Nightmares
I looked at the house; it was dark and I knew Bucky would have locked up. But there was a trellis by the master bedroom, and I knew that he always slept with the window open, even in the winter. He liked fresh air around him as much as possible, and he adored snuggling under a huge pile of blankets when it was cold. I scrambled up the trellis (whoops, have to fix that part), pulled out the screen, (he needed new windows) and shoved the window up. The only person in the room was Bucky, thrashing around in the bed, muttering and occasionally shouting in Russian. I shut the window, dropping the bag with my boots, and walked to the bed just as he screamed again.
"Bucky," I said in a normal speaking voice. "Bucky, wake up." I didn't want to touch him; he might react with old reflexes, and I didn't want him to regret anything more. "Bucky." In an instant he erupted off the bed, grabbed my throat, and tossed me down on the floor, hissing at me in Russian. "Bucky," I squeaked out as he landed on me, trying to pry his hand off my throat. Jesus, I did good work. I slid my hand up his arm and pressed an area up by the collar, then pulled his thumb back as my vision started to go gray and fuzzy. This froze his hand and arm, which woke him up.
"What the hell?" he said hoarsely, and I squeaked at him again. He sat back on my thighs, and I heaved for breath, coughing and wheezing.
'Bucky," I said again, and he jumped up and lunged for the light.
"Emma, what the fuck....what happened? What did I do to you?" His face was horrified. I waved my hand at him and sat up, then rolled to my feet.
"You were having a nightmare. I was walking home and I heard you screaming, so I climbed the trellis and came in through the window," I said soothingly. I folded his thumb back into place and pressed another spot, then put my arms around him, drawing him close. He was starting to shake. "I tried to wake you but I startled you." I nudged him toward the bed. It was chilly in the room; fall was well advanced. I kicked off my shoes. "Come on, come here," I cooed to him.
Tears ran down his cheeks. He did not change expression; he was shut down entirely. I took his organic hand and tugged gently. He took a step, and another. There was a shirt on the floor, and I put it on him. He didn't resist or help. I smoothed the sheets quickly, fluffed the pillows, and crawled onto the bed, tugging on his hands gently. Step by slow step, he advanced, then collapsed on the mattress. I pulled him onto the bed then settled in beside him. I pillowed his head on my shoulder and cooed to him, smoothing his hair and petting him, trying to soothe him.
It seemed to take forever, but his shaking eventually eased and his tears lightened. Or maybe my shoulder was too soggy to tell anymore. Sweatshirts are very absorbent. I kissed his forehead. "Bucky, honey, tell me what happened," I said gently.
"No," he said, his eyes red. His lip trembled.
"Yes."
"You'll think I'm a monster."
"Not possible."
"You don't know what I've done."
"Not all of it, but I know some."
"I don't want you to know the things I've done."
"What they made you do."
"It's all the same," he said in despair.
"It isn't. Tell me." I smoothed his hair again. "It's safe to tell me. I won't tell anyone else without your say-so." And I really hoped I wouldn't regret saying that. "Unburden yourself," I whispered. He was still shaking and I was getting worried.
He licked his lips, and then started to tell me the most horrific story I'd ever heard. What Zola had done to him before Steve rescued him, falling from the train, being 'rescued' by the Soviets and turned over to HYDRA. The surgeries on his arm, usually with inadequate anesthesia. The training, the savage beatings and abuse under the guise of training. The brainwashing that deprived him of the ability to make his own choices, the strict discipline and scheduling. They had had control over the most minute details of his life, even arbitrarily deciding when he could use the bathroom. The humiliation this sometimes caused him. After they found how successful Zola's work had been, the medical testing. Then they'd wanted to see whether the changes would breed true. They'd dragged women from a gulag to the training facility and forced him to rape them. The breeding program was not a success, and ultimately discontinued. But not until he'd been compelled to too many women's beds. The assassinations. Not always clean, a bullet from a distance. Some had been beaten to death. Some of them had been for the fees HYDRA had been paid, most had been to shape the world for HYDRA's purposes. Angola, during the Halloween Massacre. Hits in Egypt. Columbia, during the Palace of Justice siege, Chile. The US. More besides. Not just political figures, but industrialists, diplomats, arms dealers. Other, slightly more pleasant jobs, like training girls in the Red Room. But even then, compelled to help train them in bed. Not just regular sex, but exposure to more...exotic sexual practices they might encounter from their marks on their missions. And how to deal with violation. Unable to resist, his mind running as fruitlessly as a mouse on a wheel. The girls had had their own compulsory behaviors, including handcuffing themselves to their beds. The agony of having his brain wiped repeatedly. When he'd finally escaped HYDRA, he'd written obsessively in his journals, everything and anything he could remember. He spoke for hours, unrelenting horror.
