Title: Walking After You
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Pairing: Steve/Peggy, Wanda/Vision mentioned
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Not mine! Characters you recognize belong to other people, and I am just playing in their sandbox for fun. This is born of a text conversation with
mynuet regarding the possibility of Peggy getting a version of the serum at some point in her colorful history. Civil War compliant (no, really!) because I was actually very pleased with characterizations in it, even if some of the plotting made me go O_o at times. I do reference things from season 3 of Agents of SHIELD as well as season 2 of Agent Carter, but I think it would still make sense if you haven't seen that. Part of chapter 1 inspired by
this photo, because of course that's how they should be.
Summary: In the wake of the Sokovian Accords, the Avengers scramble to find a safe haven. That gets complicated when Nick Fury arrives, announcing that he found Peggy Carter. The real Peggy Carter.
Prior chapters:
One - Escape Two - Misdirection And Discovery Three - Becoming Again Four - Violent Games
It was T'Challa that suggested waking Bucky so that he could be there at the wedding. Sam seemed resigned to sharing the man of honor spot with Bucky, and Natasha was clearly startled that Peggy requested that she act as maid of honor. "I... I suppose I could play at that role," she had murmured, eyes sliding away from Peggy.
"Playing? Rubbish, who better to be at my side than one of Steve's good friends?" Peggy had said, reaching forward and grasping Natasha's arm. She smiled widely at her, and nodded at Wanda Maximoff, who was in not much more than a red T shirt, black skirt and sandals. "This is the family we have, yes? So of course you must all be here."
Natasha's eyes slid away again, skipping past Wanda as she swallowed uneasily. "I suppose."
T'Challa sat beside Natasha, expression grave. "We will need your assistance with Mr. Barnes, Miss Romanoff," he told her formally. "If he is to wake and be acclimated in time for the nuptials, then he will need someone able to help him."
Her gaze was sharp. "He shot me at least twice, tried to choke me-"
"But you don't cower in your fear, and you would do your duty. He could not rely on Mr. Rogers or Miss Carter to even attempt taking him down should the protocols be engaged."
"I will help," Wanda offered, a weak smile on her face. "He has a mind. He dreams of ice and snow, and fears it. I could use that."
Steve had a pained expression on his face, and he looked around the room. "I can't ask any one of you to do something you're not comfortable with. And I won't. If this isn't an idea that will work, we don't do it."
"But Bucky means the world to you," Natasha murmured.
"So do the rest of you," he answered honestly. "And I've put you all in tough positions already. I can't ask you to do that again."
"Then I suppose it's a good thing you're not asking," Sam said, shrugging. "I'm in."
"As if you ever weren't," Wanda huffed, a smile on her lips. "I'm in."
Natasha's lips curled a little in the corners. "It's good to have back up."
T'Challa gave a pleased smile, and stood. "Then we will speak with Dr. Cho about reversing the cryogenics process. I know I have assigned a team to help her work on the prosthetic arm. She has done a lot of research into the neural connections and by now should have designs for one that stresses the joints far less."
Steve shot him a grateful look. "Thank you."
"I meant it when I said that there is no further place for vengeance," he said with a nod, acknowledging the words. "Revenge and hate only furthers the cycle of toxicity and destruction, and it must end. I will see it done, even if only in my own kingdom."
"We'll help however we can," Peggy promised. She smiled warmly at T'Challa as she tightened her grip on Steve's hand. "I don't imagine that we would have an extended honeymoon in a climate like this. There might not be overt fighting, but looking at news reports and the internet, it seems that there is still a war of a sort brewing throughout the world."
"Fear of Inhumans, fear of magic, fear of loss of control," T'Challa agreed.
"We should probably get in touch with Coulson, if that works with your country's needs," Natasha murmured. "He has a version of SHIELD up and running, so that begins part of an international information network."
"It would not meet our needs," T'Challa said, tone brooking no argument even as it was polite. "I have a network in place already. Nations such as mine cannot remain independent and relatively isolated from wars without knowing how the politics of the rest of the world operate. You would be aiding the network I have, not another."
Natasha nodded. "Of course."
"Is this going to be a test of loyalties?" he asked, concern coloring his tone.
"No," she said quietly, shaking her head. "It's not the organization that matters. It's who I would work with and for. It's what the information would be used for."
Peggy moved from Steve's side and sat down beside Natasha as T'Challa frowned. "I understand what you mean," she said, leaning in toward Natasha without touching her. The words were more for T'Challa's benefit than for Natasha's. "Organizations can be like family, if those of blood are no longer there."
