"Дельтовидной должен быть полностью реформирована, но ее rhomboideus-прежнему без изменений. Я говорю, что мы придаем нейронов в передней и задней, но не датчики боли. Она должна быть сильной."
"То, что об обслуживании? Это может быть необходимо."
"Звезда может быть кнопка для открытия, но он никогда не должен отрываться полностью."
"Я не согласен. Он должен быть в состоянии произвести дистанционное отключение на случай, если она дефектов. Тогда, если кто-то нажимает кнопку внутри, она бы вернуться к ее обработчика."
"Очень умный".
…
Bucky stared at the thing that sat on the bed before her with a mixture of disgust and longing. She traced its curves with her eyes, but kept her right hand on her knife. It was an instinct by now, there was no way in hell anyone was going to catch her unawares, not even those closest to her. But to further examine the object, she was going to have to set down the knife, so she did, silently, listening for any unfamiliar sound. But the sounds were all familiar, quiet chattering and the whir of a coffee machine. Occasional laughter and the bark from that dog down the hall. Bucky reached out and toughed the thing with her bare fingers, feeling the cool metal against her warm skin. She was just grasping it fully in her hand when the bedroom door opened. Bucky froze, staring in fear at who had entered.
“Doll, you alright? What happened?” Steve asked softly, holding a steaming cup of coffee in both hands.
“It fell off.” Bucky whimpered, holding her bionic arm with one hand. She was quite the sight, tear-stained, with only one arm emerging from one of Steve’s white t-shirts, sitting cross-legged on the bed in her underwear. Steve set down the cup of coffee and sat next to Bucky on the bed, gently putting his arms around her. Bucky leaned her head on Steve’s chest, her brunette waves veiling her face.
“Can we fix it?” Steve asked quietly, secretly enjoying the way Bucky smelled—like almond soap and soft cologne.
“I’m not sure. Its never fallen off before, only opened and closed. Sometimes parts were removed for maintenance but even then, never the entire arm. It is over seventy years old.” Bucky, though obviously taken by surprise and possibly emotionally compromised by her situation, had an almost clinical tone. “Who’s in the kitchen?”
“Just Clint and Natasha.” Steve shrugged, knowing Bucky’s familiarity with the Avengers.
“Can you call Tony?” Bucky looked up at Steve with the beginnings of a smile on her face.
“Of course I can call Tony.” Steve nodded, acknowledging the unlikely friendship that had sprung up between Stark and Bucky.
“Will you do that now?” Bucky asked, setting down the arm and knife on the bedside table and standing up, She pulled on a pair of jeans, and while Steve made the call, washed her face in the bathroom. It was difficult, splashing water and soap with only one hand, but Bucky was determined and made quick work out of it. Brushing her teeth and hair was easier, so when she finally wandered out to the kitchen, she was at least put-together.
“привет,” Natasha piped, ignoring the fact that Bucky was fumbling around with the coffee machine with only one arm. Bucky was obviously struggling, but Natasha knew better than to get in her way.
“Hi Buc—holy shit what happened?” Clint spoke a little too loudly, breaking the calm. Bucky gave a pointed look to Natasha, who stepped closer to Clint and whispered something in his ear. He adjusted his hearing aid accordingly.
“Better?” Bucky asked quietly. Clint nodded.
“Yeah, sorry.” Clint looked apologetic, “But what happened? Did someone steal it during the night, or is it just gone?” Natasha kicked him in the shins and he made an irritated noise.
“It’s not gone, dumbass, it’s on the bedside table in the other room.” Bucky rolled up her left sleeve with her right hand, her expression daring anyone to even try to help her. The shoulder was still intact, the metal meshing smoothly into the scar tissue, and the red star shining. The arm cut off just beneath the star, quite cleanly, with no sparking wires, as if the arm were supposed to come apart at this point.
“Does it hurt?” Natasha glared at the remnants of the arm with mild interest before turning back to her coffee.
