sometime in the early 21st century
bucky's pov
She watched me carefully from across the room. I didn't know what to say; what could I say?
Every movement she made was printed into my brain, I swear. I would never forget the way she looked. Especially the way she looked at me.
When she talked, she had an accent. It was slight, raising certain vowels more than others. Some days, I thought I had it memorized. Others, it took me by surprise.
Pain flared in my brain, shattering any cohesive thoughts. My body was silent, unresponsive to the pain in my nerves. She, on the other hand, was gritting her teeth, biting down on the guard they had placed in her mouth. It had been a long time since she had sat across from me in this room. She called it the Washer Room once. I can't remember why.
Everything froze for a moment. Doctors, technicians, whatever they were, had swarmed us, and then she was out of view. I wanted to move, to see her again, something telling me that I needed to make sure she was okay. Instead, I sat still, arms gripping the chair.
Seconds later, the lights dimmed, and everyone was gone.
I could hear her moving from where I sat.
"Soldier?" She whispered, barely a breath, her voice lilting at the end of the word. I let out a sigh in response. My body wouldn't let me talk to her, and it made my throat burn.
"Everything hurts."
I felt myself shake my head. It took every muscle in my body to turn it into a nod. The procedure always hurt her more than me, I reminded myself. She used to say it was because she hated speaking as a form of communication and would rather watch the way they looked when they talked, so whatever they were trying to do to us with their words and phrases took more energy for her than it did for me.
How did I know that?
"How do I make it stop hurting?" Her voice was weaker now, less of a whisper and more of a scratch. The floor trembled with her words. "James?"
Who was she asking for? James couldn't help her now. Nobody could; didn't she know that?
"James?" She called it this time. A rattling filled the air, metal against metal, as the room continued to shake.
She cried out then, a cry that echoed between my ears. Where were the doctors? I fought the questions forming in my mind, because something else was appearing too: a written word in messy handwriting.
When I found something – a bit of information, a bit of memory – sometimes it came to me like a slap. Other times, it took pulling to see it. Resisting whatever was holding it down.
Doctors?Rattling.Shaking.Writing.Doctors?Help?James?Writing.Rattling.Resist.
Resist.
Resist.
Until finally, I could see it. The second it formed in my mind, it formed on my tongue, and when I said it, everything froze all over again.
"Karina?"
end of part one.
a/n:
thank you all so much for reading thus far! i hope you enjoyed part one as much as i enjoyed introducing karina to you.
love always, and enjoy.
- lora
VOUS LISEZ
all things left unsaid || bucky barnes
Roman d'amour''You are a break from the rain, from the nightmares.'' -- Karina Ruchman was stolen from the train station, barely 18, as she was leaving the only world she had ever known. A painter of war with a knack for understanding people and following orders...
