The Hurt And The Healing: Bucky X OC

Chapter Fifty Six: For A Figment Of My Imagination, You Are Very Harsh

TW: discussion of sexual assault and internalized period typical homophobia for the 1940s. If need be I am happy to provide a synopsis in the comments for anyone uncomfortable with reading the chapter.

Bucky had survived every possible torture known to mankind. Electrocution, stress positions, waterboarding, you name it, some sicko had put him through it. And yet the one thing in this world that he genuinely thought might kill him was of his own creation: boredom. Leaving Mara and Nonna and Sam again, this time with no one to keep him company as his mind raced through every bad thing that could happen while he was gone? Gut wrenching. Trekking sixty miles through frozen tundra to make it back to Haasenstadt? Grueling. But spending four days alone in a shoebox apartment staring at his target through a sniper scope and waiting for his opening? Mind numbingly and possibly life threateningly boring.

During the war Bucky used to just take some Benzedrine to stay awake and focused for days on end, his gun aimed squarely at the door that his target was due to walk through at any second. Now that was no longer an option. Of all of the things that the serum had ruined for him, drugs of any form were at the top of the list. Sure, he could now manage three days without sleep and still be able to have a coherent conversation. But when day four hit and all he wanted was a way to power through a little longer, coffee did about as much good as mud. Same went for alcohol. And painkillers in dosages meant for humans.

So now Bucky had to actually come up with ways to remain awake and alert and focused completely naturally. Damn Zola. One of these days Bucky was going to have to find his grave and desecrate it in some way. He knew that the little shit had emigrated to the States after the war, helping the US government do what Bucky had died to stop Hydra from achieving. Thank you for your service, soldier. Now we're going to go piss all over it. How could Peggy Carter have supported it? Director of Shield, she must have known that Zola was in the country. Maybe she knew where he was buried.

"Focus, Barnes," he reminded himself so softly that he didn't feel his own breath on his hand. "Your mind is doing that thing where it tries to screw you over."

Focus. He could focus. He could focus on the silent street before him where any second Movoniv's car would pass and Bucky could confirm his identity before blowing him to kingdom come, right? Right. He just needed the right thing to distract him without actually distracting him. But everyone was inside trying to stay warm, and the wall across the street was blank. It was also seventy nine bricks wide and thirty two bricks tall. Bucky had counted. Four times.

Boredom. It really would be the death of him if he wasn't careful. Nod off for a moment, get distracted at just the wrong time, and someone would get the chance to put a bullet in his head. But he couldn't die. Not yet. Mara would kill him if he did.

Mara. Now that was someone he could focus on. He tried to imagine her walking through the city streets, pretending that he could watch her hips sway through his scope, her hair shifting slightly in the cold winter wind that cut through everyone like a knife. He imagined her turning to face him, smiling up at the window he was hiding behind, and jokingly saluting to him. She could blow his cover with a flick of her hand and he'd thank her for sparing him a look.

He imagined her leaning against the building and just watching him, her eyes glowing the same way they did when he kissed her or held her or whispered her name as he pressed against her. He imagined her in a sundress, something light and flowy and not practical for a Latverian winter but this was his fantasy and if he wanted to imagine her in a dress with straps thinner than his pinky and fabric that clung to her hips then he would. She looked at him with a teasingly arched brow and rolled her eyes.

"Focus, Barnes," she reminded him, and he grinned. She remained standing at the perfect spot where he could still see the whole street but have his sights on her. She was the cure to his boredom as he waited for Movoniv's car to pass in front of him. One shot. He had one shot to get it right.