“No. They didn’t attach pain-sensing neurons, only ones that would allow me to control movement. Right now all I feel is rather unbalanced.” Bucky rolled her sleeve back down and retrieved her coffee.
“Has this ever happened before?” Clint asked, having calmed down from his previous outburst. He knew what it was like to have a disability better than any of the other Avengers, and knew what it was like to be coddled. He hated it, but Bucky not having an arm was a much bigger deal than not being able to read Banner’s lips.
“No, I was just telling Steve, I think it just got old.” Bucky drank more of her coffee, using the small movement to stop her hand from shaking. She was more rattled than she wanted to let on, and she didn’t trust the others how she trusted Steve to see her cry. As if on cue, Steve walked in from the bedroom, phone in hand.
“I called Tony, he should be here soon,” Steve chuckled lightly, ‘Though that probably means in about an hour, I think I heard Pepper, so he’s probably distracted. Not that he’s ever on time for anything anyway.” Natasha smirked lightly.
“Sounds good.” Natasha checked her nails quickly before continuing, “So, Steve, you couldn’t have just invited us over for coffee.” She gave Steve a knowing look.
“I’ve received new orders from Fury.” Steve gently put his hand on Bucky’s back, feeling the space between her shoulder blades beneath his palm begin to relax, if only slightly.
“Wait one second.” Clint raised his hand as if he were in class, “You’re telling me that Fury’s alive after all? Didn’t—“ His eyes flickered to Bucky and her heart raced with pity and a burst of anxiety, “Anyway, could you possibly explain why you didn’t tell me sooner? This is ridiculous!” Clint was obviously irritated, but not really that surprised. People didn’t seem to die anymore, just fake their deaths for inexplicable reasons.
“Clint, it was a need-to-know kind of thing.” Natasha’s hand ghosted to her necklace—the one with the tiny golden arrow on it—how she often did when Clint was upset.
“Jesus. What are you going to tell me next, that Coulson somehow managed to survive or some other crap like that? I would believe it.” The other two Avengers shrugged, but Bucky had to take another sip of coffee to hide her lying conscience. Coulson had been sending her on missions since the events in Washington; mostly catching up with her when she decided that disappearing for a few days would be a good idea.
“I’m really sorry, but Nat’s right. Fury’s been on his own personal hunt for answers, and he’s found some very interesting reconnaissance in Reykjavik.” Steve pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked one of the kitchen drawers. Along with a gun and a couple of passports—one for Steve and one for Bucky even though it was pretty difficult getting her through airport security—was a large envelope. He emptied the contents of the envelope onto the counter and locked the drawer again. The first photo in the file set all off all of the warning sensors in Bucky’s mind. It was the Red Skull’s octopus symbol branded into the metal of a wall.
“He found the base.” Bucky spat, fighting her conditioning. She wasn’t supposed to be frightened of HYDRA anymore, she had worked with Fitz-Simmons on that, and yet she was still paralyzed. She hadn’t felt this way in a while. She was supposed to be getting better, but maybe the loss of her arm just had her already frazzled. Bucky took a few deep breaths to calm down.
“One of them, anyway.” Steve added, leafing through the photographs and report, most of which was redacted for anonymity’s sake. “There are others, dozens, if not hundreds more.” Natasha looked to Bucky inquisitively, noticing her comrade’s distress.
“Did they tell you anything about their operation?” Natasha asked softly, watching as Bucky’s eyes flickered with indecision.
“No!” Bucky closed her eyes, trying to block the image of her ‘engineers’ from her mind’s eyes. She began to breathe heavily, and imagined beating those same ‘engineers’ to a bloody pulp. Fitz had taught her that. “Yes! That’s the base. There are others obviously, but I’ve been to ones in Poland, the Central African Republic, Pakistan, Afghanistan, the Sovie—Russia, China, Laos, and Myanmar. There are smaller ones in Czechoslovakia, Venezuela, and Mexico, not to mention the safe houses in the US.” Bucky was visibly anxious now, her previous mental attempt to fight her conditioning starting to fail. Sweat had started beading on her brow. She gave no warning before falling into a dead faint, and it was only Steve’s rapid reflexes that allowed him to catch her before she hit the ground. The doorbell rang and everyone froze. Steve swore viciously, which surprised Clint probably more than Bucky fainting. The bell rang again.
