant. “,but you must choose.” New directive: Choose. “This entire floor is open for you to explore. There is a kitchen, gym, pool, and more. The tower will not allow you to enter any unauthorized areas, so you don’t need to worry about going somewhere you’re not supposed to be. If you need anything or have any questions, you can ask Jarvis.” She points to the ceiling then smiles at me softly. “Do you have any questions for me right now?”
I process the information shared with me. Obedience does not require understanding. I shake my head no and my handler looks satisfied with that answer.
“Feel free to explore,” Wanda clarifies. “Everything in this room is yours to choose what to do with. If you want to change anything, just let us or Jarvis know. Come on Nat.” She grabs Natasha’s arm and pulls her away from the room. For a moment, I feel like I see a flicker of emotion cross Natasha’s face… heartbreak? Then it’s gone as quick as it came.
The door stays open as I hear their footsteps depart down the hall. I relax slightly knowing that my handlers are no longer actively watching me, but I’m not blind to the information they shared with me. Security system recognized: Jarvis. Whatever type of security Jarvis is, it’s advanced enough to be able to answer questions. Do I have questions? What happ—Follow directive: Choose.
I remember the command that was given to me. I’ve already taken too long to make a decision: Go to dinner with “the others” or stay. I notice a feeling of hunger immediately at the thought and begin walking. I close the door of the room behind me softly. Wanda had described the direction of the common area as we walked to the room. Info recalled. New objective: Find common area. I slowly walk back towards the elevator and observe my surroundings. It’s easier to think when I don’t need to worry about pleasing my handlers, but I keep my actions calculated. No move is unseen.
As I get closer to the area Wanda pointed out when we left the elevator, I can hear people laughing and speaking with each other. Part of me want to hesitate and turn back, but directives must be completed. Perfection, nothing less. I step around the corner to see a wide area split into sections. The kitchen has food set out of the island. There’s a sitting area in front of a large television. A dining area with a big table in the back corner. A group of people are seated and eating together, chatting and laughing.
A man sitting next to my handler notices me first and he bumps his shoulder into hers. She looks annoyed before looking up and seeing me. She whispers something to him and then stands up and begins walking over to me. Other people at the table pause their conversations at the disruption and glance in my direction. At first, I think I’ve made a mistake, but they quickly go back to eating.
“Hey, Tee,” Natasha says as she approaches. She smiles softly. “We’re happy you chose to join us. Let me grab you a plate. You can go find a seat at the table.”
Avoid punishment. These people give orders that are hard to identify, but it seems like trying to decipher their orders is the right thing. I have yet to make a mistake.
My feet slowly move as I walk over to table. The conversation between everyone continues, but I don’t miss the quick looks that some people give me. The table is a large rectangle with only a few available seats. I notice that there isn’t an available seat next to where my handler was seated. This must be a test if she doesn’t want me near her… I weigh my options quickly as I approach.
There’s an available seat near the head of the table next to a man wearing clothes smudged with what looks like a grease or oil. I don’t miss his swift glance and nervous stature. He clearly doesn’t want me here. The blond man from earlier is sat next to him, confident. It seems he’s angry about the man not cleaning up properly based on his gestures to the grimey clothes.
Another seat is available next to the man who first noticed my arrival. He is talking with Wanda and a man with a metal arm who are sitting across from him. That seat is near enough to my handler that I calculate it as my best option.
I pull back the chair and sit down. A man on my right is engaged in conversation with the blond from earlier. The man on my left smiles at my arrival.
“Hey there! I’m Clint,” he exclaims. This man seems to have a lot of energy. I noticed the callouses on his hand as he holds it out for me to shake. His hands are scarred and calloused in a way that only someone with weapons experience would have. Observe. Catalog. Store all information. I ignore the gesture and look around the table, analyzing the people around me. It’s important to be prepared for any tests my handler has for me.
Clint doesn’t seem offended by my lack of response. He simply smiles and returns to eating his food.
A plate filled with the same food as the others—a pasta of some kind—is set in front of me. Natasha gestures to it simply and moves to take her seat on the other side of Clint. The people around me continue chatting and eating, but I leave my hands in my lap as I wait for directives. Eat when told. Not before. If the command is not received… Part of me feels almost.. saddened at my inability to eat. Yet, there’s comfort in knowing I will avoid punishment by pleasing my handler.