Dawn was lighting the sky when he finally wound down. He'd stopped shaking when he was talking about the 60's, a particularly active decade for him. He was silent finally. "I'll be right back," I said softly. He nodded and let me go. I went to the bathroom and texted Loki that something had come up but I was ok, giving him the day off if he wanted. I got water, a box of tissues, and a washcloth and went back to the bed. I got him to sit up, and gently washed the tears that had crusted on his face. I asked him if he wanted anything to drink and he nodded, so I gave him water. When he was done, I dabbed some hand lotion from my bag on his face. He sat passively. I crawled back onto the bed. It was the hardest mattress I'd ever sat on. God only knows how he managed to sleep on it. I sat up, leaning against the wood headboard, and patted my lap. "Do you want to come here?" I said gently, and he nodded and shuffled backward. We ended up with him draped across my lap, sobbing against my chest, great wracking sobs that seemed to shred his soul. I stroked his hair, kissed his head, and murmured to him. Eventually he ran down and fell asleep. I held him as he slept, and dozed a bit myself. I woke up when I heard a scuff on the stair, and looked up blearily to see Steve in the door.
His eyes widened as he took in the tableau. "What happened?" he whispered. I considered what to say.
"He had a bad night," I finally said.
"What happened?" he said again.
"I don't know what I can say," I said quietly, not wanting to wake Bucky.
"This is not good," he said.
Bucky stirred, and I looked down with some apprehension. His hand tightened slowly on my arm as he woke up. His eyes were so swollen that he could barely see. "Would you like a cool cloth for your eyes?" I said quietly. He nodded, and Steve went into the bathroom, returning immediately with a cold damp washcloth. I put it over Bucky's eyes, stroking hair off his forehead. After awhile, he pulled the washcloth off and sat up slowly.
"I need to go to the bathroom," he croaked.
"Need some help?" He shook his head. Steve waited until the door had closed behind him before pouncing on me, demanding answers.
"I was coming home from a walk when I heard a scream. It came from here, so I came up the trellis and looked in the window. He looked like he was having a nightmare, so I came in. I startled him when I was trying to wake him up and he choked me and put me down on the floor. Then when he woke up he kind of had a breakdown. He told me what he's been through, and I don't feel I can break his confidence by telling you what he said. He fell asleep around dawn."
"He needs to get help. He stopped seeing Con after she screwed you over."
"I agree he needs help, but I never want to tell him what he has to do ever again," I said passionately.
"It's that bad?" Steve asked like a little boy, his face looking young and vulnerable.
"Yes." I sat there quietly. "I would like to ask you to be cautious how you say things in the future. Don't demand. Request. Let him choose for himself."
"I see." He started chewing on a cuticle. The bathroom door opened, and Bucky walked out, looking like death on a stick, but an improvement nevertheless.
"What can I do for you?" I asked before Steve could say anything.
"Let me see what I did," he rasped. I got up and stood in front of him. His organic hand tipped my head back slightly and he looked at my neck. He frowned, then pulled my sweatshirt neck down lower. His tired eyes widened slightly as he saw the bodysuit I wore under the sweats. My eyes widened too, and I looked at him imploringly. He released the neck of the sweatshirt and smoothed it so that the bodysuit didn't show. I walked him back to the bed and he sat heavily.
"I need to be locked up," he muttered.
"You need to get help," Steve said bluntly. I glared at him, and he hastily amended this to "what help do you want?" Better.
Bucky sat there a few minutes. "I need a shrink," he said finally.
"You could make an appointment with Constance, or ask for a referral," I said.
"She fucked you over," he said expressionlessly. "We all did."
"You apologized." I squatted down in front of him so that I was looking into his eyes. "I forgave you. It's been put right, between us. And if you want the help she can give you, you should go to her. Getting you feeling better is the priority." I stroked his cheek. "You didn't ask for any of it, and you deserve...redemption. You deserve...to forgive yourself. Your body might have done those things, but it was not done with your volition."