“It’s me you idiots! Answer the door! I got in my car the second you called! Lucky I was in DC!” Stark’s voice was muffled through the door. The other Avengers nodded to each other and sprung into action. Clint grabbed Bucky’s legs and he and Steve carried her into the bedroom while Natasha answered the door. There were a few mumbled pleasantries as Natasha and Tony followed them into the room.
“She fought against her mental block, and now she’s unconscious. She did give us some pretty good intel though, I’m impressed.” Natasha briefed Tony as they approached the bed. Bucky was already lying down, mumbling quietly in Russian. Tears sprung to Natasha’s eyes as she realized what her friend was saying. Bucky was narrating in terrifying detail one of her brainwashing treatments. Natasha decided not to mention this to her companions. Clint and Steve were already arguing quietly, and Steve looked very upset.
“Let’s have a look.” Tony sat down on the bed next to Bucky and picked up the metal arm from the table. Natasha sat on Bucky’s right side and surreptitiously clasped her friend’s hand. The Russian mumbling stopped. Stark clucked over the arm. It was an engineering masterpiece, possibly influenced by Asgardian craftsmanship, and Stark wished he understood it better. But he knew a blown fuse when he saw one, so a quick fix would have to do.
“Should someone call a doctor?” Steve asked finally, casting a worried glance at Bucky.
“You might as well call the Washington Post, Cap. I’m surprised the news has left you alone, but once they see this crew,” he gestured to his fellow Avengers with Bucky’s detached arm, “privacy will be something of the past. Unless you mean calling Banner, because he might be able to help, though I have a feeling if I fix this, I’ll fix her.” Stark looked at the detachment point closely. There appeared to be a red light blinking somewhere inside. In an act of faith, Tony reached his fingers inside and pressed a switch. Immediately the light stopped blinking and Bucky sat up. Before anyone could react, she grabbed the metal arm and replaced it in its socket.
“Bucky? Are you ok?” Steve leaner over to look at her, but Bucky pushed him away with her newly functioning arm.
“тридцать восемь целых восемь девять семь семь градусов к северу, семьдесят семь целых ноль три шесть шесть градусов западной.” Bucky mumbled, sliding out of bed and putting on her socks and shoes that were by the door. Everyone stared at her in awe as she walked out of the room. All of the blood rushed from Tony’s face as he ran after her and stepped between her and the door.
“Bucky! Hey darling, I may have accidentally overridden your system. No biggie. I just need your arm again. Is that ok?” Bucky gave him a blank stare, “Are you still in there?” Tony was trying to remain calm, but the panic was evident in his voice.
“Кто, черт возьми, Баки? Убирайся из моей гребаной образом.” Bucky snapped before shoving Tony out of the way and continuing on her path outside. Tony had forgotten how strong she was with that arm of hers, and so he went flying across the kitchen.
“Maybe we shouldn’t let her go outside.” Clint tapped his own left arm as they ran after Bucky. “The last time she went out without long sleeves there was a diplomatic crisis involving the ambassador of Lichtenstein and three gallons of milk. I tracked her down. Granted I was liable, it had been a dare. A drunk dare. Probably should have told you guys sooner.” The Avengers reached her, but Bucky had just ripped the door off its hinges. Agent Carter would probably be making an appearance soon if they weren’t careful.
“We may have to stop her. She’s gotten like this before while we’re—“ Steve paused and decided not to continue, making Clint snigger, “and I’ll tell you it’s not pretty.” Tony groaned and pulled himself up, brushing off his suit and running out into the hall after his team.
