Hostage
The first night he watched her, Bucky crouched outside her window, bracing against the rugged brick in an attempt to stay hidden. Though he was aware of the bitter winter winds, the combination of the serum and his hoodie kept him warm. His metal hand fidgeted underneath the thick wool glove, annoyed with its hindrance. Conducting surveillance was like a second nature to him. Violet was sitting on her couch, shrouded in blankets, TV flashing into the dark room. He craned his neck to get a better view of the titles of her textbooks, but the lack of light obscured the text. He wondered to himself why Tony sent him to watch this girl, she was just an average college student. Granted having no public history up until a few years ago was odd, but not something he’d ordinarily consider surveillance worthy.
Sometime after eleven PM, she dragged herself off her sofa and locked herself in her bedroom, TV still on. Waiting until her apartment grew still, he picked the lock. His years being under HYDRA’s control left him with numerous skills, some more valuable than others. Inside, he immediately noticed the smell of vanilla and jasmine, soft and pleasant. Inviting. Her apartment was small, but felt homey all the same; mismatched furniture in various states of wear and tear, well loved trinkets lined the walls, almost every surface was covered in signs of life. He walked around the space, picking up one of the textbooks on the floor, flipping through its pages. Her small sticky notes protruded from the sides of the book; the small messages to herself made the corner of Bucky’s lip twitch upwards. His body stiffened when he heard shuffling behind her bedroom door. Without thinking, he rushed to the front door and slipped outside, pulling the latch closed as quietly as possible. As he made his way down the street, he forgot he still had her textbook locked safely in his left hand.
Violet always wished she woke up prettily like many of the cartoon princesses she'd seen for years. Instead, she awoke with a startled grunt, suddenly sitting upright, nearly vertical before her eyes even opened. Sleepily stumbling next to her bed, her naked legs pricked at the sudden rush of cool air. After letting out a yawn that rivaled a grizzly bear’s, she bobbled into her bathroom to freshen up for class. She didn't need to be on campus until 11:30, so she relished her time to laze around.
She twisted the shower handle on, eagerly awaiting the scalding water to run over her tired muscles, so warm her skin turned pink. Once inside her box of steam, she began to lather her hair and body, softly singing old 70s songs under her breath.
Stepping outside the shower, still wrapped in her towel, she made her way to her living room to prep her backpack to leave for class. Her brow furrowed when she couldn't find her textbook on enhanced individuals.
“I swear it was right here when I went to bed last night…” she muttered to herself, annoyed she couldn’t find the book.
Huffing she stood up, readjusting her towel, she trudged back to her bedroom to get dressed. Violet tugged on a thick pair of leggings and a forest green cable knit sweater to wear under her parka, and her same pair of vans. Suddenly realizing how late she was running, she shoved her curly mane into a knot on her head and rushed out the door. In her haste, it didn’t even dawn on her to lock the door.
She ambled down the body street, eye curious eyes meeting many dogs, street vendors, and hurried business people. Her soft music was dulling the sounds of the city, Billie Eilish crooning through her earbuds. As she met the subway staircase, she dropped her keys that she’d stupidly left dangling on her forefinger. Turning to pick them up, her eyes widened in pure shock, her mouth dropping open. James Buchanan Barnes was in front of her. The man from her history books suddenly alive and well before her, as large and intimidating as the media made him seem, but not scary. Definitely not scary.
“Oh my gosh, Sergeant Barnes if I could take a moment of your time! I’m a history major at Queen college and I-” She bumbled quickly, shooting her hand out in front of her to shake his. His face showed no acknowledgment of her words, but as if on instinct, he grabbed her hand.
Bucky had been watching her for nearly a month, his own schedule beginning to mold itself around hers. The snow melted around him even as it fell. By sunrise, he boasted a cap of white dust in his long, dark hair. He woke up around seven-thirty in the morning, well before Violet, making sure he had time to survey her in the morning before she left for class, and every day, just after she’d left, he’d follow her to the subway. He appreciated the fact she kept her headphones in while she walked, it made it much easier for him to go undetected.
Today was no different. He woke up, went to her apartment, and followed her to the subway. She stopped once, to gawk silently at a man walking his dog, but then promptly scurried off to her stop, not wanting to be late. The rational voice in the back of Bucky’s mind nagged him, telling him that he’s too close to her, to back off, that he’s being reckless, he was getting comfortable . Instead of listening, he just watched the way she walked, almost up on her toes, nearly skipping or bouncing. He didn’t know why, but it made him feel warm. Made him smile, ever so slightly pushing the corner of his plus lips upwards.
He turned the corner of the stair railing, leading underground, not seeing her when she bent down. When she stood, he knew she had seen him. He hoped -prayed- that she would ignore his presence and carry on with her day. He was naive to think so, he’d seen her notes on him in her textbook. She muttered something so quickly Bucky couldn’t process, still too shocked from his mistake. Her face was bright with excitement, as if she was glad to see him. Her hand pushed out to shake his, and as if he hadn’t dug himself into a hole already, he had now buried himself. He took her hand.
It was when their palms touched that he felt like he’d just been killed and then shocked back to life with a thousand lightning bolts all at once. He recoiled away from her, his skin burning, set ablaze, flames radiating out from his palm. All rational thought said he was injured, that Tony was right, and she was some operative, but still, he stood rooted in the same place. His other hand bracing his body against the sticky railing. And then, for a moment, he wasn’t on the crowded, loud streets in Queens.
He was in a field, tall grass tickling his ankles, a sea of purple wildflowers coating the ground, flowing out for acres. His chest was heaving as if he had just been running. Looking up, he saw a woman, a beautiful woman looking back at him as she skipped. Annie. Bucky knew he’d never seen her before, but something in his heart knew her. Loved her.