"I don't think we can ask Clint to do dangerous missions," Natasha added, looking up at the king with a blank expression. "He has his family to think of, and it was dangerous enough to get them here without anyone realizing where Clint and the rest of us were."
T'Challa smiled benignly at her. "We are aware of everyone's talents and how best to use them, not to worry. My ministers and I have been in discussion."
It didn't outwardly disturb Natasha, but Peggy felt the tension in her form. "I see."
"Formal discussions and plans will be held after the nuptials. It would not do to ruin such a joyous occasion with talk of secrets and spies."
Knowing full well how dependent they were on T'Challa's mercies, they all had to agree.
***
The moment consciousness came to Bucky Barnes, he bit his tongue hard enough to bleed to keep from screaming. No! You can't wake me up! No!
It was worse when he saw the familiar notebook in unfamiliar hands. The terror ratcheted up higher when he saw the Black Widow beside the unfamiliar women and the tall black man with one bad eye. They're going to start it again, I can't make them stop, I won't let it happen again, I won't be used-
"Bucky," Steve said, somewhere to his right. The fear didn't ease, not much, because it could be a trap, it could be a trick-
Steve moved into his line of vision, in front of the unfamiliar people. Concern was in every feature, and Bucky could feel his gut twist in apprehension. What had he done? What else would Steve endure because of him, or that Bucky would endure for Steve's sake? They were wound into each other's souls, and there was no taking that apart.
"We think we can get the triggers out," he said quietly, lifting his hands. Clearly telegraphing every move, Steve leaned in enough to rest his hand on Bucky's shoulder. "You can live, and it can be safe for you. I promise."
"You don't know," he rasped, the taste of blood bitter in his mouth. The taste was too familiar, and a dim part of the back of his mind was almost comforted by it. Some things stayed the same, no matter what was done to him.
"We do," the Black Widow said, her husky voice familiar as well. His mind didn't process it, not really, not much more than familiar - don't kill - important to the mission - trust and then suspicion crept in as she took a step forward. "They got a number out of my head, and we think it might be the same process, given the notes that your prior handlers made."
The damn notebook. He wanted to burn it.
"If no one has the words, I can't be triggered, is that it?" Bucky asked, bitterness in his voice.
"No," Steve said, tightening his grip on Bucky's shoulder. "We get the triggers out entirely. So that your mind is your own again, and it's only your will."
Oh, God, why was that even more terrifying than knowing someone else could control him so thoroughly, so completely?
"I'm here." There was something in his eyes, something Bucky couldn't interpret. "And Peggy's here. Hydra had her, too. Fury found her, and she's awake. You're not alone, Buck. We're all going to help you through it."
He didn't want to believe. Hope was painful. Hope was the first thing that got stripped away along with his sense of self and willpower. Steve could feel the shiver that rolled through him, but he could hear the click of heels striding forward, a familiar stride, and then when he finally trusted enough to turn his head, he could see Peggy Carter herself, hair in waves and mouth as lipsticked red as it used to be.
"Hello, Sargeant," she said, clasping her hands in front of her. "Seems as though we're all stuck out of time without a home." Her smile was rueful and sad. "Perhaps we can help each other."
"This is fuckin' unbelievable," Bucky muttered.
There was a smattering of shocked glances or gasps. The Black Widow smirked, and both Steve and Peggy laughed. "Science has a way of making the unbelievable believable, I assure you. I have seen such things that make absolutely no sense, but it doesn't make it any less true," Peggy told him. Her brisk tone was reassuring. "Shall we begin the work of finding ourselves a place in this new world?"
Bucky didn't want to hope. He didn't want to believe. But as he looked around the room, he couldn't help but feel the first bright spark of hope begin to burn in his chest.
"Yeah. Let's give it a go."
***
It hadn't been his idea, but Natasha was the one in the room with Bucky along with the psychiatrist doing the initial psychiatric evaluation. Of course whatever he said would be open knowledge, but it was different knowing she would be there to listen. It made sense that the psychiatrist would feel safer with someone at her back in case Bucky was triggered, even accidentally. She had coal black skin and hair in twists that carried a glossy shine. She was very professionally dressed, a violet suit that was especially vibrant next to her dark skin. Her heels were tasteful and not terribly high, and she had only a simple ballpoint pen and spiral notebook with her, as well as a tape recorder.
