Chapter 18
NOW - 11:55 p.m.
The man writhed beneath his grip. He could end this right now. Could jerk the man’s neck and end it right now. But he wanted this man to suffer.
Bucky wasn’t himself anymore. He was the soldier. And it felt good to be the soldier. Being a person was complicated and frustrating. All these rules to live by…all these moral codes. The soldier didn’t have to worry about doing what was right or what was good. The soldier didn’t experience guilt. He did what was necessary. He was a monster, but there was a calmness to it. He felt himself sinking back happily into that persona.
But then he heard a voice in his head.
“If you call yourself a monster, well, you’re calling me one too.”
Steve. Steve had said that.
He could almost imagine Steve was standing there. Looking at him with those piercing blue eyes. Eyes that were full of love, and full of worry.
Bucky, don’t.
He heard Steve’s voice as clear as if it was his own.
And then he released his grip. Staggered back a few paces. Haverly coughed and wheezed. Angry red welts were forming around his neck, but he was still breathing. For now.
Bucky staggered back. He felt sick. He felt like he was going to vomit. Like he was going to faint.
Why am I letting this asshole breathe? he asked himself.
Because of Steve. Because he wouldn’t want this for me.
“Well, that was quite something…Bucky.”
“Shut the FUCK up,” spat Bucky. The sound of his nickname on the man’s lips made him boil inside all over again.
“Sorry, do you prefer…James?” His tone was somewhere between mocking and fear.
Bucky pulled his knife, spun it in his fingers and brought it up to the man’s face. “If you don’t stop fucking speaking I will make you stop.”
“I am so proud of you, Soldat,” said Haverly. “Look at you. Don’t need your masters anymore. Or did you just find a new master?”
Bucky ignored him. He faced away before quickly thinking better of it. If he wasn’t going to kill the man, he had to at least keep an eye on him until the others returned.
He pulled up a folding chair about 12 feet away from the man. There was a bare bulbed lamp in the corner - the kind used in interrogations to make the suspects nervous. Bucky dragged it over and shined it straight into the man’s eyes. He didn’t want Haverly looking at him. The thought of the man being able to see him made his flesh crawl. Then, he sat in the chair. He felt exposed, despite the light, despite the man being incapacitated.
“Baron Zemo is an old colleague of mine, you know,” said the man.
Bucky said nothing.
“Do you think it’s a coincidence? Him bringing us together? He still sees you as a lab rat. A test subject. A blunt instrument for him to control and to wield. But I—” said the man. “I know you. I know your heart. Well, not as well as I know your body.”
Bucky wanted to scream. Wanted to take the knife to the man’s face, cut his tongue out. But he couldn’t help but feel a kernel of truth in the man’s words.
Why had Zemo brought him here? This was no random assassination. Was Haverly even trying to kill him? After all, if he was HYDRA…he would have orchestrated the blackmailing of his wife. Maybe he even wanted her to die. Maybe it wasn’t suicide. Maybe he’d done it himself.
Shame burned through Bucky. The double edged shame of sitting in front of his rapist, and the shame that he hadn’t realized this whole thing had been theater. Orchestrated by Zemo. But for what end?
“What do you know about Zemo,” said Bucky slowly, regretfully.
“I know he cannot be trusted,” said the man. “I know he is a snake. He is not your ally. Like a snake, he will insinuate himself on you. He will slither into your nest among all of your delicate eggs. But all he wants is for you to let your guard down. And then he will swallow those eggs whole.”
“Very poetic,” Bucky said. “But even if he isn’t my ally, he’s not my enemy. He has proven his usefulness.”
“Is that what he’s been? Useful? Some would say manipulative.”
“And what is it you’re doing now?”
The man chuckled. “I am just trying to help you see the truth. You can’t begrudge me that. And I know you will let me live. Because your only loyalty now is to your little friend. Captain America. And Captain America believes killing is wrong, yes? Despite the fact that his America has killed millions of innocents. Captain America…Steve Rogers…would want YOU to let ME live, Bucky.”
The words stung.
“Don’t you ever fucking say his name.”
The man continued. “Why did you remain loyal to him all these years? You cried out for him so many times. You waited for him to come. You cried his name. I felt you go limp in my arms with his name still upon your lips, and when did he ever come and save you? He never did. Maybe, Bucky, you weren’t worth saving. Did you ever think of that?”
Bucky shuddered. He had thought of that. Of course he had.
“You know Bucky, you may not believe this, but I want to help you. I want you to reach your full potential. Because I care for you. I always have. You know it was different, what you and I had.”
Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. “What we HAD? WHAT WE HAD?” He stood and threw the folding chair across the room. “You raped me.”
“Let’s not use such ugly words, Bucky. You loved it. You loved me.”
Bucky pulled his fist back - his right fist - and punched the man straight in his face.
The man laughed, coughed, spit out blood, but kept talking. “I remember many nights, holding you, making love to you, while you wept, while you cried his name. You were so tender. So loving. Such a beautiful, stupid, loving boy.”
Bucky was shaking. Even Steve wouldn’t ask him to save this man. Even Steve would understand if Bucky killed him.
“Did you know that I’m the one who recommended you be transferred? There was one time when some of the men went too far. They broke our little toy soldier. When I found out, I was furious. I personally killed two of the men involved. I saved you. Because I know what you can be.”
Bucky couldn’t say anything. He was afraid if he opened his mouth he would start screaming.
The indignity of this man. The absolute nerve of this man to pretend that what he’d done to Bucky had been love. There was no romance in what he’d done. There was only pain, and horror. There was a black hole in Bucky’s heart that grew blacker every time someone touched his cheek and whispered sweet words to him. He’d preferred the brutality. He’d preferred the violence. Haverly’s methods had been too much to bear.
“Don’t you have anything to say to me, Bucky?” said the man. “Don’t you want to thank me for saving your life? For getting you out of that house of horrors in Vladivostok?”
Bucky opened his mouth and all that came out was a strangled groan.
The man laughed again. “Come on then, you want me to stop talking? Make me stop, Soldat. I dare you.”
The man was baiting him. Why? Did he want to die? He wished that Sam were here. Or Natasha. They would know what to do. About Haverly. About Zemo.
“My sad little boy,” said the man. “My little toy soldier. I know your body remembers me, as I remember it. I will always be a part of you. And I will always love you.”
He pulled his knife. I’m sorry Steve, he thought. I can’t take this anymore.
He lunged at Haverly, knife aimed squarely at the man’s chest. But instead of connecting with ribs and flesh, the knife glanced off the edge of the metal chair. The man had managed to move, to free himself from his binding. His hands were free, and Bucky saw a glint of something. A syringe. Haverly took advantage of Bucky being off balance from the lunge, and stuck the syringe straight into Bucky’s neck.
Bucky felt his limbs grow heavy. Panic overtook him. He slumped to the floor and suddenly, Haverly was on him. Straddling his chest and squeezing his neck.
“I’m sorry, dear Soldat,” said Haverly. “Truly I am. I really did love you.”
And everything went black.