“No. We follow her.” Natasha interjected as Bucky jumped over the bannister and dropped three stories. “I have a feeling I know where she’s going.” She turned to Tony, “Call Banner. We might need him.” And with that, she ran down the bannister after her friend, Clint in tow. The rest of the Avengers followed suit, Tony hitting his speed dial to Bruce’s lab. They sprinted down the stairs and made it outside just as a helmeted figure zoomed away on Steve’s motorcycle.
“Follow her? How? She’s gone!” Steve threw up his hands, cursing himself. If he hadn’t been so shocked he might have been able to catch her. Though he knew deep down that if Bucky had wanted to escape, she would have been able to. She was quick, possibly even quicker than him, and the events precluding the fall of SHIELD had proven that she was definitely a better fighter.
“I think sometimes you forget that I’m Russian.“ Natasha rolled her eyes. “Before she split, Bucky rattled off some coordinates.” She pulled a cell phone from her pocket and typed something quickly. When Natasha held up the phone for her companions to see, a photograph of the White House dominated the screen. “I think she might be paying the President a visit, and to get in, she’s going to have to find an insider contact.”
“Bruce said he would meet us at Pennsylvania Avenue. So we find the mole and fix Bucky. Two birds with one stone.” Tony hung up his own phone, having called Banner.
“I always hated that analogy.” Clint huffed under his breath.
“Let’s get going. I’ll drive.” Natasha nodded at her car, and nobody contested. She was probably the best driver out of all of them, though she and Tony had never bothered to race to find out for sure.
…
It was only a matter of time before the Avengers were racing down Pennsylvania Avenue, screeching to a stop in front of a crowd of protesters. It was difficult to say what the crowd was angry about, but Steve had the sneaking suspicion that they weren’t there by coincidence. Something big was going on. The car had to be abandoned and the crew began pushing through the protestors on foot.
“We need reinforcements!” Steve shouted over the noise of the crowd, “My girlfriend’s gone rogue again! There’s no telling what she’ll do!”
“I thought that was her.” One of the protestors replied, and Steve paused mid-step in shock. Bruce Banner gave him a nod of greeting. “Hey Steve, sorry I took so long, I cycled here.” The rest of the Avengers had made their way into the crowd and Steve could no longer see them. But Bruce did have a bike. It was purple and sparkly with a flower sticker on it. Steve didn’t ask—honestly he didn’t want to know.
“You saw Bucky?” Steve demanded, and Bruce looked embarrassed.
“Yeah. She vaulted the fence. I don’t think the snipers saw her, because she made it inside no problem.” Bruce began as Steve dragged him towards the main gates. “Wait. My bike!”
“Forget the bike. BUCKY MIGHT BE ASSASSINATING THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.” Steve growled, and Bruce jumped a bit. His eyes flashed green for an instant, but he fought the other guy down.
“Yeah that might be a problem.” Bruce agreed as he was dragged through the gate and up the hill towards the visitor center. Steve gave a cursory glance over the perimeter. The first issue was frighteningly obvious—the reason Bucky hadn’t been shot down by the snipers was because there were none, no Secret Service either, not even plainclothes. Even the guards seemed to be on break. Steve decided to take a detour and ran straight to the front door. Not a soul tried to stop them. The door was unlocked, and the lobby eerily quiet. “Where is everyone?”
“That, Bruce, is the problem.” Steve froze as he heard voices in another room. He pulled Bruce behind a potted plant. A door opened and a tour flooded out, a guide with a bright red t-shirt droning loudly about the “architectural mastery of the entry hall”. Steve pushed Bruce into the crowd and followed his friend, plucking a baseball cap out of someone’s purse, and fastening it carefully over his hair. He couldn’t afford to be recognized now.
“Now what? Bucky could be anywhere, how are we supposed to find her? Where’s everyone else? Tony said that Clint and Natasha were here too.” Bruce was wringing his hands nervously. He had always been a bit afraid of Bucky. She was a wildcard in his carefully restricted life, a source of unnecessary excitement, and that could be dangerous. Not that he could admit that to anyone, especially not Steve. A red-haired woman fell into step next to them.
