The Ghost [Marvel | Steve Rogers]

Chapter 39

Somewhere over the Pacific

Spring 2015

Steve only vaguely remembered waking up from being frozen—flashes, feelings, sensations. At first it had only only been through dreams that they'd really come back to him. The worst had been beginning to breathe again after seventy years in the ice. There were still nights where he'd wake up unable to breathe as his body forced him to remember; his chest jerking, heaving, compressed; his lungs trying desperately to draw in even a gasp of air, but his body not quite seeming to remember how; those few, agonizing moments where he hadn't been able to draw breath.

He felt that way now.

He couldn't think...he couldn't process...

All he could focus on was that fact that Nadine had used Bucky.

She'd used him, in the most appalling way he could imagine in that moment.

There had never been any doubt that Bucky had always been a bit of a ladies man; too charming for his own good, they'd used to tease. With a smile and a few clever words, he could never fail to charm his way into their affections, easily earning smiles back. It had never been that easy for Steve.

But he'd never taken advantage of it. Sure, he'd definitely charmed dames into giving up dances, kisses and sometimes more, but it had never been for the sake of conquest. Bucky had never been a rake, and he'd never purposefully treated a girl's feelings lightly. Not to say he hadn't broken a few hearts along the way. Too charming for his own good, after all. There had definitely been times when he hadn't even realized just how charming he'd been. That Steve could attest to.

No, he'd respected the skirts he'd chased. Raised as he'd been by Mrs. Barnes? He wouldn't have dared do anything else. He had never taken anything they hadn't been willing to give. He'd never pressured a dame. Ever. Steve vividly remembered as much, having been witness on more than one occasion when Bucky had stood up for young women in just those sorts of positions—from their over eager dates obviously making them uncomfortable at dances when they'd been teenagers to a soldier outside a bar in Britain trying to have his fun with a pretty local who wasn't the least bit interested.

It was just another sort of bullying, and Bucky had never been able to stand a bully. He would certainly never consider doing such a thing himself. Steve knew him well enough to know that without his oldest friend having ever said a word on the subject. Not that Bucky had kept his thoughts on such things to himself. More than once, he'd condemned such behaviour with clear disdain, swearing under his breath that he'd never try to take advantage like that after chasing off another overly handsy soldier.

He would never intentionally hurt a woman, physically or otherwise. Certainly not like that.

So to learn that this had happened? To learn that his closest, oldest friend had been dehumanized even further? To see more evidence that his freewill had been stripped from him? To see the sickening evidence playing like a reel before him? It made Steve feel genuinely and viscerally sick to his stomach. It hurt like a kick to the gut.

Bucky deserved so much better.

His jaw clenched tighter, his teeth beginning to ache with the pressure.

Oh, how he wanted to lash out; words, fists, it didn't matter. The leather of his gloves creaked, his hands were fisting so tightly. He needed to, or he felt like he was going to snap.

But, no matter how all-encompassing his anguish and his anger was, part of him was still rational enough to keep those impulses in check. He knew he couldn't allow it, no matter how much he wanted to. He knew he couldn't lose control, no matter how good it would feel to do so, especially feeling as helpless as he currently did. There was simply too much else at stake. There was still a job to do.