Zhelaniye

The second time, Steve was allowed into the room right away. He welcomed a shivering Bucky in his arms and bundled him in the warm blanket without any help from the medical staff.

“Good morning,” Hsari said.

Bucky’s voice was awfully weak. “Is it morning?”

There should be windows in the room, Steve thought angrily. But of course there weren’t. The light would have hurt Bucky’s eyes right out of cryo. Everything was being done out of concern for him. Yet it was everything HYDRA had done too. They’d just been less gentle about it—or more honest, maybe.

Steve tried to steer away from that line of thought. He was Bucky’s sole link to the world; he shouldn’t be anything but supportive.

“Are you ready for the tests?” Hsari asked.

It wasn’t going to be easy.

*

“Think of a house. Think of a stone. Think of a river.”

It was only the second time, and yet Steve felt like he knew this scene by heart. Bucky’s calm expression. The electrodes. The questions. The colors of his brain scan on the screen, constantly shifting into mysterious patterns Steve couldn’t decipher.

When it was over Bucky said, “Do I have to eat something again?”

Have to. Was it possible that he already wanted to go back under?

Again, Steve forced his thoughts away from gloominess. If he couldn’t make Bucky want to live in this world, then who would?

“If you don’t mind. It would be good also to try sleeping,” Hsari answered.

Bucky smiled—and Steve wondered why he wanted to cry every goddamn time Bucky smiled.

“Sure,” Bucky answered gently like he already knew it wouldn’t work. “I can give it a try.”

*

“So how are things?” Bucky asked with his mouth full.

Steve tried to find something pleasant to say, but came up empty. The house in France was gorgeous and spring was blooming with such vivid exuberance it rivaled Wanda for miracles. But Steve was rarely there; most of his three months had been spent in their stolen Quinjet, wandering the world for intel on mental conditioning. He’d met with retired CIA agents, twitchy Mossad handlers and even an ex-KGB colonel. They’d all told him the same thing: breaking a man was easy. Mending him was another matter.

“Steve?” Bucky’s eyebrows were raised. “Something wrong?”

Steve shook his head with a mirthless huff of laughter. “Nothing, just… I feel like I’m visiting you in prison.”

Jesus. It was the absolute wrong thing to say. He was supposed to try and be cheerful. This situation wasn’t even all bad. Bucky was safe and at peace in-between outings. Steve didn’t have to worry whether he was hungry or captured or in pain.

Of course, he hated this very comfort the most—hated that he might get used to the thought of Bucky as a convenience left in storage. But this was something he was supposed to deal with. Why couldn’t he keep his goddamn mouth shut?

Bucky just shrugged. “Hey, you’re not too far off the mark.”

Steve did his best to ignore his flippancy and tried to remember what he’d been asked. How are things. Right.

“It’s—it’s been a quiet three months,” he said, which wasn’t technically a lie. “I’ve had time to discuss your triggers with Wanda.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said, finishing his plate. “What’d she say?”

The same thing they’d all said. “That causing damage is much easier than repairing it.” Steve took a breath. “She’s never tried to undo anything—and especially something she hadn’t done herself. If that’s fine with you, she could come here and… take a look. For a start.”

Bucky put down his fork, and Steve was afraid he’d say no. But after he’d swallowed his last bite, Bucky just said, “Alright. Anything else?”

“Two interesting leads.” Steve was fiddling with his napkin again, unconsciously tearing it into smaller and smaller bits. “A brain scanner designed to defuse trauma, and an Asgardian mind stone. But the first one is a prototype of Stark’s and the other is embedded in Vision’s head.”

A lopsided smile stretched Bucky’s lips. “I see how that would be a problem.”

“Yeah.” Steve let go of what was left of his napkin. “For now, our best shot seems to be traditional deconditioning.”

“So, praying and dumb luck?” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.

Steve wanted to laugh—he really wanted to at least try—but tears were suddenly brimming in his eyes. He looked away, blinking fast, cursing at himself. This was the opposite of—if Bucky could joke about it, then why couldn’t he—

“Hey,” Bucky said in a low voice. “Steve...”

“Sorry,” Steve said, gritting his teeth. “Sorry.”

Bucky just sat there in silence, watching him as he tried not to cry, and really the day could have gone better.

*

“Alright.” Hsari lowered the lights in the room. “We’re going to give you a light sedative to help things along.”

“I appreciate the feeling,” Bucky said. His tone was clearly doubtful, but he let her inject him regardless.

Steve had to leave the room again. On the bed, Bucky closed his eyes and exhaled.

Hsari was sitting behind her desk, surveying Bucky’s brain activity in lines that spiked up on her screen; without looking up she said, “This is going to take a while. You can leave if you want.”

When Steve didn’t move, she added, “Or at least take a seat.”

