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Bucky wasn’t sure how long he’d been in the ice. Muscle memory dictated that he should have been afraid. Any minute now, he’d be dragged from his cryo-station, two faceless soldiers restraining him on each arm, another four flanking him from both sides. It was protocol for the Asset to be watched at all times, even when they stripped him, hosed him down and threw him into the chair for another memory wipe. Procedure, they called it. And he’d believed it. He hadn’t been given much of a choice.
But this time was different. He didn’t wake in fear, or maybe he did, it was hard to remember. Being kept on ice wasn’t like sleeping, not really. Mostly, it was just darkness, but memories came through here and there. He never had enough time to sort through them though, to understand. He’d just wake up, adrenaline rushing through his system, chest heaving like he was about to pass out all over again and then it’d be gone. Like he couldn’t even remember what he’d been so scared of in the first place.
Bucky knew this time was different because he could remember. All the reasons why he should be afraid. Of himself, of everyone else. His enemies, his victims, his friends. Friend. Steve.
He didn’t wake in fear, no, instead he awoke frustrated.
It wasn’t Steve that was looking at him from the other side of the glass, though it should have been. Bucky had run the variables in his head a thousand times. There was no one else who’d wake him ahead of schedule. Unless this was on schedule. Which brought him back to his original question.
“How long?” His voice was cracked and dry; he tried clearing it, though it was futile. It just made him wince.
T’Challa - the King of Wakanda - stood on the other side of the glass. He wasn’t wearing the Black Panther get-up, which eased Bucky only slightly. This wasn’t an emergency wake-up call, which meant it must have been planned.
T’Challa’s arms were folded across his chest. There wasn’t a lick of fear in his stance; he seemed at ease, resting against an empty medical bench. Bucky couldn’t have even kidded himself that this conversation wasn’t being observed by at least half a dozen armed guards. T’Challa might be a protector for his country – an icon – but he was also the king.
Finally, T’Challa said, “Six months.” He seemed to consider something before adding: “Welcome back.”
“Why am I awake?” Bucky asked. He tried to hide the anger from his voice, but it was hard all things considered. He was a liability, a weapon. With everything that was locked inside his head, every code, every trigger word. He didn’t know half of the things Hydra might have hidden inside of him. He was a ticking time bomb and yet T’Challa was just stood there, watching him, like the matter of his awakening was the most trivial thing in the world.
When T’Challa didn’t reply, Bucky gritted his teeth. “Have you-”
“No.” T’Challa lifted himself from the medical bench, taking a tentative step closer to Bucky’s chamber. “This isn’t why I have awoken you.”
Bucky’s eyes narrowed. He was tired, so tired of this. “Then I shouldn’t be awake.”
“I am sorry if you feel that way.” The thing was, he genuinely did sound sorry. Bucky glanced somewhere past T’Challa, instead letting some of his old training take control. Survey the area, look for all possible modes of escape. There was only one door he could see, at the far back, and it looked like you needed a security card to get through. Simple enough to hack, easier to break. Two armed guards lay behind it, their backs turned. Even easier. Still, Bucky could count seven cameras angled on him, and those were only the ones he could see from this position, locked in a cryo-tube.
The mode of thought was useless anyway. He didn’t want to go anywhere, just wanted to go back to the darkness and let it all fade away.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Bucky said lowly. “Why am I awake?”
“I needed information,” T’Challa said matter-of-factly. “And to ask you a question.”
Bucky felt his lip twitch. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to smile or snarl. The idea of giving away any kind of information to a man who’d tried to kill him - in his mind at least, not a few days ago - made his skin crawl. He knew why T’Challa had done it, and honestly he couldn’t blame him. Even though he’d been set up, it didn’t excuse every other time when he hadn’t. Every time he’d pulled the trigger, or choked the life out of someone with his own hands. A surge of phantom pain stretched to his missing appendage. The metallic stump was still there, patched up but neutralised, just as he’d asked before being put into cryo.
Bucky sighed through his teeth. “What do you want to know?”
T’Challa’s gaze fell to Bucky’s shoulder. “The Arm. We can fix it.” He shrugged. “If you want.”
He spoke so casually, like it was a question about whether you wanted to get ice cream at the fair ground. You can have it if you want it, no big deal.
“Let me get this straight,” Bucky said, feeling the pinpricks of rage dance across his skin. “You’re asking me, a potential time bomb, whether I want my arm back?”
“No,” T’Challa said. “I’m asking you, a man who has lost his arm, whether he would like a new one.”
“What does it matter?” Bucky asked, the anger draining from him as quickly as it had come. He was tired, groggy from cryo, the old aches and pains creeping back into his body from where he was restrained. “It’s not like I’m gonna use it in here.”
“It is a temporary situation,” T’Challa said with a shrug. “Even now, we are looking into a piece of Stark technology. It can isolate key memories and destroy them.” T’Challa’s gaze darkened. “It is very dangerous.”
Bucky smirked. “Sounds it.”