Every single item could be turned into a weapon if he so chose. Even with only one arm, he was a weapon if he so chose.
"Let us begin, if it is all right with you," the psychiatrist said, her voice warm like honeysuckle and approachable. His instincts didn't scream that she was duplicitous, and he felt that she would do exactly what she said she would do.
Still, his breathing was rapid and his body was tense. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
Natasha was seated behind her, no note taking equipment at all, though Bucky didn't think she would miss anything that was said.
"I am Dr. Amira Yelba, and a forensic psychiatrist among the people here in Wakanda. This is an interview to determine your current mental state, as well as to assess your memories in a logical and linear timeline. We are working with the assumption that you can give consent to the entire memory and trigger discovery process, but if I find that you lack capacity in any way, I will halt the process and only allow it to be reinstated when you regain capacity."
Bucky swallowed and stared at her. "I know that's English, but not the kind that makes sense to me. I only ever was a soldier."
Dr. Yelba's gaze was sharp. "I sincerely doubt that, Sergeant Barnes. You had excellent marks in mathematics and the sciences prior to your draft into the military. Your superiors frequently remarked on your leadership capabilities and tactical skills. You were never only a soldier to anyone, and I think we can proceed better if we don't pretend otherwise." Her voice softened somewhat. "If it is too stressful to go through your memories, we can proceed when you are comfortable. We are not in a hurry."
"We're not? But Steve-"
"Is subject to my determination," Dr. Yelba interrupted with a smile. "He agreed to such."
He gave a startled burst of laughter. "That must've been a sight to see. Steve's stubborn as fuck, and he never knew when to quit."
"Still doesn't," Dr. Yelba replied, still smiling. "But we will do what's best for you."
That surprised Bucky. "Really?"
"Really." She still had her hands folded on the table. "You are a thinking, feeling person, and we will be respecting your wishes as best as we can."
Bucky caught the phrasing. "As best as you can."
Dr. Yelba nodded. "If you are a danger to yourself or others, there will be additional steps."
"You mean her," Bucky said sourly, flicking a glance at Natasha.
"Not at all," Dr. Yelba said, shaking her head. "She is to clarify whatever terminology you may use that I do not. Or should you speak in a language I am not familiar with."
He blinked in surprise. "That's it?"
"I speak Housa, Wakandan, English and French. In that order of proficiency."
While it might have been amusing to try out the French, he didn't want to irritate the doctor. She was being straightforward and fair, which was better than he thought he would receive when caught. Of course, he thought Hydra would catch him, and it would be exactly like what Zemo had done to his mind.
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Bucky looked down at the table. "What do you want to know?" he asked finally.
"We can start wherever you wish. It's my job to make sense of it, after all," she added with a smile. Bucky got the feeling it was genuine. She was very professional, but there was a soul beneath that veneer. Just knowing that made him feel a little protective of her. Untangling the lies in mind and the horrors he perpetuated as the Winter Soldier would horrify her, and he didn't want to do that.
She reached across the table and took his hand gently, as if she wasn't afraid he could use it against her. "No judgment, Sergeant Barnes. This is a fact finding mission, if you wish to think of it in those terms. We are trying to piece together what happened as best as we can, in the order it was done. Only then can we see where the alterations were made to your mind."
"You really think you can find it?"
There was an edge to Dr. Yelba's smile, something that suddenly had him second guessing his protective instinct. "I am determined. I think you are, too. We will find what the kwarkwa had done to you and reverse it."
Bucky found himself smiling in response to that, and he could see the corner of Natasha's mouth tick up. "Huh. I like the sound of that, even not knowing what you just called 'em. I can tell it's not nice."
Dr. Yelba laughed. "There is a reason I was chosen to assist you, Sergeant Barnes," she replied.
"Call me Bucky," he said after a moment. "Lemme tell you how it was like before. Before the war, before the experiments, before everything. What I was back then, before it all went to shit."
Though she had pen and paper, Dr. Yelba didn't reach for them right away. "Whenever you're ready." Her hand went to the tape recorder. "Don't worry about me keeping up. You tell your tale however you feel most comfortable."
Sad smile in place, Bucky began to talk about growing up in Brooklyn.
***
Walking through the market, Natasha ignored the whispers of foreigners and white ghosts. Sam thought it was hilarious, but of course he would. He liked needling her sometimes, since it showed her that he didn't think any less of her now that she was in the wind along with the rest of them. "You're still you," he'd said when she pointed it out. "Badass and bad, and good people. I know you, Nat. Whatever they say on BBC or CNN, they don't know you."