He considered this for awhile. "Show me what you did to the arm. Show Steve."
"I made it so that if there was a problem with any of the workings of the arm that it could be shut down without damage," I said, easing the shirt up and off. "Press here, and pull the thumb back to shut it down," I demonstrated. "Then press here after pushing the thumb back down." Bucky did it a couple of times, then had Steve do it too. "Do you want someone to stay with you?" I asked gently, holding his hand.
"Steve," he said. "Not you. I could have killed you."
"But you didn't," I reminded him. Eventually, he nodded once.
"Can I call Con for you?" Steve asked, and I shot him a smile.
Another pause. "Yeah." Steve looked, trying to find the number. "I need a shower," he said.
"Ok," I said, and he got up.
"Would you like something to eat?" I asked, and he nodded wearily. As soon as the door closed behind him, I hurried downstairs and stopped in the lower bathroom, quickly stripping out of my costume and hiding it under the sink. Thank god. My boobs didn't like being in such close proximity for so long. They're rugged individualists. The bruises were coming out on my neck and they were livid. Then I made a light breakfast and took it upstairs. Steve refused his.
"You need to eat too," I said firmly. "You get cranky when your blood sugar gets too low. And we all need to keep our heads."
Reluctantly, he began to eat, and I made myself eat too. We both looked up when the taps shut off. A little while later, the door opened a crack. "Steve, could you get me some clothes?" Bucky asked, and Steve jumped up. A few minutes later, the door opened and Bucky stepped out.
"You've got an appointment in an hour," Steve told him, and Bucky nodded. He ate quickly and efficiently, although without pleasure, and Steve took the dishes downstairs.
"I want to hear about...that...later," Bucky said, and with an effort, smiled slightly.
"Later," I agreed, and he squeezed my hand, then went downstairs with Steve. I waited until the door closed behind them, and I made his bed, fluffing up the pillows. It was the most unyielding mattress I'd ever encountered, and I was stiff. I thought about picking up, but rejected the idea. It was up to Bucky to decide whether to pick the clothes up off the floor. I picked up the screen where I'd pitched it in, and put it back in the window. I grabbed my bag, retrieved my costume, and went home.
Loki was waiting for me. He touched the bruises delicately. "Bucky had nightmares," I said on a sigh. "I should have stayed on the other side of the room."
"Indeed. Will you be sleeping?"
"Yep," I said with a sigh. On a nice soft mattress.
"I'm going out with the twins. Going to a movie, 'hanging out.'" He said the term with precision, and I smiled a little. "I'll be discreet."
"You're a good guy, Loki." I patted his arm. "Go have fun." He left and I shuffled upstairs to fall face down in bed.
I woke up about six hours later, still tired but not sodden with fatigue. I turned my head so I could see who was touching my shoulder. Steve was kneeling by the bed, chin resting on his forearm as he patted my shoulder.
"How's he?" I muttered, then levered myself up so I was sitting.
"He's home, sleeping. She gave him a sleeping pill, just for today. She doesn't want to risk him getting dependent." He sighed. "Can I sit?" I nodded, and he perched on the edge of the bed. "I can't understand why you like such a soft mattress."
"Life's hard enough without sleeping on a board. Bucky's is the worst I've ever felt. I feel ninety years old." I yawned. "You guys should really stop punishing yourself."
Steve's face was shocked. "Do you think that's why?"
I considered it. "I'm no shrink, what do I know?" I said a little grumpily. "But it makes sense. Mortification of the flesh. Girls cut themselves or have eating disorders because of what's going on in their heads. Combat veterans sleep on the floor when they come back. You guys never really seemed to grasp the concept of comfort." I stretched. "I need to shower."
"You want some lunch?" he asked. It was almost two.
"Yeah." I didn't want to deal with making it.
"Pizza? And a salad?" I smiled at him.
"Sounds great." He went downstairs and I went into the bathroom, turning on the water, then hustling back out to pick up my bag that I'd dropped at the foot of the bed. I sniffed at it and detected a faint trace of the truth perfume. Shit. I must have spilled it the last time I used it. I bundled everything up, pitching the fishnets and bra into the laundry to wash later and putting everything else back into the bag before stuffing it under the sink. A big advantage of the bodysuit over the corset was that I could fold or roll it up because there wasn't any boning. I noticed that my supply of temporary color was almost gone. Too bad. I'd have to come up with an alternative. I showered and washed my hair.
