Finally, the picture was out of his head. Bucky closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the couch. With the weight of the image gone, he can finally think again -- process the events of the day properly. Steve had made a particularly nice dinner that night that Bucky should really thank him for. And he was pretty sure he'd rejected Steve's overtures in bed this morning, so now that his head's clear again, he should really make it up to Steve tonight....
Bucky leaned over to nuzzle in Steve's shoulder, and found it stiff and unyielding.
Bucky sat up instantly. Steve sat stiffly beside him, fists clenched and resting on his thighs, right hand holding a pencil that he'd snapped. For Steve to be this stiff -- whatever was in his head was Very Bad. Another victim of assassination? Maybe the look on Howard's face when....
Then Bucky caught sight of the sketch that was laid carefully on the coffee table. It wasn't a victim, it was him. Bucky shivered. It was *that* moment. He'd forgotten until now, but...
"You said this was the moment when you decided to stop existing." Steve said quietly beside him. "When you gave up."
Bucky swallowed. That was true, but also much more complicated. And even though half of it was lost in the mess of his memory, this was something that Steve needed to understand. Something that he needed Steve to understand.
"This was... early. They'd amputated my arm but were still working on different prototypes. They told me that you were dead, and that everyone thought I was dead, so ... it was just me." Bucky gently touched all his bruises in the picture. Funny how he didn't remember any of that part. "This... this stuff wasn't particularly new. I'd long gotten used to the everyday torture stuff, and it always healed. They'd keep me in the dark for a couple of days, then pull me out and the torture happened again." He chuckled. "I was like Prometheus -- stuck on the rock -- couldn't do anything about the vulture, but it couldn't exactly kill me, either."
Bucky picked up the sketch and leaned in to Steve, pushing him and feeling him loosen a bit. "But this one time... they threw me in like usual but forgot to close the food latch, so light came in and reflected off the two-way mirror in the back." He didn't even know he was in a converted interrogation room until then, and that he was being watched the entire time. Not that that's hardly surprising. "It was the first time I really saw myself, my whole self since ... well, since London."
“And seeing myself like that... at first I didn't even recognize myself." What had gotten to him the most was the stubble, actually. Bucky had always stayed clean-shaven for as he could remember. "And seeing the actual physical evidence of what they'd been doing to me --- I realized that they weren't going to give up, that even if this current batch of HYDRA got bored or whatever, there'd always be another batch. They're right, you know ... it doesn't do much just to cut off the head of an..."
"...ideology" Steve said, grimly. Bucky shrugged. He was going to say "institution" but Steve always thought about these things differently. And at this this shows that Steve was thinking about what he was saying.
"So when I saw myself like that ... I knew that I couldn't win. That even if I kept fighting and refused their demands until I died, that's still not winning. No matter what, I wasn't going to see my family again, or really do anything else a normal person would. As far as anyone was concerned, Bucky Barnes was dead." Bucky could feel Steve trembling from emotion beside him, but he kept going.
"In fact, the only person who still cared that I was still Bucky was me, and at that moment, I didn't care very much." Bucky shrugged. "So I decided to stop. It was easier that way, to give up the stuff that was important to Bucky that wasn't doing me or anyone else a jot of good. For all this time, I'd been clinging to my name, my serial number, but the man in the mirror wasn't Bucky Barnes. I didn't even know it until I saw myself in that reflection, but I'd stopped being Bucky somewhere in the middle of all that had happened." Bucky remembered the clarity of that decision, the reassurance and calm that came from realizing that Bucky Barnes didn't matter anymore.
Steve caught him in a tight hug and Bucky almost laughed. Steve could be such a sap sometimes. He responded by pressing reassuringly into the embrace. "It's all right, Steve. *You* remembered Bucky Barnes. And when you did... suddenly it started mattering again." Bucky thought back to the helicarrier. "Sure, I gave up on Bucky, but you didn't."