It felt odd to be a ghost when she hadn't intended to be one.
To be honest, it was even odder to be walking through the market with Bucky Barnes as if the two were friends. Or at least colleagues. She wasn't sure what he truly remembered, because the initial two hour session talking with Dr. Yelba didn't even touch the war period. Natasha hadn't had to stay for that, but somehow, she had felt compelled to. What she remembered and what she learned through files weren't always the same, and she couldn't even be entirely certain that her memories were as clear as she liked to believe.
He had been given a room in the fairly large villa that T'Challa had let them all stay in as they found their footing in Wakanda. Used to silence, Natasha moved through the market with him, picking out grocery items on the shopping list that they had all put together. She was picking up some of the Wakandan in the market, and observed Bucky moving in such a way that he could cover her if shooting started, even though he didn't carry any weapons and still had only one arm at the moment. His taut body language didn't seem to indicate any clear dangers, and was likely from his nerves at being in the open market.
"Shadow at two o'clock," she said conversationally in Russian, taking her purchases from the market stall. "What do you think it is?"
His eyes snapped to the spot she indicated, and then he turned to glare at her. "It's a fuckin' tree."
"Possibly the most dangerous thing in this market besides us, don't you think?" she replied in mild tones, still in Russian.
Bucky had responded in kind, at ease in the language as he was in English, French or German. If she had to guess, he also had fairly good Czech, Sokovian and Polish.
He snarled at her in some guttural sounds that didn't really correspond to any language. "Tryin' to kill me by inches, are you?" he finally snapped.
"Seeing how fast your reflexes are," she replied, still in that easy, conversational Russian that didn't seem to alarm any of the Wakandans around them. She proceeded to the next market stall, and perused the vegetables on sale. When Bucky followed her with a surly posture, she flashed him a bright and patently false smile. "You need an outlet, comrade. Sitting idle isn't in your nature any longer."
"You think you're the outlet?" he scoffed.
"I remember what it was like, coming in from the cold. I remember the debriefings, the attempts to create a linear history." Her smile was knife sharp. "I know the kind of tension in you, where the thinnest thread would be enough to snap."
"I won't kill anyone. I don't do that anymore."
"I don't doubt it," she lied pleasantly in Russian. A strike with a metal fist or booted foot could lead to concussions at best, hemorrhages at worst. He could kill without meaning to. "But you need a way to vent the tension. I think I should propose sparring to the king. He may not approve, thinking it too violent for you. But I think it would help purge the memories of what they had you do."
"You mean bring them to the surface," he replied bitterly. "I already remember too much."
"I mean to make it your own. To take ownership of your body." Natasha turned and leveled a hard stare at him. "You were not a person to them. You were a thing to control. A ghost at best in the intelligence community, but still a thing. For the past seventy years, you suffered many indignities and not once did you have the ability to consent or refuse what they asked of you." Her voice dropped and her gaze softened. "I know what that's like, and I know how hard it is to shake off."
His jaw worked as he tried to think of something to say. "I ain't your patsy."
"I think Steve would be willing to spar," she continued in Russian. "And the King might be willing to join in. He's a talented fighter. Sam and Wanda and Clint might enjoy the exercise, keep their skills sharp."
"You're crazy."
Natasha grinned at him. "Like a fox." She leaned in slightly, just enough to make him uncomfortable, but he refused to back up even half a step. "Just like you."
He had nothing to say in response.
***
Wanda was attending classes at the Wakandan Academy for Advanced Studies; it had classes in witchcraft and powers control, as the high concentration of vibranium in some areas of the country seemed to generate powers and abilities like the fish oils impregnated with terragenesis crystal particles. The Wakandans didn't have the chrysalis stage in their power development as Inhumans did, but simply developed them, as if the vibranium was a mutagen of some kind. Her excitement meant that Steve was considering taking classes, too. He suggested it to Bucky when he moved into the villa. Bucky had remained quiet, only saying "I'll think 'bout it" when the silence grew awkward and uncomfortable.
True to Natasha's prediction in the market, T'Challa and the Avengers readily agreed to sparring in one of the large training areas near the palace. The dora milaje kept vigil over the training grounds to ensure that their beloved king wasn't about to be unduly harmed, especially by the ragtag collection of foreigners. Bucky refused to participate initially, citing the fact that Dr. Helen Cho hadn't finished working on his prosthesis yet. T'Challa may have snorted inelegantly at the lame excuse, but said nothing. Most of the sparring was simple hand to hand, just to practice various forms of self-defense and attack strategy. Wanda wasn't as good as the others, but Natasha was patiently teaching her various techniques that would work best with her slight physique, as well as allowing her opponent to underestimate her.
