The deprogrammer Natasha had sent to the Tower tapped his pen against a pad of paper. “Can you tell me in your own words why you made this appointment?”
Intensely uncomfortable, Steve said, “I didn’t. Natasha made it for me.”
“Hmm,” he said. When Steve didn’t say anything more, he asked, “So why am I here?”
Steve grit his teeth. “I thought she told you.“
“It’s important that you articulate it.”
Swallowing, Steve tried to put his thoughts in order. They kept being scattered by the wild anxiety of having Bucky out of sight. “I’ve been undercover with HYDRA for the last several months. I’ve been working to infiltrate them since shortly after the Chitauri invasion.”
”And? Why are we here today, Steve?”
“Can’t I just talk to Natasha about this stuff instead?” How could he ever tell this complete stranger what he’d done?
“I’m not here to judge you. This isn’t a debriefing. I’m here to help you.”
Yeah, right. Easy to say when he didn’t know what there was to judge Steve for.
This wasn't going to work out. He'd promised Natasha he would give it a try, but it was too much like talking to the doctor who came to the Retreat. Natasha must have known he wouldn't be comfortable with this. Maybe it was some kind of test?
The first week went from painful and awkward to hellish. Both supersoldiers were anxious and paranoid. Steve’s time as the asset’s handler gave him some experience with the traps in the Barnes protocols, but it was easy to spiral into panic over the uncertainty of Bucky’s beliefs.
The asset’s stable duration out of stasis isn’t ten days, Rumlow had said.
Steve had seen that for himself. At least he could avoid most of the violence he had accidentally triggered at the Retreat, but there was no avoiding the confusion, agitation, and mood swings. Bucky was on a hair trigger and definitely wasn’t hiding the sexual interest he was trying to present, but he wasn’t aggressive even when clingy. He offered himself. He didn’t try to initiate touch without permission. Steve hated that he couldn’t trust his own judgment as to what was conditioning and what was true.
And was before Natasha arrived from DC to remind him that truth was not all things to all people all the time. Followed by Barton who showed up later in the week to help himself to breakfast and deliver a horrifyingly insightful yet excruciatingly awkward speech about how long-term survival in the power of psychopaths meant subscribing to whatever reality those with the power were selling.
The main reason Steve didn’t tell him to stop talking was that Bucky had nearly beaten his face in again that morning and he didn’t want to aggravate anything. Well, that and his current desperation for a distraction.
Bucky wasn’t with him because Bucky was down in Bruce’s lab, sedated with one of the formulas Steve had stolen from HYDRA, while Bruce and Tony consulted an actual medical doctor about removing the few trackers Tony had been able to deactivate but not remove the night they had arrived.
He had half-expected to need to convince Bucky to let them sedate him, but Bucky had simply complied without argument, clinging to Steve's hand as he turned his head from the needle and closed his eyes. Bruce and Tony weren't the tech team, but Steve was sure the compliance had very little to do with having hurt Steve. Not long after that, Tony had told him to get out before his hand-wringing provoked a Code Green. Steve wasn’t much good at cooking anything that didn’t need boiling, but he could operate a toaster and scramble some eggs. He had started making food in supersoldier quantities to distract himself and ended up making breakfast for everyone after the assassins turned up.
"The Soldier was in for, what, all the way since '44, '45?"
"'52," contributed Natasha through a bite of toast. She was paging through a file in Russian that Steve hadn't been allowed to look at yet. "They really started working on him in '52. Cryo before then."
A year ago, Steve might have shuddered. Now, all he did was push his own plate away. "Buh ee dosn wi me," he protested.
"Promising sign," Natasha said, but she didn't sound happy about it. "But right now, that means no one is in full control of him and his sense of reality is breaking down."
Clint nodded.
"Expect things to get worse before they get better."
"Way worse," Clint confirmed.
Wonderful. Steve resisted the urge to put his head in his hands only because Bucky had fractured his cheekbone that morning.
"By the way," said Natasha, tapping the edge of the file against the table to straighten the papers before setting it down.
