Back to Barnes // the winter soldier

25: sharp

     When I woke up kicking and screaming ending in five casualties - they kept me in the white room, alone and in the dark. No more IV's, no punches, no noises, nothing. Just me, alone with my thoughts.

And that was a new thing. My mind, just days ago foggy and unable to pay attention to something for longer than ten seconds, was more alive and buzzing than ever. I felt in control. Maybe the serum was wearing off.

But then a soldier's shadow would come through the dimmed observation window and I'd start again. The screaming, the chanting, the banging on the glass. A gas would fill the room and I'd pass out, and the cycle would repeat itself.

Sharp brain, uncontrollable anger.

I took advantage of the moments I was alert. I sat in the middle of the floor, staring out the window I couldn't see through, my legs crossed as I tried to make sense of things, but that's where it ended. I couldn't make sense of anything. I couldn't remember much. I had to fight to remember where I was - I didn't stand a chance trying to figure out why I was so livid.

It was like it boiled in my chest and burned in my ears and coursed through my veins and stung my fingertips and clenched my muscles and I had no handle on it. My head twitched to the side, meaningless mumbling coming from my lips. I felt completely in control of my lack of control.

I paced around the room for a good three hours, my hands clasped behind my back and my head ducked low. Aiming to zone out, itching with restlessness, I focused on my breathing.

I thought about the soldier who looked like Bucky. I thought about Bucky. I thought about my sweet captive who I couldn't protect anymore. I missed him. I wondered what SHIELD was doing with Ultron, and what things were looking like in their neck of the woods. I wondered about what they did with Bucky during this. I wondered if they forgot about it, and he had gone without food for days. I wondered where his mental state stood. I prayed he was okay. I prayed they remembered him. I prayed they didn't employ him, or get rid of him out of convenience. Not once did I think about praying for myself. It was Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. My first time in ages with a clear mind and we were right where we started - Bucky.

I didn't notice I had come to a halt. The light switched on above me. That was new. I turned to the window but no one was there. A few moments later, there were voices.

"Wipe it. We can't have this thing walking around DC." Volkov said.

I could feel my heart rate pick up, my palms sweating and that burning sensation swelling in my chest.

"Do we start over?" Vasiliev responded.

I grit my teeth, trying to remain calm. My mind went into overdrive. My ears burned, my limbs ached, my muscles clenched, and my head pounded. I had to stay alert, I needed to know what they were talking about. If I lost control, the adrenaline and my focus on my anger would leave my memory spotty, and I didn't want that.

But the pure thought of Hydra or Volkov or the soldiers drove me insane, convulsing in anger and disgust. I wanted their blood spilled. I wanted their necks wrung. I wanted them dead. I wanted them dead.

After a long silence, Volkov replied. "No. Instead of wiping it, just kill it. I don't want another prisoner, it's useless after we wipe it, and we can't risk Nick sending his pets to find it. No, don't waste your time with restarting."

"Yes, sir. We'll get on that." Vasliev answered.

"No, I want the new guy to do it. He needs a taste of what actually happens around here." Volkov answered.

The light shut off and I was left in silent darkness. I found that, with them gone, the anger had vanished, and hadn't left me drained as I thought I would. So I stood alert, staring at the door and waiting for the "new guy" who I could only assume was the soldier trying to trick me while I was dazed on the IV's.

Oh, how I hated him. I wanted to wring my hands around his throat and squeeze till his eyes filled with blood. He was toying with me - trying to make me think he was Bucky. No one messed with me like that. Bucky wass not some joke these people could use against me.

I stood still, staring at the door and waiting. Waiting for what seemed like ages.

Weeks ago, I would have waited in elation at the thought of death around the bend, but now I felt different. I felt strong, I felt like there was something I needed to do, I knew there was something I needed to do. I couldn't let go of that purpose just yet.

As if on queue, the light turned on and a single soldier walked in. He didn't hold a gun in his hands and his helmet was on.

I screamed, lunging forward to grab his neck. He deflected it perfectly, grabbing my right arm and twisting it behind my back, knocking me to the floor. Before I could stand up, he got on the floor and clutched my upper body so I couldn't move my arms.

"Let go of me!" I screeched, bucking my hips up to shake his balance. With his weight only on one knee, he fell on his side. I straddled him, my hands around his neck and my thumbs about to press into his throat, when he removed his helmet.

My clenched muscles softened, though my hands didn't move. The soldier looked up at me with big blue eyes, his lips parted as he struggled to breathe with my knee now pressing on his chest. His hair was long and messy, unbrushed or cleaned for a long time.

If my head was as clear as I thought it was, I was as horrified as I was angry. The soldier that tried to pass as Bucky . . . really did look like him. With every passing feature.

But he wasn't here, I reminded myself. This is a sick joke.

He inhaled as well as he could. "Mais-"

"Why are you doing this!?" I yelled, grip tighter on his throat.

His eyes bugged a little as he tried to keep breathing. He didn't fight back, though. He didn't yell or call for help. He just laid there, taking what I was doing.

His eyes pinched shut as his skin turned a dark shade of red. "Maisie, please." He wheezed, looking at me again with wide eyes.

"Answer me!"

He shook his head, shifting under me. "I'm trying to help."

I didn't even notice my grip loosen. My heart was racing, every inch of me was covered in sweat, my breaths were shallow and my chest burned in fury, but he was breaking some sort of barrier. I tried to think clearly, I tried to focus so I could remember. If I would die, he would die first, but I would know why he wasn't fighting back.

As he took in large gulps of air, courtesy of me not digging my fingers into his throat, he looked at me solemnly, shaking his head again. "I'm so sorry."

My eyes narrowed, but before I could respond he had flipped me over and wrapped his arms and legs around my shoulders and hips so I couldn't get away. I screeched, trying to get away. I was strong, but he was stronger. I couldn't move.

"I'm so sorry, Maisie." He whispered. He stabbed a needle into my arm and I winced, about to scream, before my body went limp and my world went silent and dark.

Authors Note: The sequel to Back to Barnes, Back to Brookes is posted.