“We have some of the best scientists working around the clock to refine it,” T’Challa continued, arms folded again. “But even if we used it on you, Mr Barnes, even if we could erase the trigger words implanted in your head.” T’Challa tapped his own head for emphasis. “It does not mean that there are not more. The only way that you would find them all, I am afraid, would be to experience them yourself.”
Bucky nodded, or at least as much as he could with his head held at that angle. “Yeah, I get it. Can’t delete the past.”
T’Challa nodded slowly. “Not all of it, unfortunately.”
“Which brings us back to why you want to weaponize me again.”
“Rehabilitate,” T’Challa corrected. “We want to rehabilitate you. Not as a weapon, not even as a vigilante. We want to help.”
“Why?” There was no point in masking the disbelief in his voice, it was a valid question. Despite everything Bucky had done, T’Challa had still volunteered to use his country as a safe house, to keep the wrong people from finding Bucky while he was in cryo. That hospitality had mostly been won over by Steve. So why extend an agreement on the basis of help alone? Bucky couldn’t trust T’Challa, especially not on his home soil. Wakanda was the most technologically advanced country in the world, there was a reason they kept themselves isolated from everyone else.
“You’ve got to know why I’m asking,” Bucky continued before T’Challa could answer. His vocals were grating, scratching his throat with every word, but Bucky ploughed forwards regardless. “A country like Wakanda could do a whole lot with a super soldier that’s missing an arm. Especially considering the technology that’s still wired into me.” Bucky glanced down to his metal shoulder, pursing his lips to hide a rueful smile. “Don’t pretend like this isn’t anything more than a cheap trick to get access to the Arm.”
“The Arm is an old model,” T’Challa said indignantly. “We only want to-”
“Help?” Bucky laughed coldly. “The only thing I asked from you was to wake me when you can get these damned codes outta my head. That’s it.” Bucky’s eyes glazed over as he turned his gaze to T’Challa, regarding him in full for the first time. “Put me back under.”
T’Challa took a step forward, hand outstretched. “Mr Barnes, please reconsider-”
“No.” It felt good, defiance. It sent a raw heat through Bucky’s body, reminding him that he was in control now. He could make these decisions. “I don’t want your help, I can’t be helped, just-”
He lost his train of thought there. Somewhere between the argument, a new figure had appeared in the hallway outside. He strode with purpose from an elevator out of Bucky’s line of sight, sharing a few words with the guards on the outside before a green light flashed on the card reader and the transparent doors glided open to allow him access.
Steve walked through those doors, his expression guarded, but it didn’t fool Bucky. Bucky could read every line on Steve’s face better than his own. Those weren’t things that came back in time, he just knew them instinctively. Steve was upset.
Bucky closed his eyes in frustration. Of course Steve was upset. There were seven cameras in this room; Bucky was an idiot not to think that Steve would be watching from every angle the second this conversation had started.
T’Challa took a step backwards, letting Steve take the main focus of the room. Their gazes locked and Bucky knew that Steve was disappointed. Not necessarily with Bucky’s decision, but more so that this whole situation had been made necessary in the first place.
Without breaking Bucky’s gaze, Steve said, “Get him out of there.”
Bucky closed his eyes again. “Steve-”
“He requested to go back under,” T’Challa said.
Bucky didn’t want to open his eyes again. He knew Steve was still watching him, blue eyes unyielding in their intensity.
“I know.” Steve paused. “Do you still want that, Buck?”
Around Steve, Bucky was never sure what he wanted, except that he didn’t want to hurt him. He’d fought his programming to fish Steve out of the Potomac, punched a hole through the first thing he saw the second after. Disobeying orders had always been met with unyielding, excruciating pain from his handlers, and the Asset had felt ghostly tendrils of that torture the second he’d defied them. It hadn’t stopped him though. Steve had unlocked that part of himself again, drawn out the first memory in a domino effect of others, gradually resurfacing the more that Bucky researched, the more he let himself think.
Not all of those memories were back, but enough to make Bucky uncertain. “I-” He winced, clearing his throat again. “Steve…”
“It’s still your choice, Buck.”
It was. Bucky knew that. Steve would never force him to do anything; if there was one thing he knew for certain, Steve would do everything in his power to make sure that Bucky was safe and comfortable. It was why he’d agreed to let Bucky remain in cryo in the first place. It was what Bucky had wanted – what he had needed, and Steve hadn’t questioned that.
Bucky opened his eyes. Seeing Steve standing there - waiting so patiently for an answer - washed out some of the dread building in his stomach. He sighed. “Let me out.”
Being extracted from the cryo station wasn’t nearly as inhumane as when Hydra had dealt with the Asset. Still, Bucky refused help from the professionals on duty. T’Challa sent them back as soon as Bucky’s position on the subject had been made clear. He wasn’t going to allow his body to be handled by strangers anymore, not if he could help it.
Every brush to his skin from unfamiliar fingers was like having ice water poured over him. Bucky knew that if the Arm had been operational, it would have moved instinctively, damaging people under the guise of protection. Even without it, Bucky had to fight the urge to attack. Having this many people in the room, even on the outskirts, felt too much like his time as the Asset. Watched by his handlers, dragged from room to room like a dog on a leash, so many sedatives in his system that he had barely been conscious of what was happening. That was until his body collided with the chair. Then everything became crystal clear.
