You're My Mission

I had to admit that I was pleased that my next mission had taken me to a peaceful crib on the shore of an isolated beach. It felt as though I had been stuck in a cramped, grotty city for so long, and I hadn’t even realised it until I had come here and taken a breath of the salty air. The cottage, intended to be a family home, was perfect for Steve and I to try to help Bucky become himself again. Mornings were spent doing physical workouts, whereas the afternoons were allocated to Bucky’s mental challenges, and the evenings set aside for relaxing. It was a pleasant routine, and as the days passed I realised how much I enjoyed both of the kindhearted men’s presences. With Maria’s promise that Stark would come out the second Bucky’s arm presented any trouble, and that Hydra wouldn’t track us down, we could all finally relax.

After a lot of persuasion, we finally convinced Bucky to let us cut his hair one morning and shave the thickening scruff off his jawline. All freshened up from our showers after our exercise session, Bucky’s damp hair trailed down to his shoulders. His eyes were settled on a drop of water that had fallen from his hair and was now slowly running down his metal arm, and it finally hit me that Bucky’s arm must have given him difficulties and been the reason why he had taken a whole damn hour to wash himself. Steve hacked away at Bucky’s hair as I gave some input, Bucky remaining rigidly still until Steve had wiped the last of the shaving cream from his face. A completely new man stood before me, one that Steve said resembled the Bucky he had grown up with, and we were both pleased with his new look, full of hope that it would further help Bucky to remember his past.

Once the hair had been swept up, we sat down for lunch. Instead of wolfing down his sandwiches like he and Steve usually did, Bucky slowly munched away at his and stared vacantly out of the kitchen window. When Steve collected our dishes and headed for the sink, I tried to catch Bucky’s eye but he quickly stood and avoided my gaze. He halted near Steve, clearly on his way to the front door.

“I’m going on a walk with Jennifer,” he told Steve before stepping outside. Steve glanced over his shoulder at me with a furrowed brow.

“Apparently I’m going on a walk,” I remarked, some humour in my voice at Bucky’s awkwardness.

“Something’s wrong,” Steve said. My face fell.

“I know.”

I stood and followed Bucky’s trail, having to jog across the sand before I caught up with him.

We walked along the beach by each other’s side for a good ten minutes in absolute silence, but I had nothing to complain about. The walk was easing my worry, and I began to feel more confident that in time he would share his thoughts with me. Besides, I couldn’t help but feel complimented by how he had chosen me to confide in instead of Steve.

“I can’t be Bucky,” he eventually said. I looked up at the man who now resembled the gentle image I had seen at the Smithsonian instead of the harsh Winter Soldier Hydra had turned him into.

“Why not?” I asked as softly as I could to not put him off expressing his feelings.

“Because I’m not him anymore. I’ve been trying to be Bucky Barnes, born 1916, older brother to three plus Steve, and a soldier from the great war but-” Bucky hesitated while squinting his face in pain. “But I’m not him. With almost every memory I recall of Bucky, I get a memory of the Winter Soldier, and I can’t be Bucky if I’ve done all of those horrible things.”

“You didn’t have a choice, that wasn’t Bucky doing that,” I tried to reason but he shook his head, only a few strands of hair skimming across his forehead. In a way I was glad he could no longer hide behind his thick mane.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s a part of me now. But I don’t know how to cope with that,” he confessed before sighing. “Steve is forcing the old Bucky onto me, but he doesn’t understand that I can’t be that hero to him anymore. I feel like only you understand, since you don’t have such a high expectation from me.”

“Steve’s just trying to help, he really cares about you,” I reasoned but then I realised that I was going about it the wrong way. “Look, Bucky, I know it’s all probably quite overwhelming, but you are a good person. If we didn’t believe that, we wouldn’t be here for you.” Bucky slowed to a stop and I turned to face him, receiving a puppy dog expression.

“How can you say that? After what you’ve seen me do?” he breathed, hints of exasperation and bafflement in his tone. I understood his lack of faith in my words so I inhaled slowly to begin an explanation.

“Okay, think about it like this: I was in a similar position. I was acting for years on end, spying on Hydra and doing dishonourable tasks so I could move up the ranks and be assigned as your supervisor. It wasn’t really me who killed people, or gave the kill orders. It wasn’t me who did any of that crap!” I noticed my voice was becoming louder so I took a short pause to calm myself. “Because of that, I think I understand you, Bucky. You didn’t try to kill Fury, or Steve. That wasn’t you. You can’t do anything else but accept that and move on, become a new person, and do something positive now that you have the chance.”

A flicker of hope sparkled behind his blue eyes, lightening them and softening his clean-cut face.

“You think I can redeem my actions?” he asked and I couldn’t prevent the smile from crossing my lips.

“I think you’re already on your way,” I admitted. It didn’t feel like we had been living at the beach house for that long, but Bucky had truly made a good amount of progress, and I was hopeful that afterwards he would be interested in joining Steve, Fury and I in aiding to protect the world.

We stared into each other’s eyes in silence and I detected a longing coming from him, even though he was rooted to the spot. Hoping it was similar to the way I yearned for him, I took a step to close the distance between us. Bucky didn’t budge, and his face softened, so I took that as a good sign and paused to think for a little longer.

Did I really want to address that something extra in our relationship?

Deciding it was worth the shot, I reached a hand up and cupped Bucky’s smooth jaw to pull him in for a kiss.

When I was halfway there, Bucky’s metal hand flew up and clasped mine. His lips parted as he pried my fingers from his face and lowered them, his eyes staring at my hand before he let go of it.

“I… I can’t…” he murmured, taking a step backwards. He was frightened, and I wanted nothing more than to embrace him and convince him that everything was going to be fine. “You need to leave here.”

And with those cold words, Bucky spun on his heel and strode back to the crib.