“There you are.” Natasha whispered, nudging Steve in the side. Bruce jumped in surprise. Clint and Tony were hiding in an alcove to their right. Clint waved, and Natasha rolled her eyes. “We thought you had gotten lost. Come on.” She melted out of the crowd, Steve and Bruce just behind. They followed Clint and Tony into a hallway. They went up a few stairs and down another hall, eventually turning into one of the rooms. It took Steve a few moments to realize that they were standing in the Oval Office.
“Well this is nice. Do you think I should run for President?” Tony whistled, walking behind the desk and taking a seat. “Hey, Banner, take a picture of me.” He tossed Bruce his cell phone. Bruce wasn’t really sure why, but he took the photo. It would later be framed on Tony’s desk, next to the encrypted blueprints for his arc reactor and a questionable photograph of Pepper.
“So. How are we supposed to track Bucky again? Didn’t we run into this issue last time?” Steve waved his arms around emphatically. The other Avengers gave him blank stares, realizing only now their lack of foresight. Suddenly, a gunshot echoed throughout the White House.
“Follow the gun?” Natasha suggested, running towards the sound. The others followed, and they soon discovered what had happened to all of the security. Upwards of fifty security guards, snipers, and Secret Service agents were standing outside one of the rooms. Steve discarded his baseball cap, and luckily most of the men recognized him.
“Captain Rogers, we were expecting you, but I must say I wasn’t expecting the rest of the Avengers.” A Secret Service agent in a nondescript black suit and sunglasses approached the group. “Thank you for coming, we had no idea you had gotten our call.”
“I hadn’t.” Steve rocked back and forth nervously, “We were following someone. A friend.”
“Well your ‘friend’ is currently running a hostage situation with the First Lady.” The agent huffed.
“Ah.” Natasha cleared her throat, “Would it be possible for us to get inside? Steve may be able to talk her down.”
“I’m not sure, you’ll have to ask your ‘friend’.” Steve could have sworn that the agent was trying not to laugh, which was peculiar at best, but there wasn’t time to question. Steve walked past the agent and the crowd parted to let him to the door. He knocked lightly.
“She wants to know if my husband is here yet.” A tear-choked woman’s voice came through the door. Steve looked back at the Avengers, who were varying degrees of sympathetic, though Natasha looked surprised. Hostage situations weren’t really Bucky’s style.
“Bucky, can you hear me? It’s Steve.” Steve replied, keeping himself composed. “We discussed this. I tried to get you help. I thought it was working.”
“She says to go away.” The teary voice replied.
“I won’t. Not until I get to speak to you in person.” Steve continued. There was a brief silence on the other side of the door.
“She says you can come in. Nobody else though. Especially not the green one. And don’t pull any tricks. No weapons. For my sake please don’t try anything stupid.” The woman sobbed.
“Alright, I’m coming inside now.” Steve motioned that the agents back away from the door. He slipped inside, closing the door behind him. The bedroom was nice, with a four-poster bed and soft carpets, but Steve wasn’t paying much attention. What he saw was exactly what he hadn’t expected. Bucky was kneeling on the ground, her hands on her head, rocking back and forth and whispering something to herself, an older woman holding a gun to Bucky’s head.
“Steve…” Bucky mumbled, “Steve I’m so sorry. I led you here. I only regained control—“
“Shut up!” The First Lady rasped, stepping closer with her gun, “Shut up or I swear I will shoot.”
“You? You’re the HYDRA contact?” Steve was beyond shocked. Then he felt terrible; he should have trusted Bucky to pull through, to not be the villain.