Without assistance, however, Bucky knew that movement wasn’t an option. He’d have to, though, because Steve was looking at him again. Bucky didn’t need to hear a single word from his mouth to know that their discussion needed to be private. Or, at least, as private as T’Challa and his men would allow.
As it was, Bucky was leaning the brunt of his weight against the empty cryo station. Six months in cryo was nothing compared to the decades he’d spent in between missions, but the experience of being frozen was something you never got used to, just endured. Bucky’s muscles ached; he had an exhaustion crawling inside of him that went beyond words. The fluorescent lights in the white wash room made everything look unbearably bright and hard to focus. Bucky placed his hand to his head, keeping his metal shoulder locked against the door lest he collapse.
“Buck?”
Steve’s voice cut through the white noise in his head. Bucky glanced upwards, squinting to adjust his focus. It appeared that T’Challa had been speaking to him about something, because he was watching him expectantly.
Bucky cleared his throat. “Huh?”
T’Challa’s eyes softened. Bucky doubted he’d ever been in cryo himself, but considering he had a chamber on hand, the new king had probably seen a fair share of victims to its effects. “I was explaining that there has been a room set up for you. To recover.”
Bucky almost opened his mouth to argue. He wasn’t expecting to be out of cryo long enough to ‘recover’. He had no interest in rehabilitation, and the hollow promise of a new arm was something Bucky refused to trust. At least in the darkness, he wouldn’t have to worry about all this bullshit.
But Steve needed somewhere to talk privately. Bucky assumed the room would be bugged, but really, what they were going to talk about only needed the illusion of privacy. Steve needed it, at least.
So instead, Bucky nodded, wincing as the small action sent pain shooting through his shoulders, down his back. “Lead the way.”
He let Steve help him to the room. Bucky knew when to accept defeat and, out of everyone there, Steve was the only one he trusted to touch him. T’Challa might have been a familiar face, and he might have lent his country as refuge from the outside world, but that still fell a long way from trustworthy.
Steve’s touch was comforting in its simplicity. His arm fit easily around Bucky’s back, offering just the right amount of stability needed for them to make steady progress down the hall.
T’Challa’s security was impressive from what Bucky could make out with his wavering vision. All the doors were protected with state-of-the-art technology, stuff that even Hydra’s extensive training might have overlooked. He suddenly doubted his previous hacking strategy, his mind working automatically to think of a new one. It was something to do, at least, to keep him from gaping at every new room they passed. There had been a time when Bucky had doubted Wakanda’s advances from the rest of the world. Not anymore.
They passed several floors on an elevator. Bucky tried to track how many, but his mind was too unfocused. Instead, he leant himself further into Steve’s shoulder, trusting that he’d stay upright. He could feel Steve’s grip tighten around him, securing him closer to his side. Bucky let his eyes close for just a moment before the elevator dinged and the doors opened.
This floor was obviously more residential in nature. There were no open walls or glass windows, just a row of apartment-style doors set at an equal distance from each other. Bucky could catch the scent of lemon in the air as Steve helped him back into a walking position. Either this hallway had just been cleaned, or Bucky was more delirious than he’d previously thought.
They stopped at one of the doors, and T’Challa turned to face them. “I will not lie to you, this room has cameras in place for your protection.” He looked towards Steve. “But we can shut them off for a restricted amount of time if you wish.”
Bucky smiled inwardly to himself, and Steve said carefully, “If you could.”
T’Challa nodded, casting his gaze towards Bucky. “We will give you twenty four hours to make a final decision about your arm, Mr Barnes.”
Bucky nodded, or he thought he did, before T’Challa left down the hallway. Despite his weakened senses, Bucky could tell there were two security personnel stationed at the elevator doors.
Steve produced a key card from his front pocket, leaving Bucky to lean awkwardly on the wall as he unlocked the door. Bucky frowned, he didn’t remember seeing T’Challa hand Steve that key. Unless, of course…
“You’ve been in here before,” Bucky said the second he stepped into the room. It was a standard size, with hotel-quality furnishing. The king-sized bed was a nice touch, though the thought of something so soft made Bucky’s skin crawl. After escaping Hydra, he’d spent most of his time lying low, squatting from place to place all around Europe, his latest being a barely furnished apartment in Bucharest. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to get used to the idea of comfort again.
Still, even as Bucky’s eyes scanned the area, he could tell he hadn’t been the first person to set foot in the room. The blankets were scuffed with a slight indent that hinted someone had been sat there not long ago. One of the chairs at a table by the window had been pulled out too. Bucky looked to Steve questioningly.
Steve sighed. “T’Challa told me he was going to wake you, I got here as fast as I could.” He looked towards the bed and chair, following Bucky’s thought process like he’d spoken it out loud. “I wanted to scope it out, make sure everything was okay for you.”
