' ' Perfect Enough To Break ' '

Whispers Of The Past

Sova

I tilt my head back against the pillow and close my eyes. The words still sting, sharp and familiar, like old wounds splitting open. But I won't cry. I won't let him see it—won't let him win.

I inhale.
One... two... three...
Then I open my eyes, force myself to analyze the room and everything that just happened. I shove the pain down—push it into the pit I've buried everything else in. I don't even know where that place is anymore, just that it's deep and dark and safe.

Nick Fury.

He came through the door before I could respond.

Tall. Dark skin. A black patch over one eye. Leather like a damn war uniform, Mid-to-late 40s, The infamous Director of SHIELD.

I'd heard of him. Of course I had. Commander Pierce used to curse his name like it was a disease. "A thorn in the side of real progress," he'd say. A stubborn, paranoid bastard who wouldn't stay out of HYDRA's way.

So why now? Why did he walk in? Why was I being treated, patched up, allowed to breathe when I should've been chained in some SHIELD containment cell? My gaze flicks to the IV bag beside me, and a sharp burn ignites in my chest. I grit my jaw.

That bag... it mocks me. I hate it.

Weakness doesn't belong to me. I am HYDRA's masterpiece. Their wild card. Their ace. SHIELD's worst-case scenario. I've ripped apart operations alone, slit throats in the dark while the alarms were still ringing.

I was built to never need saving. Now here I am—strapped to a bed. A tube in my arm.

Pathetic.

I shift, trying to rip the damn needle out, but the restraints on my wrists bite down. I'm stuck. Trapped. It's been a long time since I felt like this—vulnerable. I ball my fists until my knuckles ache. And then Bucky walks in——

Everything in me tightens.

He looks tired, but angry too. Like he's still bleeding from what I said.  But his eyes—there's something more now. Something calculating. He's looking at me like he'd figured something out. Like he'd seen something he wasn't meant to. Something he didn't want to see.

Then his gaze moves away, briefly, like the weight of it is too much. When he looks back, it's with that same distance in his voice.

"We got intel HYDRA's planning something at the charity black-tie event."

His words are clipped. Careful.

Detached.

And that hurts more than I want to admit.

It hurt more than it should've. Even though I was the one who pushed him away. Even though I said what I said. Even though I chose my path a long time ago.

It still hurt...

Maybe because a part of me always assumed he'd be there, always, just out of reach but constant. Maybe because I took him for granted.

——————

I remember those dusk talks — the low whispers we'd trade while lying on the cold floor of our cell, staring at the ceiling like it might shift if we looked long enough.

"Think they'll ever give us a window?" I asked once, just to break the silence.

Bucky chuckled under his breath. "Only if it's to throw us out of it."

I smirked. "I'd take the fall. At least I'd get some fresh air."

He glanced over, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Nah. You'd survive the landing just to climb back up and punch someone."

We both laughed, quiet and easy. Like it wasn't a cage. Like we weren't weapons. Like, somehow, we were just two people who had found a way to breathe again.

Those moments used to be enough.
Enough to keep the weight off our chests.
Enough to forget what we were made into.
Enough to feel human.

Now, it feels like that life belonged to someone else. A story I overheard, not something I lived. But I remember the way he looked at me in that light. Like I wasn't broken. Like I wasn't dangerous. Like we weren't designed and tweaked for destruction.

And maybe that's why it hurts so damn much.

Lately, all I feel is the ache. The sharp, hollow kind that comes from knowing you had something good — even for a moment — and lost it. Hurt. That's all that's left. I made my choice. The right one. 

Maybe one day it won't burn like this.
Maybe one day I'll stop waiting for his voice in the quiet.
Maybe one day I'll forget him.

But god knows I won't.

This time I'm the one that looks away and as if looking away would somehow erase the faint whispers of the past. 

The charity event. 

I remember chatter about that back in the base Something important. Something valuable HYDRA wanted to steal. But it wasn't my job. Wasn't my mission. I must've shown something on my face—because his jaw tensed.

"So it's true." His arms folded across his chest, hard and unyielding. Like a barrier. Like he needed to shut me out before I said something that would crack the shell.

"Fury said you might be a valuable asset to us. So he wants you to attend the event. With us."

My eyes widened. "What? If HYDRA sees me with you guys, they'll think I've turned. They'll—"

"We won't let that happen," he cut in, his voice rough, clipped.

"You don't understan—" I started, but he snapped—

"No. You don't understand. It's an order. You're coming with us, like it or not."

I clamp my mouth shut.

The command in his voice makes something in me recoil. Not because I'm afraid. But because I recognize it—that exact tone. I've used it myself. On others. On him. And now he's using it on me. If HYDRA sees me there, they'll mark me a traitor. They'll come for me. But maybe...  maybe they'll rescue me. Maybe they'll understand I wasn't there by choice.

"Now I'm going to untie you," he says, voice low, like he's approaching a caged animal.

I hate that too.

He unfastens the straps carefully. My skin burns where the leather had held me down. I rub my wrists, then yank the IV needle out without flinching.

"You should keep—"

"I don't need this bullshit, James," I bite back, and his name cuts between us like a blade. I'm angry, so, so angry because anger takes less than tears. 

Bucky doesn't respond. Just watches. Weighing me like there's still something left between us worth saving. I stand and pat down my clothes, grounding myself.

This mission—it could save me or it could be the last time I ever walk out alive.