Mini-fill: Out of Focus [Epilogue]
----
Finally, the picture was out of his head. Bucky closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the couch. With the weight of the image gone, he can finally think again -- process the events of the day properly. Steve had made a particularly nice dinner that night that Bucky should really thank him for. And he was pretty sure he'd rejected Steve's overtures in bed this morning, so now that his head's clear again, he should really make it up to Steve tonight....
Bucky leaned over to nuzzle in Steve's shoulder, and found it stiff and unyielding.
Bucky sat up instantly. Steve sat stiffly beside him, fists clenched and resting on his thighs, right hand holding a pencil that he'd snapped. For Steve to be this stiff -- whatever was in his head was Very Bad. Another victim of assassination? Maybe the look on Howard's face when....
Then Bucky caught sight of the sketch that was laid carefully on the coffee table. It wasn't a victim, it was him. Bucky shivered. It was *that* moment. He'd forgotten until now, but...
"You said this was the moment when you decided to stop existing." Steve said quietly beside him. "When you gave up."
Bucky swallowed. That was true, but also much more complicated. And even though half of it was lost in the mess of his memory, this was something that Steve needed to understand. Something that he needed Steve to understand.
"This was... early. They'd amputated my arm but were still working on different prototypes. They told me that you were dead, and that everyone thought I was dead, so ... it was just me." Bucky gently touched all his bruises in the picture. Funny how he didn't remember any of that part. "This... this stuff wasn't particularly new. I'd long gotten used to the everyday torture stuff, and it always healed. They'd keep me in the dark for a couple of days, then pull me out and the torture happened again." He chuckled. "I was like Prometheus -- stuck on the rock -- couldn't do anything about the vulture, but it couldn't exactly kill me, either."
Bucky picked up the sketch and leaned in to Steve, pushing him and feeling him loosen a bit. "But this one time... they threw me in like usual but forgot to close the food latch, so light came in and reflected off the two-way mirror in the back." He didn't even know he was in a converted interrogation room until then, and that he was being watched the entire time. Not that that's hardly surprising. "It was the first time I really saw myself, my whole self since ... well, since London."
“And seeing myself like that... at first I didn't even recognize myself." What had gotten to him the most was the stubble, actually. Bucky had always stayed clean-shaven for as he could remember. "And seeing the actual physical evidence of what they'd been doing to me --- I realized that they weren't going to give up, that even if this current batch of HYDRA got bored or whatever, there'd always be another batch. They're right, you know ... it doesn't do much just to cut off the head of an..."
"...ideology" Steve said, grimly. Bucky shrugged. He was going to say "institution" but Steve always thought about these things differently. And at this this shows that Steve was thinking about what he was saying.
"So when I saw myself like that ... I knew that I couldn't win. That even if I kept fighting and refused their demands until I died, that's still not winning. No matter what, I wasn't going to see my family again, or really do anything else a normal person would. As far as anyone was concerned, Bucky Barnes was dead." Bucky could feel Steve trembling from emotion beside him, but he kept going.
"In fact, the only person who still cared that I was still Bucky was me, and at that moment, I didn't care very much." Bucky shrugged. "So I decided to stop. It was easier that way, to give up the stuff that was important to Bucky that wasn't doing me or anyone else a jot of good. For all this time, I'd been clinging to my name, my serial number, but the man in the mirror wasn't Bucky Barnes. I didn't even know it until I saw myself in that reflection, but I'd stopped being Bucky somewhere in the middle of all that had happened." Bucky remembered the clarity of that decision, the reassurance and calm that came from realizing that Bucky Barnes didn't matter anymore.
Steve caught him in a tight hug and Bucky almost laughed. Steve could be such a sap sometimes. He responded by pressing reassuringly into the embrace. "It's all right, Steve. *You* remembered Bucky Barnes. And when you did... suddenly it started mattering again." Bucky thought back to the helicarrier. "Sure, I gave up on Bucky, but you didn't."