“How’d you know I’d let them take me out?” Bucky asked, using the wall as his support as he walked further into the room. The window on the far wall was thick, made of a material that even from this distance, Bucky could tell was probably damn-near indestructible. No wonder T’Challa didn’t mind losing visual for a couple hours, no one could get in or out besides using the front door. And those guards at the elevator didn’t look friendly.
Steve shook his head, watching Bucky’s movements with a wary exhaustion. “I didn’t. I just… hoped.”
That gave Bucky reason to pause, the sudden stop causing his vision to swim. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth.
“Hey,” Steve said, moving to Bucky’s side. “Do you wanna sit? You look ready to keel over.”
“Yeah,” Bucky said, letting Steve guide him to the bed. The mattress was too soft, just as he’d expected, but he wasn’t in any position to care. “Thanks.”
“Do you want some water?” Steve asked, gesturing to the mini fridge. “I know cryo makes you thirsty, they should have offered you some.”
“Sure.” Bucky fought off the urge to smile. Steve was so protective of him, openly angry with the fact that a bunch of security personnel hadn’t thought it necessary to give the Winter Soldier a glass of water. His memories of Steve dictated that this was normal behaviour for him, but they also told him that a long while ago, the roles had been reversed.
Bucky fought to keep the idea of the man he’d once been alive in his head somehow, but he knew he could never be that person again. Not with all he’d done. Not like that’d stop Steve, though. There was no stopping him once he had his head wrapped around something.
Steve handed him a bottle of water. It was expensive looking stuff, better quality than anything Bucky had drank in his life. He held it on his lap to uncap it, lifting it to his mouth. It was only when the first drops hit his lips that he realised how thirsty he was. He was done with the bottle in a few seconds, breathing slowly through his nose to stave off any possible signs of nausea.
Steve handed him another one, and Bucky drank it again without a word. It was only on his third bottle that he slowed down, only taking a few drawn sips before placing it at the carpet by his feet.
Steve had watched him the whole time, but Bucky didn’t regard it like the way his handlers had observed him. There was nothing sinister in the way Steve stood there; he was too open for that, watching Bucky’s movements like he just wanted to drink in every spec of his existence.
Finally, Steve sighed. “You look… tired.”
Bucky smiled. “So do you.” Despite all he’d been through, Bucky could see the exhaustion behind Steve’s own eyes. He’d said he’d got to Wakanda as soon as he’d been told the plans of Bucky’s awakening. When had that been? Where had he been before that? How far had he had to travel, and by what means? He was practically a wanted man at this point. Bucky wanted to shake his head in exasperation. Steve barrelled into everything without thinking about himself. It was so… natural to him. And natural for Bucky to remember it.
Steve shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Part of the job, I guess.”
“How’s that going?” Bucky asked. He wasn’t sure why he was asking. Maybe to fill the silence, maybe because a part of him was genuinely curious.
Steve gave a rueful smile. “Just as well as you’d think.”
Bucky dipped his head. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Steve’s voice was stern, that same protectiveness present in his tone.
“It kinda is.” Bucky knew he was right. The fight between Steve and Tony Stark had erupted because of him. He could remember getting those orders. He remembered every collision the Arm had made with Howard Stark’s face, could remember the grip of his flesh hand around Maria Stark’s throat. They haunted him, as so many others did. They’d never leave him alone, and for good reason. Bucky didn’t deserve their forgiveness.
“This isn’t about that,” Steve said softly. “This is about you, and what T’Challa is offering.”
Bucky groaned, pressing his forehead into his hand. His body ached, his head hurt and he really didn’t want to be having this conversation. “He’s not offering squat, Steve, he just wants a reason to study the Arm.”
“Really?” Steve asked. “Have you looked at this place? Seen the kinda tech they use? Something tells me yours might be an old model to them.”
Bucky shook his head in exasperation. “Use your head, Steve. Why else would he help me?”
“Believe it or not, Buck, some people just want to help.”
Bucky groaned. “Yeah, you remind me that every time you open your goddamned mouth.”
Bucky felt the mattress shift next to him as Steve sat down, hands clasped against his lap. “I know you don’t trust him, but I do. He’s a good man.”
“He’s also a king,” Bucky said matter-of-factly, “they’re notorious liars.” He could have extended his explanation with a deadpan joke about how many political leaders Hydra had him kill for that very reason. Somehow, Bucky didn’t think that joke would have been well received.
“Buck.”
Something about Steve’s tone of voice made Bucky’s heart twist. He didn’t like it, the way Steve could just say his name and make everything he believed fly straight out the window. It reminded him too much of the lack of control he’d had as the Asset. But at the same time he couldn’t think of it that way, because there were too many memories connected to it. Most of them, he couldn’t even recall, he just knew they were there, waiting to find him one day. God, he wished for that day, harder than he’d ever let anyone know.
Despite himself, Bucky turned to him. Steve’s eyes were open, he wasn’t hiding anything, he never did with Bucky. Steve sighed. “Is this really about T’Challa? Or is this because you just don’t want to come out?”