When I went downstairs, Steve was paying the delivery guy. I was starving, and we tore into the pizzas. They were loaded with chicken and vegetables on a crisp crust. I took my supplements and crunched through salad.
I leaned back in the chair and surveyed the carnage. "I feel better," I said.
"Me too." He toyed with his fork. "Are you sure you're ok?"
"My neck is sore, but I'll be fine. Eventually I'll unkink. That was the single worst night of my life."
"You looked like Michelangelo's Pieta when I saw you this morning, with him draped over your lap. He said he told you everything."
"It took a long time."
"He won't tell me everything."
"It's his choice to tell or not," I said, shrugging. "And don't bother to ask. I won't tell you anything unless he says I can."
"Why did he tell you and not me?" His voice was quiet, not petulant or demanding.
"Probably because it was safer to tell me. If I ran screaming, it would have hurt him a lot, but if you'd been revolted, or disgusted, if you'd have withdrawn, it probably would destroy him. And I won't give you details, but what was done to him, what he was made to do, was grotesque. Beyond."
He rubbed his forehead and I checked to make sure I wasn't leaking. Nope, that was his reaction. "I hate the thought of Bucky being damaged. He never wanted to go to war in the first place. He waited until he was called up. He just wanted a nice, normal life with a pretty wife, a good job, kids. I was the one with something to prove."
"I think you've always wanted people to see past your exterior."
"Sometimes you're too perceptive," he said after a few minutes. "You just pop off these observations and I feel like I'm completely exposed."
"I'm sorry to make you uncomfortable," I said politely.
"I seem to be making things worse. This day has been hair raising enough."
"So what's Bucky going to do?" I asked, changing the subject.
"I'm moving in for awhile. I'm the only one he trusts who can control him if he has another nightmare. She's going to see him three days a week."
"Does he need money?"
"I don't think so. He hasn't spent a lot of money. Therapy and this house were mostly what he paid for." I made a mental note to ask Bucky.
"Is he going to need a leave of absence from work?"
"We don't have anything coming up right now. My first instinct was to do just that, but Con said that it would be beneficial for him to do things, keep part of his life normal. So as long as he's comfortable doing that, he'll keep working. Gives him something to focus on." I nodded.
"So what can I do now?"
"I need to go get some stuff if I'm moving in. Can you sit with him until I get back? He said he wanted to talk to you."
"Yeah." We got up and cleared away the few remains of lunch before walking down to Bucky's. Steve let me in through the front door, then left.
Bucky was up, fixing his lunch. I walked up to him, put my arms around him and snuggled against his back. He went rigid. I gave him a little squeeze, released him, and moved to the side. I placed a key and a scrap of paper on the counter.
"It's the security code to my place," I said. "If you want company, you're always welcome."
He committed the number to memory swiftly, then burned the paper in the sink. I blinked. It wasn't that high security. He rooted in a drawer and handed me a key, then finished his sandwiches and nudged me toward the table. "So. Tell me what I don't know about what you had on under your sweats. You're either moonlighting as a dominatrix, visiting sex clubs, or superheroing."
"None of the above,"I said, leaning back. "I'm strictly a street-level hero."
"You're kidding," he said. "There's nobody out there who looks like you."
I couldn't help it, I laughed. "But I promise I'm out there. My disguise is pretty good then if you don't connect her with me."
He started to run through street-level heroes in his mind and I waited. Finally, he looked at my chest, then up to my face. "No."
"Probably."
"Poppy?"
"Yep." He looked at my chest again and I laughed.
"You would be so surprised at what a good, really padded pushup bra does."
"I should have known," he said, shaking his head. "It's so obvious in hindsight. You--she--uses minimal force, everybody likes her, she's sassy and clever. But so sexy. You always said you didn't want to exploit that."
"Maybe it's a false distinction, but me pretending to be sexy is like I'm acting, it feels different from a bunch of people telling me I have to conform to a certain image so that they can sell an image, merchandise."
"Doll, you are sexy. It's not an act, it's just not blatant." I didn't quite know what to do with that. "But how do you get them to spill their guts?"