“Something wrong with the food?” Clint asks me. Ahhh. A test, of course. Something is wrong with the dish in front of me. Poisoned? Laced? If I can figure it out, maybe they will reward me with a meal.
I begin to study the plate as though it is a puzzle to be solved. I lift it closer to inspect it further, ignoring the looks from the others at the table who have stopped their discussions to watch me.
“It’s not poisoned,” the metal-armed man across from me states. “Eat.”
Follow directive: Eat. I place down the plate and grab the fork next to me. I shovel the food into my mouth quickly. Faster! I can remember the importance of efficient tasks.
“Slower,” he says. Strange—something about this man brings me clarity. He understands the order of things, the need for directives. I obey and continue eating, but slower. He nods, satisfied, and he continues his conversation with Wanda next to him.
The man with dirty clothes at the head of the table clears his throat loudly.
“Now that that awkward moment has passed, let’s have some introductions shall we?”
“Tony,” the blond man says in a low voice. It sounds like a warning.
“Take a chill pill, Cap. Pun intended,” the man, Tony, retorts. He looks over at me, but I continue eating at a casual pace while he speaks. “I hear your new name is Tee. I’m Tony, so we have that in common at least. This is my tower that I’ve so graciously made available to you. Try not to break anything.” Directive received. “I assume you’ve already been introduced to Jarvis.”
“It’s a pleasure to see you again.” The voice came from nowhere visible and I jumped slightly in confusion. Avoid punishment. I quickly restrain my movements once more in order to hide my mistake. The food in front of me no longer remains important. Don’t let them see your weaknesses.
Wanda speaks up. “Yeah, I was a bit jumpy in the beginning too. You’ll get used to it.”
“Anyways… This is Capsicle—”
“—Steve,” the blond interrupts. “My name is Steve. You’ve already met Clint, Natasha, and Wanda. On your other side is Sam, and across from you is Bucky. We’re not here to control you. You’re safe here.”
Unknown command. I stay frozen as I think about what was said. A trick maybe? No control…? Without guidance you are nothing. I notice my hands twitch in my lap and try to regain my stature before my handler notices. What does he mean by “safe”? Being obedient is the safest place, is it not?
My breathing speeds up, just slightly. Danger. Unknown protocol.
“Don’t explain choice to someone who has been trained out of it,” Bucky cuts in, firm but quiet.
My system feels overwhelmed with too many things at once. My stomach churns from the food, and my brain is firing on all cylinders trying to compute the mix of information and directives… but they’re not directives, are they? No. I need to choose. Desire is irrelevant.
“Come with me,” Bucky commands.
New directive received. Relief floods my system at the order. I stand and begin to follow him out of the room. My head feels like it’s under water, but I keep one pace behind him as we walk. We begin moving down the hall and Bucky is silent as we walk. As the distance grows between us and the common area, my stomach begins to churn.
Stumbling, I grasp the wall. Bucky stops as I fall to my knees and begin vomiting everything I ate. Now surely there will be consequences. Bucky crouches near me, unfazed, as I upchuck the contents of my stomach.
“Yeah. Figured that was coming,” he states. He reaches into his pocket for a weap—a cloth? Bucky hands the cloth to me and I slowly take it from him and wipe my face. Thankfully, my clothes did not fall victim to my mishap.
My breaths are short and ragged as I try to pull myself together.
“Awaiting corrective action,” I say, my breath still short. I am still seated on my knees on the floor. My head lowers in shame at my mistake. It should not be this hard to follow orders. Perfection. I failed.
I risk a look at Bucky in hopes to see his emotional reaction. I can’t exactly place the idea, but something tells me that handlers can be read like a book. If you read their emotions, you can understand the severity of the corrective action they will give.
“Sit. Breathe,” Bucky orders. I change my position as told and lean against the wall, measuring every breath. Something in me is thankful that he understands the need for order. “There’s no punishment for being human.”
Still, my thoughts are swirling as I look at him. I don’t understand. Obedience does not require understanding. I let the many questions in my mind drift away. Breathe. A simple order to comply with.
After a couple minutes, Bucky stands back up. I move to do the same and he doesn’t stop me. As he begins walking, I follow him once more, thankful for the moment I had to pause. Thankful for the lack of discipline for my mistakes. He leads me down the hall to a room with a red star on the door and I follow him inside.