Bucky blinked. The question was confusing, more-so due to his current state. It took him a moment to understand his words and, when he did, his stomach sank.
“I-” Bucky shook his head. “I’m a liability, Steve. A weapon. T’Challa said it himself, no matter what he can do for me, I’m never gonna be fixed. Not fully. Not ever.”
“So you’d rather just stay in cryo forever?” Steve’s voice was wavering, Bucky could tell.
“No.” Bucky paused. “Yes. I-I’m not sure. I’m never sure. Every decision I make I just…” He drew off, at a loss for words. How could he explain this to Steve? He’d been a monster for so long, every time he closed his eyes he’d see the faces of those he’d killed. If he was free of that for a night, he’d have nightmares of the torture he’d been induced with instead, or the stone-faced training sessions of people just like him. He’d done so much to help Hydra’s cause in so many different armed forces across the globe. He couldn’t take that back and he could barely sleep. It was killing him.
“It’s better for me,” he said finally, “when I can’t dream.”
Steve flinched. “I get that, Buck, I do, but if that’s how you really feel…” Steve took a breath, looking Bucky fully in the eyes. His gaze was piercing, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “What kept you going? If you were in that much pain, why did you run and not just-”
“End it?” Steve’s sharp intake of breath was all Bucky needed to hear. He shook his head. “I thought about it. Considered it a lot, actually. When I first started making decisions of my own, I thought it’d be for the best, to just… decide to kill myself. Knowing it was me that was choosing it. Not anyone else.”
Steve stayed silent, listening intently. Bucky sighed. “I wanted it to end. Still do sometimes. But, then I started remembering. It started with you, back in DC, but I started filling in the blanks for myself. Went to that god-awful museum of yours.”
Steve’s chest heaved with an involuntary chuckle. Bucky smiled. “I figured you’d done so much for me, I owed it to you to stay alive, and I guess, the more I remembered you, the more I wanted it for myself. To find a way to live.” His eyes glazed over a moment, lost in one of a few recent memories he actually enjoyed. “I was in Romania a while, other places before that, but always small towns, places that’d be hard to track… it was nice. To live again. To talk to people. To feel… free.” Bucky shrugged, swiping a hand over his face. God, why was he saying all this? He was exhausted, he decided, he was just talking to stave off the inevitable black-out.
Bucky felt Steve’s hand wrap around his shoulders. The gesture was sudden and he felt like he should have reacted, but he didn’t have the energy. He blinked slowly. “Cryo helps blot out the nightmares, but a part of me likes living.”
“Then why don’t you?”
Bucky smiled, finding himself instinctively searching for closer contact. He pressed his cheek into Steve’s shoulder. “I’m a weapon, Steve, those trigger words opened my mind. I don’t want to be a tool for anyone, not ever again.”
“But if T’Challa can really get rid of them-”
“I don’t know.” Bucky’s eyes were starting to lose their focus, he could barely see the room in front of him. “Is it worth it?”
“It’s always worth it.”
Bucky felt Steve’s head brush against him as they leaned into each other. It was quiet for a while, neither of them willing to say much else. Bucky’s exhaustion was catching up on him, his body urging him to sleep. Steve’s warmth felt so good though, it had been so long since he’d been close to him like this. Seventy years, in fact. Groggily, Bucky pressed his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, running his lips across the skin there with lazy kisses. Steve stiffened a moment when he realised what Bucky was doing, but softened once Bucky’s lips reached his jawline, slowly chasing upwards until their mouths finally met.
The kiss was filled with a familiarity Bucky had been waiting for since the memories had started coming back. His body was working from muscle memory alone, the rest of him far too exhausted to consider the impact of a kiss. Bucky could feel Steve’s hand lift, winding through his long hair, pulling at the strands. He secured his only hand on the back of Steve’s neck and, before he realised it, they were lying on the bed together, pulled away, breathing heavy, staring into each other’s eyes.
Steve’s gaze was full of reluctance. “Bucky?” Again, with just the use of his name, Bucky could tell so much. His tone of voice was questioning, concerned. Had he gone too far? Should he have let Bucky do that? But most importantly, Steve wanted to know if Bucky remembered.
“What kind of sucker do you take me for?” Bucky asked with a smile. “I figured you out the minute you started askin’ about girls I used to date.” His eyes were starting to fall closed again, but he kept it at bay for a little longer. “It didn’t come back right away, but I always had a hunch.” Bucky shrugged almost to himself. “I knew I loved you.”
Steve chuckled quietly. “You’re exhausted, Buck.”
“I know what I’m saying,” Bucky said, though Steve was right. It didn’t matter that this mattress felt like he’d sink to the ground and keep on going, didn’t matter that he was in an unfamiliar space with specialised guards waiting at the end of the hall. All that mattered was this moment, and finally getting some sleep. Bucky wasn’t naïve enough to think he’d go nightmare-free, but in that moment it didn’t matter.
At some point, Steve must have tucked him in, because between black-outs, Bucky felt the warmth of crisp sheets around him, and then a different warmth of a familiar body wrapped around his own. He let himself sink into proper unconsciousness then, safe in the knowledge that he wasn’t alone.
