Zhelaniye

Natasha stayed for the week, and hugged him tight before he got into the Quinjet.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” she said, holding his gaze. “Okay?”

Steve smiled weakly at her. “Yeah.”

Wanda was already buckled in the copilot seat, staring straight ahead, stiff with nerves. Steve wished he could have reassured her, but he could barely keep himself together as it was. He turned back to the others who’d gathered to see him off.

“Don’t forget to—”

“Lockdown until you’re back, we know,” Sam said.

“And you’ll remember to turn off all—”

“We know,” Sam repeated. “We’ve all done stealth missions before, Steve, it’s going to be fine. Don’t worry about us. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve said. He took a deep breath. “Okay.”

*

Wanda meditated on the way there, which was a relief—Steve wasn’t sure he could have achieved small talk right now.

When they landed on the helipad, Wanda reopened her eyes and touched his arm. “Steve.”

He tried to sound natural. “Yes?”

“I want you to know.” Her voice was clipped, her accent sharper than usual. “Unless I am absolutely certain I can have a positive influence, I will do nothing but take a look. No matter what happens, he won’t come out worse for wear.”

She was a shade too pale, so Steve just said it. “I know you’re thinking about Nigeria.”

Wanda went even paler, but said nothing.

“I know you’re afraid of messing up. But you did save my life back then.” Steve looked into her eyes. “I trust you to do this. You know I wouldn’t let you anywhere near Bucky if I didn’t.”

Wanda huffed a shaky laugh. “Well that is true.” She looked at him. “What are you going to do if it doesn’t work?”

He shrugged. “Just keep looking.”

“And if it does?”

It was the question Steve had tried to avoid. She tended to ask a lot of these.

If it did and if Bucky still wanted to—

Just thinking about it was like putting his hand on a hot stove—his brain automatically snatched back from the thought, literally refusing to process it.

“I can’t answer that,” he said, because he always tried to be frank with her.

Wanda grabbed his hand, then squeezed. Steve smiled a little, and was about to squeeze back when he felt something else—red power seeping into his veins, migrating up his arm like a wave of warmth.

He closed his eyes. Wanda’s power touched his mind.

The last time, it had zeroed on old longings and cruelly prodded at them. This time it just—made everything a bit less loud. A bit more manageable, like he’d taken a step back, or had a good night of sleep.

He exhaled. “I… thank you.”

Her hand kept squeezing, but this time it was just her. She smiled. “Alright. Time to get off our asses.”

“Clint’s a bad influence on you,” Steve said, unlocking the Quinjet door.

*

“Welcome.” Hsari gave Wanda a firm handshake. “The thawing’s already started. I will give you a rundown of my own observations while Captain Rogers wakes him up.”

“Oh—alright,” Wanda said, obviously a bit taken short by Hsari’s brusque manners.

“I cannot say I have a lot of useful information, but it’s better than nothing.” Her dark eyes flicked to Steve. “You can go ahead, Captain.”

Steve had no problem being dismissed as long as it was in Bucky’s direction. He glanced at Wanda, who nodded back. He could go. It was fine.

When he got to the cryo room, the chamber was just beginning to open.

Steve wished the damn thing would work faster. These outings felt so rushed every time. The tests, the meal, maybe a few hours to share if they were lucky. And then it was already over, for another three months. The worst part was knowing that Bucky wasn’t really anywhere during that time. He was just suspended in stasis, talking to no one, thinking of nothing, still and silent down to his very cells.

It had been a full year—October to October—since Bucky had first stepped into the chamber. For him, it must have felt like a very short week, without these gaping holes of absence in between.

The cryochamber was hissing steam into the room. Steve wasn’t sure when he’d stopped hating it and started to look at it with longing instead.

He was horribly ashamed of that thought. But wasn’t that the easiest way? Wasn’t that the best option for everyone? To just—sleep side by side. Go back under where it was quiet. Where Steve wouldn’t have to struggle to breathe with every second. Where Steve wouldn’t have to miss him so much.

The chamber finally opened, jarring him out of his thoughts. He stepped forward, unstrapped Bucky, took his weight when he sagged against him.

Bucky’s fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. He held onto Steve so tight every time. Steve didn’t know what it meant. M’ glad you’re here, Bucky had said last time.

Had he thought Steve might not come? It did make sense. Steve had been lucky to make the rendezvous every time so far, but something was bound to happen—another planetary threat, something that’d throw him back into the fray, make him miss an outing. What would Bucky do then? Just submit to the tests alone. Eat alone. Go back into the ice alone. Steve would go half a year without seeing him.

“You’re squeezing me,” Bucky rasped.

“I—sorry.” Steve blinked wetness out of his eyes and let go. “Sorry, Buck.”

He helped him to sit down on the bed. Bucky sat there and just shook for a while.

Steve took a deep breath. “Do you remember that today we—”

“Yes.” Bucky licked his cracked lips. “You had some pictures to show me.”

Steve swallowed everything back down. “Sure.” He sat next to him on the bed and got out his phone. “Here.”

Bucky edged closer, his shoulder pressed against Steve’s. Steve went back to the very first photograph—a view of the goldenstone farm, glorious under a bright blue sky.

He swiped through the pictures, showing Bucky the gardens, the cellar, the kitchen. Snapshots of everyone—mostly Sam and Wanda, with pics of Clint and Scott sometimes. At the time they hadn’t been aware he was doing it. Bucky snorted a bit when the selfie came on.