I take notice of the full-sized apartment within this space. Bucky tells me to sit and gestures to a couch in the living area. Command recognized. It brings me a sense of peace knowing that my actions will be initiated for me at the commands. The other people only tested me with questions leading to confusion. Clear orders prevent consequences. Though I have yet to see any of those consequences come to pass, something in me deeply fears stepping out of line.
Bucky moves into the kitchen—much smaller than the one from the common area—and he grabs a glass from a cupboard, filling it with water. He walks back to me, sets the water on a coffee table in front of me, then moves to sit in a chair opposite of where I reside.
“Drink,” Bucky states, and I do. The water is refreshing and cools the burning feeling in my throat from vomiting earlier. I set the glass down when I am finished and look at Bucky.
Awaiting directive. My mind is still reeling from all the new information.
“I’m assuming you have questions. Ask me one—just one, for now,” Bucky says.
Ask him a question… but which one? I think through the information I want to know, yet something stops me from fully reflecting on certain questions. The ones that flow easier through my mind are questions related to my mission. Not too much curiosity, just simple informational questions that allow me to better serve. Yes. That would be good to ask. I don’t think about his command for too long. Be quick and efficient.
“Orders initiated by multiple sources. Who is my primary?” This is the most essential information to hold. If I can’t follow orders, I fail, and failure is not an option. At first, I think he is going to tell me to report to Natasha, but—
“Primary handler established. Repeat after me: ‘Bucky is my primary.’”
“Bucky is my primary,” I say. My eyes widen slightly as I respond. Handler conflict error resolved. Primary established. I didn’t expect it to be him, yet a sense of peace rushes through my mind. It feels as though everything is normal once more, even if I can’t remember what normal is. This feels right.
“You’re trying to make sense of all this chaos inside your head, huh? I get it. They drilled rules into you. But I’m not here to control you like they did. None of us are. I will give you clear instructions, but some of them will help you to decide things on your own.
“You can wait for my command, or you can choose based on what you need. Both are allowed, and you will not be punished by me for making a decision.” Awaiting command. Make a decision if necessary. “If you are unsure about something, ask. If you know what you need, do it. Either way, I will direct you if something is unsafe.” New protocols established by primary. “Until you’re ready to make decisions, I’ll give you orders. But not every second.”
He pauses for a moment. My new protocols shift into place, some even overriding old ones. I await further instructions from my handler. My head is still reeling from the information input, the food intake, and the pain in my shoulder. I don’t remember what caused my injury, but I hide the many things I am feeling. Pain is weakness.
“Do you understand?” he asks.
“Protocols initiated,” I reply. Bucky seems satisfied and he continues to give me commands.
“From now on, you may drink water whenever you feel the need. You don’t need to wait for permission. The food in here and in the common area is available to you. Eat when your body tells you to. You don’t need to wait for permission. You’re cleared to move freely within this apartment, on this floor, and in your room that was shown to you. Either Jarvis or I will let you know if you reach a boundary. Do you understand?” he asks again.
“Protocols initiated.”
Bucky nods, then continues speaking.
“Take care of yourself. Personal hygiene, nutrition, rest. They are your responsibility. You don’t need to wait for permission to sleep, shower, or use the restroom.” New protocols established.
Bucky leans back slightly in thought. He rubs his forehead and I noticed his stiff posture. He looks up at me once more and his eyes drift to my shoulder. I have been wearing a dark grey tank top and sweatpants since I woke up. The bandage from my injury pokes out a little underneath the wide straps.
“If you are ever in pain, tell me immediately,” Bucky says, his eyes drifting to mine.
“I am in pain,” I state swiftly in response to the order. He gives me a short nod, calm.
“Is it sharp or dull?” he asks.
“Sharp. Localized. Shoulder only.” Complete reporting required.
“Alright. You’re not bleeding anymore. Nat told me they stitched you back up.” He stands and moves to a cabinet, pulling out a small bottle. “Have you taken painkillers before?”
I hesitate at the simple question. Have I taken… Unable to recall.
“Uncertain. Requesting instruction.”
“Take one with water.” Bucky hands me a small pill and takes the empty glass to refill it. He returns and hands me the glass. My pain was acknowledged without punishment. Pain is weakness. But he offered relief instead of punishment? The thoughts contradict themselves as I let them drift to the back of my mind.
I swallow the pills and set the cup down.