Bucky doubled over where he sat on a bench, gut clenching. He wrapped his one arm around himself tightly, feeling his fingers dig into his side. The scene was too familiar, even if the angle was all wrong, his memories hazy and unclear.
He remembered.
A stern yet smug voice talking, just outside of his peripheral vision. Girls lined up in their loose uniforms, ready for training and sparring. They were young and appeared fragile, but it was meant to be deceptive. Each girl was trained to be a ruthless killer, to be the weapon pointed in the proper direction and then let loose to fire. Just a game, comrade. Let's see how the girls fare against the Asset. It'll weed out the weak ones.
The redhead that was his partner at the end of the games was the best in the class. He knew that, she knew that. Yet she faltered, tapped out. She tripped and fell.
Clumsy, Madame Bolishinko said, her voice cutting and cruel. Sloppy.
I failed, the girl said, not meeting her eyes as the old men filed out. The Asset had been left behind to clean up the mess left behind from two broken girls.
Silly girl, pretending to fail, Madame Bolishinko huffed. You know you need the graduation ceremony in order to take your place in the world.
She looked up, and there was a hard edge in her eyes, one that the Asset couldn't name. I have no place in the world.
Madame Bolishinko smiled, looking predatory. Exactly.
Both left him behind; he was the Asset, he was a thing, he was the training dummy for the girls to practice against. But this redhead had dared look back at him as she left the room, a troubled look on her face. He remembered lifting a hand in farewell, then going back to his grisly task before their superiors would return.
He remembered.
Steve was at his side instantly, of course. To Bucky's surprise, Sam and T'Challa were there as well. Behind them, Natasha and Wanda had stopped sparring and were looking anxiously in his direction. Not in fear of him, but for him. They cared, they worried about his wellbeing, they wanted him to be well. It was such a new sensation, it took his breath away.
"I remember," he gasped, not knowing what language he was even speaking in. By Steve's puzzled expression, it probably wasn't English, French or German. He repeated himself in English, tripping over the syllables. His tongue felt thick and awkward in his mouth, as if it was a strange creature that belonged to someone else.
T'Challa motioned for one of the dora milaje to come closer, and it sounded like he wanted Dr. Yelba to be summoned immediately. But it was going to be a mess, wasn't it? This was just another test, another violent game that Hydra was playing on him. It was an illusion, something put into his head. He couldn't trust himself or perceptions, couldn't hurt the others, even if they weren't real. He shivered, knowing that he was dangerous, this was stupid, they never should have taken him out of the freezer.
"Soldat," Natasha suddenly barked from across the arena. All of the dora milaje were on edge at that, each warrior poised to move. They had to protect their king, and all these foreigners were suspect. Any one of them would go down instantly.
Bucky looked up, a helpless expression on his face. He was trying to make himself into a smaller target, twisting and curling himself up. God, Steve looked about to cry, and Wanda had a hand over her mouth, Sam was concerned, the King was concerned, and Clint just looked confused. He dug his fingers deeper into his side, not knowing how else to contract further, how else to get himself out of their line of vision.
"The Red Room, isn't it?" she asked, an edge to her voice. It was the same tone she had used with Madame Bolishinko. He could only choke in response. "I remember, too," Natasha said in a softer tone now that she had his attention. "It happened, Bucky. All of it."
His expression crumpled and he let his head fall. "They had me... They made me..."
"I remember, too," Natasha repeated quietly. There was a defeated slump in her shoulders.
Steve whipped his gaze around to stare at her accusingly. "Did you plan for this to happen?"
"No," she said in that same quiet tone. "But I knew it was a possibility." She met Steve's gaze without flinching. "But the things that they had us do, there aren't good ways to push through it. And he has to push through it to get past it."
"But you don't get past it, not really," Steve said, disappointed.
"As best as any of us can," Natasha disagreed.
Dr. Yelba arrived then, Peggy at her heels. "Good Lord," Peggy cried, coming to a halt when Dr. Yelba continued toward Bucky. "What in the world happened here? Are we found?"
T'Challa looked at her with a grim expression. "In a manner of speaking, Miss Carter."
***
***
To Chapter Five - Scars We Carry