Steve made an affirmative grunt. Maybe she would tell him something he could really use to help Bucky, but he didn't really expect much.
"Have you eaten anything today?" She cast a concerned look at his untouched eggs.
He could feel his face twist, but he shook his head.
"Nothing?"
He shook his head again.
She sighed and tossed him a silver-packed block. "Remember what Bruce said?"
Steve sighed and opened the package. Three quarters every other day this week, half next week, and a quarter the week after, he remembered, making a face at the cloudy yellowish block. Apparently, all of the full-time food department had been HYDRA. Certain agents, Steve included, had been chemically manipulated as a matter of routine. The effect was that they grew antsier and antsier the longer they were away from work. It reinforced dependence and decreased the chance of forming stable relationships outside of the HYDRA coworkers. Of course, Steve's general level of anxiety had been high enough his pre-serum self would have dropped dead from stress a dozen times over. It was hard to tell how much effect the drugs had had on Steve, but Bucky needed to be weaned off them too, at much higher dosage, so they might as well both do it the easy way. Added to that, Bucky had been sharing his higher dosage drugs with Steve almost anytime they shared food on missions.
"That stuff is so weird," Clint said, watching Steve swallow chunks of drugged oily calorie bar. "It looks like something people put out for birds in the winter. Suet? Just without any seeds."
It would be better with seeds. "Don thin they designed for taste," Steve mumbled. It hurt to talk, but it hadn't been his jaw and it was probably only a hairline fracture by now.
"Oh, they probably did," Natasha corrected, "just not to be tasty."
Glancing at the clock on the microwave, Steve moved to get up.
"Stay in that chair, Steve. You have fifteen more minutes," Natasha said without looking. "You won't do anyone any favors showing up like that."
The drugs were already kicking in, fast like he remembered from the first time he'd had any on an empty stomach at the Lockbox. Without consciously deciding to obey, he dropped back into his chair and slumped back. There was an enormous bowl of scrambled eggs in front of him. As much as he wanted to get the taste out of his mouth, he didn't think he could stomach anything immediately after choking down the drugged rations.
"I just..." He stared at the ceiling and tried to speak without moving his face too much. "I wish he'd stop offering himself up. Sexually, I mean," he clarified with a wince that had nothing to do with his physical pain.
"Is it better or worse because you wish you could take him up on it?" Clint asked shrewdly.
"Way worse," Steve said, absolutely certain. Maybe I can fire the deprogrammer and just talk to Clint?
Neither supersoldier slept well or deeply, even though they slept better together. On the eleventh night since leaving HYDRA, Steve woke to Bucky gasping his name. His body was tense like he was struggling not to move and he was breathing heavily.
"Steve... Please... Don't... Steve. I. Steve..."
Steve sat up. There were limited phrases he could safely use to reassure him without being attacked. Not that he didn't deserve anything that happened as a result of waking Bucky from a nightmare about him.
"Bucky. Wake up. You're dreaming, Buck. Open your eyes. Bucky, c'mon, pal. Wake up."
“Steve,” Bucky gasped, lurching upright as he opened his eyes. His eyes landed on Steve's face and he collapsed toward him and... tried to kiss him?
Shit. Not that kind of nightmare. "Buck, no." Steve leaned away until he almost fell out of bed. "You were dreaming. We're not..."
Bucky curled back in on himself, eyes down but a scowl on his face. "We could be. Don't tell me we're not on my account, Steve. I don't remember much, but I know I'm yours. You say you're mine. Why isn't that enough? You fucked me before. Wasn't it good?"
"I... Give it time, Buck," Steve said weakly. "You never chose to be with me as anything but a friend. One of these days, you'll remember that. I won't take advantage of you like this."
"Just a kiss? Please?"
Steve hesitated. He hated saying no to Bucky and a kiss wasn't so bad, right?
No. He couldn't start down that path.
"Try to go back to sleep, Bucky," he said (ordered) and turned over on his side, facing away.
Fill 102/110: Undeniable Plausibility - On to the aftermath!