"You don't think that the power of my cleavage can compel the truth?" I cracked, then sobered. "This is the perfect opportunity. I have to tell you anyway. I have this stuff from Avenger Tech, it was mixed up in all my stuff and I found it when I was unpacking here. It's a truth serum. They were working on it as an injectable, but I made it an aerosol and mixed it with a simple perfume. I managed to amp it up enough so that I don't actually wear it because I can't desensitize myself to it anymore. It's effective enough that I've never seen somebody hold out against it, and believe me, some have tried. I spilled a little amount on my costume the last time I used it. I know because I smelled it on the costume this morning after I took it off. So you might have been exposed to it, and I am so sorry. I never intended to drug you."
"I don't remember smelling anything. What does it smell like?"
"Musk."
He thought, then shook his head. "I didn't want to tell you in the beginning, but once I started, I didn't want to stop. I've never told anybody even a quarter of what happened, what I did. It felt good to let it out. It felt like the time they had to open an abscess on my shoulder, once I got going. And I'm sorry for hitting you with all that ugliness, but...it was a relief."
"Ok, so this is the last confession. That thickening in my brain has apparently given me psychic powers." Bucky's eyes opened wide, just as the door opened. and Steve came in. I waited until he dropped his bags at the door and came in. "So I know a guy who knows a guy upstate who knows about this kind of thing. The stuff he and his associates can do is crazy. But what I have is projective and receptive empathy. I can't see in anybody's mind, see their thoughts, anything like that. What I can do is pick up on what you're feeling, I can let you know what I'm feeling if I push, and if I push hard enough, I can make you feel like I'm touching you."
"Huh," Bucky and Steve said in concert. I twisted a smile I didn't feel.
"I can make myself not do it and I'm working on making that second nature. But it can create a feedback loop. It's easier to feel what someone else is projecting, and it just makes me feel happy or sad or something, I don't know why they're happy or sad. So I can pick it up and reflect it back to the other person. It can feed on itself." I thought back to the night Batman was yammering about our date and how we couldn't stop saying things. "So I might have influenced you last night. I was very concerned about you and if I pushed you to do something you didn't want to, I'm so sorry. I don't know if I was shielding or not."
"It's ok even if you did," Bucky said after a moment. "What would it feel like?" I concentrated. I was getting tiredness from him and a faint glimmer of something positive. Serenity, maybe, or hope. I reflected the fatigue first, then the little glimmer. He brightened marginally. "It's...subtle."
"I'm not very powerful."
"Do me," Steve requested, then flushed as he realized how that came out. I smiled a little. He was concerned. That fed on itself and started to become anxiety, which is when I cut it off and pushed a small feeling of reassurance at him. He looked startled.
"So how does it feel like you're touching someone?" Bucky asked, and I looked around for the right spot, then pressed hard enough to feel. He jumped, then smiled. Steve looked curious, so I booped his nose too. He laughed and swatted at the air in front of his face.
"That's the last of my surprises," I told Bucky, and he smiled.
"It's been a day of revelations," he said tiredly.
"Do they know about this at the clinic?" Steve asked, and I nodded.
"It just shows up as extra brain activity in that band of tissue," I said.
Steve got up to use the bathroom.. "Bucky, how are you fixed for money?" I asked quietly.
"I'm fine. You were too generous in the beginning."
"If you need help with the therapy bills, I'd like you to tell me. I don't want you to have that worry on top of everything you have to deal with."
"There's a mental health benefit in the Avengers' insurance," he said. "It's generous. You'd think that we were all a bunch of head cases." I couldn't help the grin and Bucky returned it briefly. "I don't know if I'm worth all the fuss, though."
"You are to me, Bucky. You're my friend." My control wavered and I let a little emotion leak. "Sorry. It's easier when I'm not worked up."
"You have a soft spot for broken people," he said, and I started in surprise.
"Guess I do," I said after a beat.
Steve came down the stairs. "Buck, you don't have a bed in the spare room." Bucky cussed.
"Let's go get one," he muttered. "I didn't plan on having company." We all got up and walked to the door. As we walked up the path to the sidewalk, Bucky said blandly, "Emma, next spring will you help me put in a flower bed?"
"Sure. It'll look nice."
"Didn't know you liked flowers," Steve said to him curiously. "What kind?"
"I dunno," he said. "Basic things. A rose. Maybe some of those petunia things. Poppies." I tripped. "Careful," he said to me, a thread of amusement in his voice. I rolled my eyes at him, but couldn't repress a small smile.