“Harrison Thompson!” The bell-like voice chided, “Have you given up so easily?"
That’s when it all clicked. He understood what he was seeing, feeling. A memory, but not to him. Not anymore, anyways. He’d heard stories of this in the 40’s, when people met their…. Person - he couldn’t bear to think of the name- they sometimes flashed back to a time before, another time their souls were together. He used to think they were making it all up, no one saw “their soul’s past life”. But now… he felt foolish to even doubt what they felt.
Once again feeling he was back in New York, he forced himself to meet her eyes. Clear green gaze cutting into him. Her eyes were wide, full of revelation and hope. And love , his subconscious interrupted. Her breathing was shaky, breaths tumbling out of her lips, her soft body now quivering.
“Hi,” she breathed at him, clearly expecting he felt what she did. But he didn’t. Not entirely.
He didn’t even think he could have this, assuming the damage HYDRA had done to his brain, his soul, was irreversible. Thought that the part of him that could love, that could be loved was mutilated by the bitter reality of the decades of torture he’s been through. Committing atrocities and then having his mind whipped, cleared as if it was a chalkboard, broke something in Bucky. He’s always hoped he’d never meet his soul mate, to say a wanderer for the rest of his life. He thought it a good punishment for his sins, and he hated the idea that anyone should love him, they didn’t deserve to be stuck with an irredeemable creature such as him. They would only get hurt.
For what felt like hours, he mulled over what to say to her. A war raging inside his very being, part of him elated to have found her, his other half. His soulmate. The other part of him, the darker part that tormented him with nightmares, ravaged him with guilt, and punished him with memories, told him that this was wrong. He doesn’t deserve to have a soul flame. He was a monster. He is a monster. All he can do is destroy.
Unfortunately for the both of them, the latter side won the battle in his brain. It tried, but failed, to also snuff out his soul’s reigned flame.
“I’m sorry kid,” he mumbled gruffly, the words like acid in his mouth, “but no.”
“Hi,” she whispered at him, heart racing in her chest so fast it hurt. Her hand felt warm. Where he touched her felt like a ‘smore; Hot, but the heat was welcoming and tempted you for more. Her body felt alive; she could’ve shot sparks from her fingertips. All excitement from meeting her hero melted away, replaced by a new and fervent affection. If she had known any better, she would’ve called it love. But what she felt was more than love. She was floating away in the wind but felt heavier than stone, she was shivering but felt like her body was ignited with bright white flames. Her entire self was overrun by a series of contradictions in a feeble attempt to explain what she felt. She knew the theory of twin flames, but she never imagined it could feel the way it did.
Every second they sat in silence was like agony. She waited for him to greet her back, to profess his love in a sappy, romantic way. Sweep her off her feet. But it never came. Her mate’s face was contorted in thought, almost as if he was in pain. A shaky breath left her lips.
“I’m sorry kid, but no.” He turned on his heel, and practically spirited away.
Meanwhile, Violet stood, mouth agape, at the entrance to the subway staircase. She expected herself to chase after him, or to wake up from this dream -or rather, nightmare- she was living. But all she could do was stand still. Eventually, she was shoved out of place by more hurried people in suits, and that broke her out of her daze. Deciding she deserved a day off of class, she made the walk back to her apartment. Billie Eilish still crooning bittersweet melodies in her ears, the sounds of the city stopping her from being able to fly away. Trapped her in the present. In the pain.
Back at her apartment, Violet broke through the numbness. As soon as the latch creaked into place, she screamed. Howled. She felt as if she were being gutted, disemboweled alive, torn apart. The ache was so deep, she couldn’t identify where it stemmed from, just that her soul was shattered. Was she crying? She didn’t know. She sat back to her door, knees to her chest, arms wrapping around herself, as if to defend her body from more pain.
The pain dissipated after a few hours, simmering into an all over numbness that left her empty. Drawing herself up from the floor, she grabbed a random liquor bottle from her kitchen, pressed the cold glass directly to her lips. She wanted to drown her pain.
“ Was I not enough for him? What could I have done? Does he think I’m ugly” she thought to herself. Insecurities and self-doubt began to flood her system. Intellectually she knew that the rejection of a mate was rare. Mostly because of the extreme physical pain that comes with ignoring your body’s most basic instinct.
Once she considered herself sufficiently drunk, she pulled herself into bed. Hoping to sleep away the agony that held her hostage.
That night she dreamt about two lovers in Scotland, Annie and Thomas, soulmates she supposed. They played with flowers, rolled in the grass, and kissed near the lake. She felt what Annie felt, pure joy, heart swelling happiness. She wished she could hate them, loathe the couple for their happiness, but she couldn’t. She just felt in love watching them be in love. She saw snippets of their life together, being married, having children, grandchildren, just being happy together. She supposed it was a long time ago, based on the way they spoke, their clothing, the small cottage they lived in. The only time she felt pain the whole dream was when she watched Thomas die, the despair in Annie’s heart matching Violet’s own torment.
When she woke up, the pillow was stained from tears. Her throat was raw from the sobs. She shoved the memory of the dream away, not wanting to feel anything remotely close to love. She had always resigned herself to being a wanderer, she never minded the notion. But to have the promise of nirvana, pure unadulterated happiness in front of her ripped away, was more agonizing than being alone could’ve been before.
She wanted to call Peter, have him bring her ice cream and cry with her on her bed. She almost called him, but she remembered he knew Peter, at least through Mr. Stark or Captain America. She didn’t want to worry him. Instead she shoved on a pair of shoes, her clothes from the day before wrinkled and disorderly. She went to the only person she knew who had met their soulmate before. May.