Sometime the next morning, Bucky found himself standing in front of the mirror by the door, fused into the wall as an extra ‘safety’ measure. He could see Steve from the reflection, sound asleep behind him. At some point during the night, they’d migrated to the floor beside the bed.
Bucky’s slumber had only been disturbed once by a nightmare that had rocked him back into consciousness, but Steve had calmed him, rubbed circles on his back until he could focus again. Steve had known exactly what to do, what kind of interactions to make to ensure Bucky could tell what was real. He’d let Bucky’s hand explore his body until he was certain that what he could feel was definitely there and not an illusion. A brief glimpse of something in his mind had reminded Bucky that this wasn’t the first time they’d done this, reassured each other that they were most definitely awake. During the war, everyone had had their fair share of sleepless nights.
After the nightmare, Bucky had been alert enough to find the softness of the mattress unbearable. The floor had seemed the best option, and without needing to voice his thoughts, Steve had already been a step ahead of him, gathering the sheets in bundles before throwing them across the carpet.
Now Steve was alone on the floor and Bucky couldn’t help but stare at the metal stump where the Arm used to be.
The question T’Challa had thrown out had been plaguing him more than he cared to admit. The proposition of a new arm was tempting, and though Steve had been right that a lot of his insecurities came more-so out of the idea that he couldn’t trust himself – that didn’t mean he trusted T’Challa any more than he had last night.
Still, the Arm had become a constant in Bucky’s life. Despite its ties to Hydra, the Arm had been Bucky’s, connected to his mind on a level that went beyond his comprehension. The Arm had been his best weapon, he’d relied on it for more than he realised, especially after losing it again. The phantom pain would come and go, surging between mild to unbearable, and every time Bucky thought about regaining that connection again, having his arm back to a degree… it made him wish that he could trust T’Challa. Maybe it was just old programming dictating his thoughts, driving him to find a replacement so he could perform at optimum functionality, but Bucky didn’t think so.
A glimpse of movement withdrew his attention. “Mornin’ sunshine,” Bucky said without thinking, glancing back to acknowledge a sleepy-faced Steve, hair mussed and eyes bleary.
Steve stretched, rubbing a hand over his face. “How long have you been awake?”
Bucky shrugged. He’d be lying if he said he felt completely rejuvenated, he definitely hadn’t slept the time required for his body to fully recover from cryo, but his body wasn’t complaining like it had been last night. He felt shockingly good.
Once Steve had woken up some, he noticed Bucky’s position at the mirror. “What you thinking?” he asked solemnly.
Bucky watched his reflection reluctantly. It was hard to believe that he was the same man physically as the one he’d gathered intel on back at the museum, but the memories didn’t lie. He didn’t want them to. He found himself staring at his metal shoulder again, a knot of confusion winding itself through his gut. “I’m not sure,” he mused.
“T’Challa’s offer,” Steve said for him as he stood up, taking the sheets with him as an afterthought. “You gonna take it?”
“I-” Bucky cleared his throat. It didn’t hurt like it had last time, reminding him just what a little sleep could offer. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He wanted an arm, he wanted the chance to live, but he also wanted those codes out of his head before he left Wakanda. If he could leave Wakanda. He looked back to Steve. Where was he in his life now? Leading a bunch of rag-tag vigilantes, hiding from the law, did he even have time for Bucky? The kiss they’d shared last night came to mind and Bucky immediately felt guilty. He shouldn’t have thrown that kind of emotion down last night, not with all that Steve was dealing with.
Steve made the bed behind him as he considered everything, all the events from last night, all the memories that actually clung to his head instead of falling through the cracks. Those persistent ones always seemed to involve Steve. Bucky looked down to the metal stump once more. It seemed Steve and the Arm had something in common. They were both constants in his mind, no matter what he did.
“I told you I loved you last night.” Bucky wasn’t sure why he was saying that. He had so much on his mind, he was surprised those were the first words that came out of his mouth. Yet, a distant part of him was also completely unsurprised.
Steve paused by the bed, looking upwards. “You did.”
“I meant it,” Bucky said, hearing the sudden wariness in Steve’s tone. “I remember that.”
Steve opened his mouth, seemingly at a loss for words. Finally, he ducked his head, focusing on rearranging the pillows. “I love you too.”
Typical of Steve to hide his face, he always got so red when they addressed stuff like that. Bucky blinked, that was a new thought, a memory he didn’t even notice until it was already at the forefront of his mind. He shook his head. “What does that mean for us?”
Steve finished his task, finally looking up to regard Bucky. “Whatever you want it to mean.”
“I want the new arm,” Bucky said quickly, holding his hand up the minute Steve started grinning. “But I don’t want… I don’t want to use it, not until I can get the trigger words outta my head.”
Steve’s gaze softened. “You don’t have to be in cryo for that.”
“Have to? No.” Bucky shook his head. “Need to? Yeah. I do. Nothing’s changed on that.”