“We are everywhere.” The First Lady—Steve was pretty sure her name was Catherine—chuckled quietly as shouts came from the other side of the door. There were shots, a very angry-sounding growl, and an earth-shaking thump. It seemed that the Secret Service were attacking the Avengers, and somehow Banner had gone down. “All of us have been ordered to retrieve the Soldier and any of her known associates. I am surprised you didn’t quit your DC residences for, I don’t know, Brooklyn perhaps. You are the sentimental type. My sources say you go dancing sometimes; it’s quite sweet. Under other circumstances I would let you go, because I am quite the romantic at heart. But I suppose fighting for opposite factions would also be romantic, very Romeo and Juliet.”
“You’re sick.” Steve spat, feeling his heart shatter into a thousand pieces as Bucky let out a sob.
“Am I the sick one? At least I accept that I am bedfellow with assassins. You pretend that this bitch is a good person. Do you know who she has killed? Which families she has destroyed? She killed my mother and father when I was only a girl. Ten years old, I learned on the way home from ballet practice. My brother joined the army and died in Vietnam.”
“I’m really not interested in your sob story.” Steve gritted his teeth.
“It’s not a sob story. I hated my family. They were cruel. I joined HYDRA when I turned sixteen. I met Howard—my husband—three years later. By then I was respectable. I had a loving family and nice things. Pearls. I only saw this traitor again when Kennedy died.”
“That was you?” Steve turned to Bucky, who shook her head emphatically, as if this one fact could wipe her slate clean.
“I killed Oswald. He was supposed to have killed Jackie—she was in charge of a major anti-HYDRA operation—but he missed.” Bucky whispered, tears staining her vision. “I was cleaning up.”
“I said, not a word.” Catherine hissed, and Bucky held her breath. Steve thought over the possibilities in his mind. There was a very low likelihood of both he and Bucky escaping this encounter unscathed, but they had to try something. He cursed the fact that he hadn’t brought his shield, or any weapon whatsoever.
“So, what do you want anyway?” Steve decided to bluff, “SHIELD has this place surrounded. I know you have agents outside in the hall, but I have Avengers out there. If they could fight an alien from another world, I think they could fight a few real traitors.”
“You overestimate the strength of your team. Your master of marksmanship has no bow, your Hulk is neutralized, and your Iron Man is missing his suit. SHIELD has maybe one hundred agents—worldwide, most of them deep undercover—or so you think. There is no one outside.” A noise cut into her voice, the sound of a helicopter landing, “Except my reinforcements.” Suddenly Bucky started to laugh. Catherine stared at Bucky in shock as the bionic-armed woman stood up, still laughing.
“You need me alive. You were never going to shoot me.” Bucky stopped laughing, and her voice became scarily calm. Catherine faltered as Bucky took a step closer to her, so her gun was flush against Bucky’s chest. In a split-second decision, Catherine wheeled around to aim at Steve, but he was already moving. Bucky grabbed the gun and swept her leg at Catherine’s knees, causing the First Lady to tumble to the ground. Bucky gave the older woman a sneer of dangerous contempt and aimed the gun at Catherine’s head.
“Bucky! No!” Steve called, panicked as her finger inched towards the trigger. Her eyes flickered to Steve, and all he could see was pain and anger in her eyes—no remorse. Bucky would not falter and there was going to be a lot of explaining to do.
“Any last words?” Bucky in her street clothes was just as scary, if not more so, as when she put on her vest and mask.
“Sputnik.” Catherine whispered just as Bucky’s finger began to depress the trigger, and Bucky tumbled to the ground lifelessly like a marionette whose strings had been cut. The gun clattered out of Bucky’s hand, and Catherine scrambled to get it. Steve was faster, but not fast enough to stop Catherine from breaking her cyanide pill, a final smile on her lips.
…
Bucky woke up to the sound of beeping and whirring, and to the smell of antiseptic and dust. It was far too familiar. She screamed, long and loud, a scream of someone who never wanted to have woken up. She didn’t even bother to fight against the straps that undoubtedly held her down, and she dared not open her eyes lest she see their faces again. Lest she have to take the mouth guard between clenched teeth and endure the pain and the silence. She would rather die. She would rather scream forever with her eyes tightly shut, awaiting her fate but never achieving it. At least the anticipation would kill her eventually; it wouldn’t freeze her and make her kill again and again. It wouldn’t make her forget him. She would grow old screaming into eternity and the heartbreak wouldn’t hurt so much.