My shoulders droop slightly. Everything from the past few hours has been exhausting. Receiving new protocols, retaining information, and navigating these people… I feel like I’ve run a marathon while solving a complex puzzle. I’m absolutely drained. You don’t need to wait for permission to sleep. I’m reminded of Bucky’s command as I process my needs, but he’s here in front of me. Clarification required. Unable to proceed without approval to request.
A dozen things are on my mind, but… I still can’t just ask, can I? I open my mouth slightly and take a breath in an effort to ask. Obedience does not require understanding. My mouth snaps shut. Stupid! I nearly broke protocol for a question! He told me to wait for a command or make a decision if I need to. But how do I make a decision based on my needs when he’s in front of me?
“You look like you have something to say,” Bucky notices.
I don’t move, but my mind replays his words. I do have something to say, I just don’t know if I’m allowed to say it. And if I’m not allowed—if this is some sort of test—I can’t risk failure. I avert my eyes.
“You can ask questions. Anytime. You never need to wait for permission to ask a question.” His expression remains steady. I don’t hear any malice in his voice as I reply his words over again in my mind.
You will not be punished by me for making a decision, he had said. Permission to ask questions. At any time… That changes everything.
My gaze lifts back to his kind eyes as I slowly find my voice. Freedom to ask questions. It feels like I’ve been given the biggest gift in the world.
“If sleep is not time-restricted, how do I determine the correct interval for rest?” I ask. Knowing my parameters and the things expected of me will help me to better serve my handler.
I can feel my body craving more rest. My mind has been on overdrive since I awoke and I wish I could allow it to shut down, if only for a moment. Environment not cleared. Handler present—priority status active. No. As much as I could hope to rest now, I must wait for permission.
I shove the tired feeling aside and force myself to sit up a little taller.
“The correct interval for rest is as much as your body needs. You don’t have to stay awake just because I’m here. If you’re tired, go lie down. That’s not disobedience—it’s protocol.”
I stare at him unmoving. Uncertainty presses against the back of my mind like static.
“You want me to say it like an order, don’t you?” he asks gently.
Yes, but why? Obedience does not require understanding. No, I don’t need to understand why. I know I need rest, that just needs to be communicated somehow. Yet, Bucky knows I need rest and he is offering me a choice in how I attain that.
Ask questions anytime. The protocol rings in my mind.
“Why?” I plead. It’s the one thing I can’t seem to answer for myself. My mind is a warzone and I am stuck in the middle of two opposing sides. Why can’t I keep my thoughts straight? Why can’t I remember? Why can’t I sleep without a directive to do so??
I can feel my mind beginning to spiral in confusion. Order must be maintained. But I can’t. The order is lost. How can I bring order to a chaos that is being caused by my primary. It doesn’t compute.
My breathing begins to pick up slightly. I am panicking. Surely panic will lead to punishment. You will not be punished for making a decision. This isn’t a decision. This a direct loss of control.
“—myra.”
I know Bucky is still talking. I see his mouth move, but none of the words reach me. My surroundings are real and yet my brain can’t connect them. This is failure. I’m failing. Perfection, nothing less. This is less. I must act, but I can’t.
“—yra look at me. Breathe wi—”
My thoughts crash over each other and my heartbeat pounds in my ears. Too fast. Too loud. I can’t tell what’s noise and what’s real. The floor tilts—no, my head tilts. Or maybe both.
My body slumps before I even feel it happening.
Everything is finally silent.
- ❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•
My body registers my surroundings before my mind is fully aware. There’s a softness beneath me. A bed? No, a couch. I shift slightly and pain—is no longer radiating from my arm—interesting. I stay laying down, and my mind slowly begins to clear from the foggy feeling as I open my eyes.
My vision adjusts to see Bucky sitting nearby with a book in hand. I recognize a second voice filtering through the haze. Steve. Engaged with my handler in low conversation. I don’t move, choosing instead to observe. Existing in a moment without threats, no commands, just… space.
A few moments pass and I take the initiative to make my presence known. I move to sit up on the couch. The movement does not go unnoticed and the conversation between the two men dies down.
You never need to wait for permission to ask a question. Bucky’s order rings in my mind. I need a moment to regroup. To recalibrate and prepare myself for any tasks laid out for me. But I’m in a room with my handler and a possible secondary. Permission not needed to fulfill basic needs.
“Is restroom access granted?” I ask.
