LEAVING TONIGHT. . . BUCKY BARNES

[ 004. ] tell me how

january 1992

Avery hates the cold, sure she had grown up in the cold Connecticut winters, but nothing like this. And ever since they had done, well, whatever they had done to her she could not seem to get warm. The soldier had only given her a single blanket, a pair of black sweats, and some socks. She sits on her cot, blanket wrapped around her figure, as she stares into the void.

She can't seem to gather her thoughts, and the lack of sleep is making it worse. But she can't seem to go to sleep, every time she closes her eyes she only seems to get flashbacks of them tying her down. A group of men gathering around her to watch the machines she's hooked up to.

"Zhiznenno vazhnyye pokazateli seychas vyglyadyat khorosho (Vitals look good for now)." He said, "Prodolzhit' eksperiment (Proceed with the experiment)."

Avery thrashed around in the chair, kicking her restrained legs. "What experiment?" She yells, when they look at her in shock of her comprehension, she adds, "I know Russian, I know what you're saying. Pozhaluysta, pozvol' mne uyti (Please let me go)."

Avery gasps awake, she hated dozing off, her mind would be filled with memories like that one. She takes small shallow breaths as she lets herself calm down. It takes her a second to realize she's no longer alone in the room.

"Do they ever go away?" She finally asks.

The soldier slowly walks to her cot. Avery sits up, patting the cot so that he can sit. Surprisingly, he does just that. He sits at the end of the bed, as far away from Avery as possible. She no longer fears him, he's never hurt her, not like the doctors had. Though, he never seemed to help her either, but Avery has seen the way the doctors and guards treated him. She's not sure she would help herself either if she was in his shoes.

"The nightmares," Avery clarifies. "Or... memories? I'm not sure what they are anymore."

His head falls forward, long brown hair falling in his face. Avery fights the temptation to push it back.

"Yes," He says, "Soon, you won't have any memories."

"You don't have memories?"

"I don't know who I am."

Avery says nothing. She brings her knees up to her chest. Avery whispers, "I don't think I do either. My brain is... fuzzy. I keep forgetting my own name. They keep calling me Subject."

He says nothing.

"They call you Soldat," Avery says. "It's soldier in Russian."

"You called me James," He says, turning his head ever so slightly to look at her. "Why?"

Avery is silent for a moment, as she dig into her memory in search for the answer.

"I think I knew you from somewhere, I can't seem to remember." They make eye contact for a moment, "James... I like that name."

James basks in the silence for a moment. It's comfortable, well, the most comfortable he had ever felt, no pressure, no looming guards with stun guns, or doctors, or men who left they needed to manhandle him to assert their dominance– though between the two of them they always knew he could kill them in a split second.