The deprogrammer Natasha had sent to the Tower tapped his pen against a pad of paper. “Can you tell me in your own words why you made this appointment?”
Intensely uncomfortable, Steve said, “I didn’t. Natasha made it for me.”
“Hmm,” he said. When Steve didn’t say anything more, he asked, “So why am I here?”
Steve grit his teeth. “I thought she told you.“
“It’s important that you articulate it.”
Swallowing, Steve tried to put his thoughts in order. They kept being scattered by the wild anxiety of having Bucky out of sight. “I’ve been undercover with HYDRA for the last several months. I’ve been working to infiltrate them since shortly after the Chitauri invasion.”
”And? Why are we here today, Steve?”
“Can’t I just talk to Natasha about this stuff instead?” How could he ever tell this complete stranger what he’d done?
“I’m not here to judge you. This isn’t a debriefing. I’m here to help you.”
Yeah, right. Easy to say when he didn’t know what there was to judge Steve for.
This wasn't going to work out. He'd promised Natasha he would give it a try, but it was too much like talking to the doctor who came to the Retreat. Natasha must have known he wouldn't be comfortable with this. Maybe it was some kind of test?
The first week went from painful and awkward to hellish. Both supersoldiers were anxious and paranoid. Steve’s time as the asset’s handler gave him some experience with the traps in the Barnes protocols, but it was easy to spiral into panic over the uncertainty of Bucky’s beliefs.
The asset’s stable duration out of stasis isn’t ten days, Rumlow had said.
Steve had seen that for himself. At least he could avoid most of the violence he had accidentally triggered at the Retreat, but there was no avoiding the confusion, agitation, and mood swings. Bucky was on a hair trigger and definitely wasn’t hiding the sexual interest he was trying to present, but he wasn’t aggressive even when clingy. He offered himself. He didn’t try to initiate touch without permission. Steve hated that he couldn’t trust his own judgment as to what was conditioning and what was true.
And was before Natasha arrived from DC to remind him that truth was not all things to all people all the time. Followed by Barton who showed up later in the week to help himself to breakfast and deliver a horrifyingly insightful yet excruciatingly awkward speech about how long-term survival in the power of psychopaths meant subscribing to whatever reality those with the power were selling.
The main reason Steve didn’t tell him to stop talking was that Bucky had nearly beaten his face in again that morning and he didn’t want to aggravate anything. Well, that and his current desperation for a distraction.
Bucky wasn’t with him because Bucky was down in Bruce’s lab, sedated with one of the formulas Steve had stolen from HYDRA, while Bruce and Tony consulted an actual medical doctor about removing the few trackers Tony had been able to deactivate but not remove the night they had arrived.
He had half-expected to need to convince Bucky to let them sedate him, but Bucky had simply complied without argument, clinging to Steve's hand as he turned his head from the needle and closed his eyes. Bruce and Tony weren't the tech team, but Steve was sure the compliance had very little to do with having hurt Steve. Not long after that, Tony had told him to get out before his hand-wringing provoked a Code Green. Steve wasn’t much good at cooking anything that didn’t need boiling, but he could operate a toaster and scramble some eggs. He had started making food in supersoldier quantities to distract himself and ended up making breakfast for everyone after the assassins turned up.
"The Soldier was in for, what, all the way since '44, '45?"
"'52," contributed Natasha through a bite of toast. She was paging through a file in Russian that Steve hadn't been allowed to look at yet. "They really started working on him in '52. Cryo before then."
A year ago, Steve might have shuddered. Now, all he did was push his own plate away. "Buh ee dosn wi me," he protested.
"Promising sign," Natasha said, but she didn't sound happy about it. "But right now, that means no one is in full control of him and his sense of reality is breaking down."
Clint nodded.
"Expect things to get worse before they get better."
"Way worse," Clint confirmed.
Wonderful. Steve resisted the urge to put his head in his hands only because Bucky had fractured his cheekbone that morning.
"By the way," said Natasha, tapping the edge of the file against the table to straighten the papers before setting it down.