Steve seems shocked by my question and looks between Bucky and I. Bucky, on the other hand, does not seem fazed. He simply nods.
“Down the hall. On the right,” he says. Then he picks up his book once more to continue reading. Steve continues watching me with curious eyes as I stand and begin making my way down the hall.
The restroom is easy to find. Once inside, I close the door and don’t bother to lock it. I don’t look around the room beyond what is necessary. After relieving myself, I run the water. I can’t help it when my eyes drift from the sink to the mirror, and I take in my face—one I hardly recognize.
The thought breaks as I splash water on my face. It’s cool and refreshing, grounding me in a way. I don’t bother to dry it. Water drops trickle down my chin as I exit the bathroom. The men are speaking as I walk back down the hall.
“—asked to use the bathroom like it was a mission report.”
“That’s progress.”
Their conversation comes to a halt as I visibly enter the living area.
Steve stands and I freeze, wary of him. I watch his movements closely, ready to defend my handler if needed.
“Alright, Buck. If you’re all good here then I’m gonna head to bed,” he yawns softly. “Goodnight, Tee”
Steve smiles at me as he walks past. No hard looks or threats. Just… like I’m the same as everyone else. I don’t know why he was here, but I can’t help the small sense of relief now that he’s gone. Your handler knows what’s best for you. With Bucky, he will keep my best interests in mind. But Steve and the others are unknown variables I have yet to figure out.
My gaze drifts from Steve to a clock on the bookshelf. 2:17am. Bucky takes notice of my glance.
Questions without permission. No punishment.
“Why are you awake?” I ask. There’s a slight hesitation in my voice, but Bucky doesn’t acknowledge it.
“You were out for a few hours. I figured it was better for someone familiar to be here when you woke up.” He shrugs. “Steve came in to make sure you were doing okay, and he ended up staying as well.”
He surprises me with the quick answer to my question. The new protocols are still fresh in my mind, but I’m still taken aback. I asked a question that should be seen as offensive—questioning my handler. But Bucky… didn’t care.
Bucky moves to stand and begins walking towards me.
“I’m going to take a hint from Steve and head to bed as well.” Bucky explains, “You’re welcome to use the spare bedroom here if you’d like. Or if the couch feels more comfortable…” He stops near me and gestures to the couch. “...I’m gonna crash for a bit. The door’s open if you need anything.”
I watch as Bucky enters the room at the end of the hall. He leaves the door open a crack, just as he said he would.
I stay in place for a few minutes. Watching. Waiting. Expecting for a moment that he’ll come back out to speak with me.
He doesn’t.
More time passes and I stay watching the door, moving towards it slightly. A small part of me desires rest, but my mind is moving too quickly. Even if I could sleep… Make a decision if necessary. I can’t make that decision for myself. I have no immediate needs and do not currently feel any pain.
I walk towards Bucky’s door and stand next to it. My back is to the wall and I stare straight ahead, ready to defend him at a moments notice. Something about my movement—about the situation—sparks a memory…
“He needs space,” I state firmly.
The blonde man is standing in front of me as I stand in front of him, blocking a door.
Steve sighs. “Amyra he hasn’t eaten. He hasn’t spoken with anyone. And he hasn’t left the room in days. This can’t go on any longer.”
I gasp at the vivid memory and come back to myself, unable to recall my response. I was standing right here! Next to the same room in which I stand now.. Bucky’s room. He must have been the one I was guarding… Was he my handler then, too?
My mind races as I try to recall more information, but it only causes sharp pains through my head. If you are ever in pain, tell me immediately. The order rings through my head. No. No, it’s fine.
I put my hand to my head and lean against the wall. My brain still trying to make sense of the memory. Why does it hurt so much to think about?
Slowly, I slide down to the floor. Get it together. I rest my arms on my knees and stare straight down the hall into the living area. I feel stuck. Disconnected. I couldn’t move to tell Bucky of my pain even if I tried.
I’m not sure how much time passes by. However long, I spend it looking straight ahead. I’m wide awake and yet, disconnected somehow. Like my mind and body are no longer one. I’m having too many thoughts to keep track of and my mind becomes like a blur. Everything is moving too quickly for me to grasp.
Time keeps passing and I can see the light outside begin to drift in the windows. Bucky remains in his room and I stay seated outside. Still disconnected from myself, yet somehow I know if I’m needed, I’ll be ready.
And then the apartment door bursts open.