Steve sat heavily onto the bed, wringing his hands. “T’Challa says that could take several more months, he’s looking into it himself, along with a handful of specially selected scientists for the task, those are his words, not mine.” Steve looked to the floor. “But even with that kind of brain power at his disposal, he’s not sure how safe the procedure would be.”
Bucky wandered to the bed, sitting himself down beside Steve. “I’ve been through a Hell of a lot. What’s a little more pain to get this shit outta my head?” When Steve didn’t answer, Bucky nudged his shoulder. “I get that you don’t want me to, but it’s Hydra and it’s in my head, constantly. I know there’s stuff T’Challa can’t fix, but these codes, these words that I don’t even remember, who knows how many people know about them out there, how many could twist my mind in just a few seconds.” Bucky shook his head, running his hand over his face. “I don’t wanna hurt good people anymore, Stevie, ‘specially not you.”
Steve was silent a long while. Finally, though, he sighed. “What will you do if it works?”
“Get the Hell outta Wakanda.” Bucky shrugged. “Y’know, if I’m not a prisoner that is.”
“You know you’re not.”
“I don’t.” Bucky chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I wanna live. See the world. Clear my head.”
Steve rubbed his arm against Bucky’s. “On your own?”
“You’ve got shit to deal with, Steve, I’m not asking you to run away with me.”
“I’m not saying that,” Steve said. “I just… where we are now, in hiding, at least, we move around a lot, keep our heads down.”
Bucky smirked. “See the world?”
Steve nudged him. “In a way.”
“You’d really do that? Let me come with you?”
Steve smiled. “Buck, I’ve been trying to find you for two years, I don’t wanna let you outta my sight ever again.”
Something warm flooded inside of Bucky’s chest. He’d known kissing Steve that first time had been a mistake, putting him in a position where he was forced to choose between his team and his boyfriend. But if he could go with them… if he could experience the world with Steve at his side. Nothing sounded better.
“Would your team be up for it?” Bucky asked quietly. “They weren’t exactly on good terms with me,” his eyes narrowed in thought, “six months ago.”
“They chose my side. And if they’re on my side, they’re on your side.” Steve wound his arm around Bucky’s back, the closeness making him shiver, but in a good way. “We’re a package deal.”
Bucky laughed. “Yeah. I like the sound of that.”
“There are a few models you might like to look at before making any final decisions.”
They were in one of the building’s many research rooms, filled with assorted technology all far out of reach from anything Hydra had implanted in Bucky’s head. Still, Bucky nodded along, intrigued with the knowledge that he had options, a choice to make.
T’Challa walked them down to the furthest wall where a holographic projector had been set up. If he or any of his men had turned the cameras back on last night, they showed no knowledge of it. It was hard to tell whether they questioned the closeness between Bucky and Steve now, in regards to their earlier closeness the day before. Maybe it wasn’t noticeable, or maybe Bucky was thinking too much into it.
T’Challa produced a small remote from his pocket, pressing a button. The lights dimmed and the holographic projector came to life, exploding outwards in a collection of colour and images. There were three 3D models floating before Bucky now, all looking extraordinary in their uniqueness.
“We have determined that Hydra always planned for the Arm to be updated with the latest technology the moment it was available to them.” T’Challa gestured to the models. “Because of this, you will find we cannot fit you with an ordinary prosthetic.”
“The future is now,” Bucky murmured to himself, his eyes wandering across the models. The first one looked like a normal flesh arm at first glance, but the images would rapidly change between a slide show of others, showing the intricate mechanics of what lay inside. Bucky understood some of the jargon; the Asset had been supplied with enough knowledge on the Arm that, if a handler or technician had been unavailable, he would be able to temporarily secure damages so that he may complete the mission.
Most of it, however, was beyond him. And from the look on Steve’s face, he wasn’t alone.
T’Challa noticed Bucky’s interest and nodded towards the model. It enlarged automatically. “This one is the closest we could get to a downgrade. It is lightweight, easy to carry and although it has enhanced strength, it is easy to maintain and comes with a flesh-like covering for undercover purposes.”
Bucky nodded along, mesmerised. Hydra had never bothered to give the Arm any form of camouflage. If his mission had required stealth or false identities, he was simply supplied with long sleeved gear.
His eyes moved to the next model as T’Challa brought it up. “This one,” he said, “is more like your last model, updated only enough that your body will not reject it.” He shrugged. “It was easy enough to replicate, though we made it lighter. Your last model was too heavy, causing chronic pain through the shoulders and spine.”
Bucky winced when he saw Steve’s gaze move to him. He’d never mentioned that before, mostly because the Asset had learned to adapt. Chronic pain wasn’t so bad compared to the other things he’d faced and honestly, Bucky had only begun to notice it when he’d escaped Hydra’s clutches.
T’Challa pressed another button and the final model enlarged. At a smaller size, Bucky hadn’t noticed its intricate design. Now that he could see it, his mouth very nearly fell open.
Steve watched Bucky’s reaction and looked at the model closer, trying to understand what had him so excited. “What?”