“Bucky. Bucky it’s me. Steve. Steve Rogers. You’re safe. HYDRA didn’t take you. You’re at George Washington University hospital. Please stop crying. Please.” Steve’s voice hitched as he pleaded with her. Still her mournful scream echoed down the hall. In the waiting room, a baby started crying, and a red-haired woman began to pace, even though her partner told her to sit still. Eventually she gave up pacing and stormed down the hall. Natasha blew past the guards outside Bucky’s room and straight to Steve. She whispered something in his ear, then, holding back tears, left the room as quickly as she had entered it. She grabbed Clint’s arm and dragged him towards the elevators. Back in the room, Steve cleared his throat. “Sergeant Jamie Rebecca Barnes, 107th Codebreaking Division, Howling Commandoes. Open your eyes. That is a direct order.” Steve prayed his voice was firm enough, that he would be able to shock Bucky into following his order, that she was ok, somewhere deep down. Outside at the elevators, Natasha was punching the down button with excessive vigor.
“Where are Tony and Bruce? They were supposed to be here. Why aren’t they here?” Natasha snapped under her breath.
“They were here earlier. Tony even deactivated the override in Bucky’s arm. But there’s nothing more they could do. Nothing we can do, she’s been like this for hours.” Clint had wanted to turn off his hearing aid so he wouldn’t have to hear the screams of his friend—but he wanted to remember what it sounded like for when he hunted down the bastards who had done this to Bucky and put an arrow between their eyes. “Nat. Nat stop hitting the button it’s—wait.” Clint put his hand over Natasha’s, “Do you hear that?” She took a deep breath and listened. It was quiet. Not a sound. Even the baby had stopped crying. The elevator eventually reached their floor, but Clint and Natasha were no longer waiting for it. They burst into the ward to find Steve on the bed with Bucky, kissing like two lovers in the rain.
…
“You ready for this?” Sam looked at the young woman with questions in his eyes. Bucky took a deep breath, checked that her glove was on properly, and nodded.
“Can you introduce me as Rebecca? They don’t know what I am, and I would prefer we kept it that way.” Bucky tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She was nervous, which was strange. She hadn’t felt this kind of nervous in a while.
“Ok. Sounds good.” Sam pushed open the door into the meeting room. It smelled like coffee and homemade chocolate chip cookies. Six or seven men and women sat chatting quietly in a circle, catching up on each other’s lives. “Hey guys!” Sam smiled at the group and they all looked up, “This is Rebecca, she’s going to be joining us today.” Sam nudged Bucky and she stepped towards the group timidly. A tough-looking man with tattoos up and down his arms got up and brought her a chair, and she sat.
“I’m Francis, Sniper.” The man stated, more as a point of information rather than as a greeting. He didn’t offer his hand to shake.
“Me too.” Bucky smiled at Francis, “I mean a sniper. My name isn’t Francis.”
“Thought so.” Bucky couldn’t be sure, but she thought Francis gave her the smallest of smiles. “You want some coffee?”
“Yeah that would be great.” Bucky sighed, glancing over at Sam. He gave her an encouraging nod. Francis came back with the coffee and Bucky took a sip. It was terrible, strong and bitter as anything, no milk, no sugar. It was a good kind of familiar; it tasted like 1944.
“You get nightmares.” Francis really was a master of small talk. It was obvious he wasn’t particularly popular with the other members, but Bucky appreciated his bluntness. Not everyone would give it to her straight.
“Of falling.” Bucky drank more coffee to drown the memory.
“My partner Shelley—everyone called him Tortoise. He fell too.” Francis nodded.
“What’s it like?”