“I’ll stand, thank you.”

Her silent disapproval weighed on him, but he didn’t really care.

Fifteen long minutes went by without anything happening. Bucky couldn’t toss and turn because of the helmet, but he was blinking his eyes open sometimes, staring at the ceiling for a couple of seconds before lowering his eyelids again with a deep breath.

“Ah,” Hsari said after another ten minutes. “He’s going under.”

Bucky’s brainwaves had changed on the graph, drooping into a smooth series of curves. But after two minutes he jerked awake, eyes flying open, hands clenching into the sheets. He relaxed with difficulty, closed his eyes and sank back down more quickly this time—but he twitched again after only one minute, breath coming out in gasps. He smoothed it back down with an effort, but lost control of it again when he woke up from his next micro-plunge.

After another five minutes, Steve realized Bucky definitely wasn’t going to fall asleep, but also wasn’t going to say anything. In some insidious way this was a form of torture—and yet he would comply to the experiment as long as Hsari wanted him to.

“That’s enough,” Steve said.

Hsari didn’t look happy to be given orders, but she said, “Yes, I think so too.”

She gradually turned the lights back on. “Thank you, we’re done.”

Steve walked into the room as soon as she let him. Bucky was carefully sitting up on the edge of the bed; he grimaced a little smile. “Told you it wouldn’t work.”

“Is it a trigger too?” Steve asked anxiously. “Did they make you unable to sleep?”

“No,” Bucky said. He looked at Steve with calm grey eyes. “I just don’t have a lot of good dream material.”

*

The cryochamber had started humming in the background and Steve realized he truly hated that noise.

“You know you don’t have to come back every time,” Bucky suddenly said.

Steve stared at him.

“What?”

“You’ve just… you’ve looked so goddamn devastated all day.” Bucky was doing that smile again. “Look—I’m good here, Steve. And it’s going to be a long while before we get anywhere. You’re free to just… live your life in the meantime. It’s alright.”

Steve had frozen up a little more with each word. Oh God. He’d fucked this up even more than he thought. Bucky wouldn’t even let him visit anymore.

“Is that what you want?” he said with difficulty. “For me not to come next time?”

Bucky was silent.

“If you can look me in the eyes and mean it,” Steve said, voice trembling, “then I’ll stay away.”

“No, I—I don’t want that,” Bucky said. “But I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I don’t—Jesus. I’m sorry,” Steve said desperately. “I known I shouldn’t be so—I’m going to make an effort to be less gloomy next time.”

Bucky stared at him. Then he huffed wryly at himself. “Of course that’s what you’re getting from this. Steve, you don’t… The best thing you’ve said to me today was that prison thing.”

Steve blinked.

“I know you hate this,” Bucky said. “If you wanna be here anyway then—then I’m glad.” He blinked hard. “But you don’t gotta force yourself to smile like it’s the only reason I’m keeping you around.” A glimpse of his old smile touched his lips. “It’s not like you were ever known for your cheer and joy, anyway.”

This time Steve’s tears rolled down. He hid them with his hand and couldn’t help laughing at the same time, because really, this was all ridiculous. He managed to get it under control after a few seconds and shook his head, sniffing.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?” Bucky asked quietly.

“For wishing I could just fix everything.”

Bucky smiled, always so fond. “Well, that’s not exactly new.”

*

On his way out, he asked T’Challa to open the safe for him and sat with the little notebook, committing it all to memory. The second Bucky was better, he would destroy this thing. Just touching it was making him sick with loathing.

“Zhel—zhela… shit.”

“Are you reading out his trigger words?” T’Challa said.

“I was thinking I should know them. But I’m not very good at reading Cyrillic—there weren’t a lot of Russians running around the European theater in the forties.”

T’Challa looked at the page then read the word Steve had been trying to pronounce. “Zhelaniye.”

“Does it mean anything?”

“Longing.”

A red veil overtook Steve’s vision and stole his breath away for a second. When he came back to himself, T’Challa was looking at him with calm understanding.

“How did you let go of it?” Steve asked in a straining voice.

“Of the hatred?” T’Challa’s lips stretched by a fraction. “I didn’t really. Zemo will be punished—only not by me.”

He sat next to Steve. “I did give up my bloodthirst when I realized I was only causing more destruction. The only way to win against pain is to build.”

*

“So where are you going now?”

Steve looked at the clouds out the Quinjet’s window. “Actually, I was thinking I’d come back to the house for a while. I need some time to think over everything I’ve got.”

Sam obviously hadn’t been expecting that. “Really? Well—I’m glad to hear it. We got a hedge that needs clipping.” A beat. “How was Barnes?”

“Good, actually.” Surprising himself, Steve smiled a little. “But I need better stories to tell him when I come visit.”