T’Challa, however, was smiling. “I thought you might like this one,” he mused. “The final design took us a lot longer. Its model is designed to adapt to any situation. It is a decent weight, fitted with built-in camouflage. It is strong, designed to take almost three times the weight of your last model. And, of course, unbreakable.”
Steve’s eyes widened at that. “Unbreakable? Really?”
T’Challa nodded, his smile spreading to a grin. “On Earth at least. It is made from Vibranium.”
The design was sleek, the metal slightly darker from his last, but plated just the same. Still, it was sharper, somehow, more stunning. Bucky had a hard time looking away.
He wasn’t sure what he was going to be in the future. He’d agreed that once T’Challa had refined Stark’s tech, he would go with Steve, join their rag-tag little gang. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but knowing Steve, it didn’t mean he’d be crawling into the shadows any time soon. They were vigilantes and Bucky… Bucky wasn’t. He supposed he could be, even without the Vibranium arm, but that was a thought for another day. Right now, he just had to think about whether he’d make that reality an option at all. What arm did he want? The safe choice, the old model, or…
“I’ve made my choice,” Bucky said, looking to T’Challa. The smile on the king’s face was genuine and, for a moment, Bucky reconsidered the lack of trust he was willing to extend to him. Maybe, just this once, there wasn’t an ulterior motive.
Maybe.
T’Challa debriefed him the next day, assuring Bucky that they’d fix him with the Vibranium arm as soon as they’d gotten rid of the trigger codes and not a second before.
Bucky didn’t want that kind of power until he was sure there wasn’t an easy access-code into his mind. Maybe he had other trigger words, maybe he’d find them out along the way, but he was tired of seeing himself as a problem that couldn’t be fixed. He either lived forever in a frozen tube or actually got out and saw the world. He could save people along the way, who knew, he could work to be a good person.
He’d tried living the unassuming, undercover route of a squatter trekking through Europe, but whatever part of him he looked at – the soldier from Brooklyn, the Asset from Hydra, he was still a fighter. And if he had this serum inside of him, if he had the chance to redeem at least a part of his soul, he’d take it. Because, really, anything else just didn’t sit right. And doing all of that with Steve at his side, with other people who’d endured just as he had, well, he couldn’t think of any way better to live his life.
But for right now, his next step was clear. Get back into the ice and wait a few months to get his head cleared out. It was dangerous, he knew, but he had the confidence that it would work, a confidence that must have been brought out by spending too much time with the goddamned star-spangled man with a plan that was Steve Rogers.
Once he’d been prepped for cryo, Steve asked for a moment alone, to say goodbye. Again, the sentiment was useless, Bucky could still count those same seven cameras that had been there before, but Steve didn’t care, and Bucky didn’t either.
“I’ll be waiting for you when you get out,” Steve assured. “Make sure that everything goes according to plan.”
Bucky smiled. “Yeah, wouldn’t want Stark’s tech to fry my brain.” It was always a possibility, considering how much pain he’d put the man through.
Steve shook his head. “You’re sure you wanna go through with this?”
“Yes.” It was the only decision he wouldn’t budge on. “I need this Steve.”
“I know.” Steve lifted his arm, running his hand across Bucky’s cheek. Bucky closed his eyes, leaning his head into that small gesture. To him, the next time he’d see Steve would be moments away, but he still savoured it, knowing fully well how long Steve would have to wait on the other end.
“Don’t do anything crazy while I’m gone,” Bucky said instinctively. “No jumping off buildings, outta elevators, and for God’s sake, use a fucking parachute.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m never gonna live that one down, am I?”
Bucky shrugged. “You could have, if it’d only happened one time.”
Instead of waiting for Steve to argue, Bucky used that small distraction to grab his face and bring him forward. When their lips met, that same familiar warmth spread inside Bucky’s chest, reminding him of all the moments they’d done this before. Their apartment in Brooklyn, cold nights in a tent during the war, the day Bucky had been rescued from Hydra. And then the two of them on the bed together in Wakanda, staring into each other’s eyes like they’d been searching the stars. That memory was concrete now, vibrant in its colour; it didn’t slip away like so many others had since his memory had started repairing itself. Bucky grinned against Steve’s mouth, maybe this would be the first step to his recovery.
They drew away from each other, flushed and happy. Steve pressed his forehead into Bucky’s and they shared a moment of silence before T’Challa and his men walked back in.
Bucky got into the cryo chamber, the scientists on guard all too aware of his wariness among strangers. They fastened the straps on his arms and legs, using minimal physical contact to get his head resting at the right angle.
Once it was finished and the doors were closed, T’Challa told Bucky to count to ten in his mind, to make it easier. Bucky didn’t care about making it easier, though, he’d walked this street a thousand times. Instead, he looked at Steve, fixing his gaze on him. This would be the last time he willingly put himself through cryo, the last time he’d feel the darkness easing him in. The last time he wouldn’t dream.
Bucky closed his eyes, feeling the air in the chamber freeze before it reached him.
His body tensed for a second, and then it was over. Darkness greeted him for the last time.