Steve made an affirmative grunt. Maybe she would tell him something he could really use to help Bucky, but he didn't really expect much.
"Have you eaten anything today?" She cast a concerned look at his untouched eggs.
He could feel his face twist, but he shook his head.
"Nothing?"
He shook his head again.
She sighed and tossed him a silver-packed block. "Remember what Bruce said?"
Steve sighed and opened the package. Three quarters every other day this week, half next week, and a quarter the week after, he remembered, making a face at the cloudy yellowish block. Apparently, all of the full-time food department had been HYDRA. Certain agents, Steve included, had been chemically manipulated as a matter of routine. The effect was that they grew antsier and antsier the longer they were away from work. It reinforced dependence and decreased the chance of forming stable relationships outside of the HYDRA coworkers. Of course, Steve's general level of anxiety had been high enough his pre-serum self would have dropped dead from stress a dozen times over. It was hard to tell how much effect the drugs had had on Steve, but Bucky needed to be weaned off them too, at much higher dosage, so they might as well both do it the easy way. Added to that, Bucky had been sharing his higher dosage drugs with Steve almost anytime they shared food on missions.
"That stuff is so weird," Clint said, watching Steve swallow chunks of drugged oily calorie bar. "It looks like something people put out for birds in the winter. Suet? Just without any seeds."
It would be better with seeds. "Don thin they designed for taste," Steve mumbled. It hurt to talk, but it hadn't been his jaw and it was probably only a hairline fracture by now.
"Oh, they probably did," Natasha corrected, "just not to be tasty."
Glancing at the clock on the microwave, Steve moved to get up.
"Stay in that chair, Steve. You have fifteen more minutes," Natasha said without looking. "You won't do anyone any favors showing up like that."
The drugs were already kicking in, fast like he remembered from the first time he'd had any on an empty stomach at the Lockbox. Without consciously deciding to obey, he dropped back into his chair and slumped back. There was an enormous bowl of scrambled eggs in front of him. As much as he wanted to get the taste out of his mouth, he didn't think he could stomach anything immediately after choking down the drugged rations.
"I just..." He stared at the ceiling and tried to speak without moving his face too much. "I wish he'd stop offering himself up. Sexually, I mean," he clarified with a wince that had nothing to do with his physical pain.
"Is it better or worse because you wish you could take him up on it?" Clint asked shrewdly.
"Way worse," Steve said, absolutely certain. Maybe I can fire the deprogrammer and just talk to Clint?
Neither supersoldier slept well or deeply, even though they slept better together. On the eleventh night since leaving HYDRA, Steve woke to Bucky gasping his name. His body was tense like he was struggling not to move and he was breathing heavily.
"Steve... Please... Don't... Steve. I. Steve..."
Steve sat up. There were limited phrases he could safely use to reassure him without being attacked. Not that he didn't deserve anything that happened as a result of waking Bucky from a nightmare about him.
"Bucky. Wake up. You're dreaming, Buck. Open your eyes. Bucky, c'mon, pal. Wake up."
“Steve,” Bucky gasped, lurching upright as he opened his eyes. His eyes landed on Steve's face and he collapsed toward him and... tried to kiss him?
Shit. Not that kind of nightmare. "Buck, no." Steve leaned away until he almost fell out of bed. "You were dreaming. We're not..."
Bucky curled back in on himself, eyes down but a scowl on his face. "We could be. Don't tell me we're not on my account, Steve. I don't remember much, but I know I'm yours. You say you're mine. Why isn't that enough? You fucked me before. Wasn't it good?"
"I... Give it time, Buck," Steve said weakly. "You never chose to be with me as anything but a friend. One of these days, you'll remember that. I won't take advantage of you like this."
"Just a kiss? Please?"
Steve hesitated. He hated saying no to Bucky and a kiss wasn't so bad, right?
No. He couldn't start down that path.
"Try to go back to sleep, Bucky," he said (ordered) and turned over on his side, facing away.
After a time, Bucky did.