“You look happy,” he said quietly.

That made Steve stop and look up at him. Just like on the mountaintop, Bucky’s expression was unreadable. There was something in his faraway eyes like longing—but it could have been detachment, too. Steve couldn’t tell and it suddenly terrified him.

“Buck—”

Bucky swiped to the next picture.

“What’s that?”

“Oh—uh. Staircase. We’re moving onto the second floor.” Steve had wanted Bucky to be able to visit the whole house, if only through this lens. Bucky seemed to understand, because he didn’t ask for any further explanation and just kept swiping through. Steve lost himself in the familiar succession of pictures, trying to hold onto the makeshift solidity Wanda had given him in the Quinjet. Sam’s room, Scott’s room, Wanda’s room, the bathroom with its antique clawfoot tub, even the broom closet, and then Steve’s room at the end of the hallway, and then—

“And that?”

Steve shook himself. “That’s…” He blinked when he saw the picture, then swallowed. “Um, that’s your room.”

Bucky stayed completely still for a second.

Then he looked up at Steve.

“My room?”

Steve couldn’t look back. He kept his eyes on the small screen. “It’s my house, Buck,” he mumbled. “There’s always gonna be a room for you in my house.”

Many decades ago, an official from the US Army had probably knocked on Winifred Barnes’ door. He had probably waited for her to come down, and when he’d told her that neither Steve Rogers nor Bucky Barnes would ever be coming home, he’d probably used a very gentle tone.

Bucky’s voice had that same gentleness now.

“Steve…”

“No,” Steve said, and the sharp-edged thing was back in this chest, “don’t—whatever you’re about to say, please just don’t.”

He knew Bucky was still looking at him, but before anything irrevocable could happen, Hsari and Wanda walked back into the room.

“Alright,” Hsari said, “Let’s get to work.”

*

“Hi.” Wanda looked nervous. “We haven’t talked a lot. I’m Wanda.”

“I know who you are,” Bucky said quietly.

“Will you give me your hand?”

Bucky wordlessly held out his hand.

“Should you be watching this?” Hsari asked Steve, without looking at him.

For once they were both on the other side of the glass wall. He held onto the harshness of her voice. He needed it to jostle him away from his own thoughts.

Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut; Wanda was doing to him the same thing she’d done to Steve in the Quinjet a moment ago. A faint wrinkle appeared between her brows; it must have worn off even faster than it had for Steve.

“Alright.” She held out both hands, placed them at Bucky’s temples. “Close your eyes. Don’t try to fight it.”

Bucky complied.

“I repeat,” Hsari said, her voice dropping to a dangerous low, “should you be watching this?”

Bucky’s eyes were closed. He looked at peace. Tendrils of red energy were seeping into his mind—worming their way inside—

—his brain—

“Door across the hall,” Hsari said.

Steve barely made it there before he puked his guts out in the toilet bowl.

When he was finished, he was covered in a cold sweat and shivering, but at least he didn’t feel like he was going to throw up anymore—it was done already.

In the other room Bucky probably still looked at peace. At peace. Steve thought back to what Natasha had told him. I was lucky to have people out for my blood. He remembered his darkest fears, the way Wanda had found them and exposed them. Peggy’s beautiful youth. The war is over, Steve.

He had brought Bucky to safety, and realized too late that safety was the greatest trap of all. Soldier was a skin to be shed when the war ended. But they’d worn their uniforms too long. The cloth had melted into their flesh. If they shrugged them off, there would be nothing left.

Steve rested his forehead against the cool tile.

To sleep by his side. The both of them, in the ice.

Would it be that bad?

Gritting his teeth, he wiped his brow and pushed to his feet, then walked back to the observation room.

Hsari didn’t move, but said flatly, “I will have his Highness throw you out.”

Steve didn’t listen to her. He was looking into the room. On the other side of the glass, Wanda’s tendrils were seeping more and more deeply into Bucky’s mind. Bucky still looked serene.

Wanda, though, had become pale as paper.

Her eyes were unseeing, but tears welled up in them, ran down her cheeks. Her hands were shaking around Bucky’s head.

Steve pressed the button of the mike. “Wanda, stop!”

Wanda startled and snatched back; Bucky’s eyes blinked open.

Unspeakable horror was etched on every line of Wanda’s face. Bucky saw it and made the tiniest move towards her—then stopped himself.

“I’m sorry.” He was wide-eyed. “I’m sorry, I should’ve thought about this, I shouldn’t have let you—”

Wanda put her arms around him.

Bucky froze—for a split second, he was obviously unsure whether he was being attacked. But then he seemed to realize it was just a hug; he relaxed by a fraction, and his arm came up to rest delicately at Wanda’s waist.

It was so strange. No one but Steve touched Bucky. Wanda barely knew him—had only just met him, really.

Bucky had closed his eyes and was breathing slowly. Wanda was holding him tight. They looked like brother and sister.

“I’m sorry.” Wanda was speaking in Sokovian; her voice was shaking with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Ms. Maximoff.” Hsari had pressed the button of the mike as well. “Let’s take a break.”

“Go,” Bucky said quietly, “it’s fine,” and of course he spoke Sokovian.

Wanda got up, still shaking, and left the room. Bucky sat there, alone, his only arm wrapped around himself, and Steve didn’t know at all what he was thinking.