"Tomorrow?" she asked in confusion.
Sam mirrored her expression, leaning his back against the wall. "Yah. We... we've talked about it a few times. Our plane leaves at noon," he explained slowly,
We did?
She thought back, remembering that they had, in fact, talked about it.
Days ago.
It stunned her, realizing that days had passed. They were a blur, like she moved through them without actually being there. While most of it was spent in her room in a half-conscious haze, she'd spent some quiet meals with the guys, took a walk around the pop-up one night, even got cleared by Doctor Green. It was sickeningly similar to how she lived in Siberia, and that was enough to send discomforting waves through her.
"Uh, yah, right. Sorry, I didn't sleep well last night, must have forgotten..." she mumbled as her hands buried themselves further in her blanket.
"Do you want any help packing?"
"No, I don't have much anyways... I just... I'll start now."
"Alright. And when you want something to eat, let me know, I can bring something in."
"Sure," she nodded, only half registering his words. Her mind was now on the task of packing the few things she owned. She didn't have any keepsakes, so it was only her tablet, the few pieces of clothing she'd collected after the Snap and... that was it.
She pulled the heavy duffle bag off the bed and dropped it onto the now-empty plastic bin, eyes searching for anything she'd forgotten.
Wait.
She blinked a few times, mind reeling—she was just talking to Sam, now she was finished packing?
She let her mind wander back, and sure enough he'd said that he was happy she was going with him before disappearing behind the door. And then she started packing. But it was like she was in a dream—or possibly nightmare—where she wasn't present. Her body just moved while her mind was idle within her.
What the hell?!
The fact that she could remember what happened but not doing it was terrifying.
I'm losing my mind.
Everything was supposed to be normal now; she was back from Hydra, it was supposed to be okay. Why wasn't she okay? Why did she still not have control of her mind?
What if they're still in control?
The thought was like ice water down her back.
That was impossible. She was back.
But was she?
Her body was back, her injuries had healed, but her mind? It was still there. And it didn't belong to her.
She gritted her teeth and pushed those thoughts away, mind fighting against the feeling of drowning.
Grabbing the towel from where she'd left it on top of her dresser, she pulled the door open a crack, eyeing the empty hallway. There were no voices, no footsteps, so she stepped out, keeping her feet silent as she slipped down the hall. When she came to the shower room, she pushed the door open just enough to listen, and when she heard nothing, she hurried in and locked the door. The familiar thunk was like an immediate tension release and her shoulders slumped before she turned and rounded the corner.
She was much less on edge this time than she was the last—although she wasn't sure whether that was because she felt secure by the lock, or because she just didn't have the energy to care. But whatever the reason, her steps were lazy as she made her way to the last stall. When she stepped in and pulled the curtain closed, she didn't feel that nauseated feeling that she had last time, just a lag that seemed to slow her movements. And as she rubbed the soap and shampoo into her, she found herself letting her eyes fall closed while her mind wandered to blankness.
The soap had long rinsed away when she finally turned the faucet off, leaving her body dripping and shivering from the cold, but she let her mind remain in its state of idleness as she reached for her towel and started drying herself off slowly.
She was gathering her hair to the side when her fingers brushed over a scar on her shoulder, but rather than recoil, she found herself tracing its smoothness in some strange form of curiosity.
She knew she had scars. That one, she was pretty sure, was from her mission in '76 when a bullet grazed her. Or it may have been from a sparring session taken too far.
Her fingers crawled across her skin, trying to determine which it was, but another met her fingers and it threw her off. The one she was feeling now was long; too long for either of those injuries.
It was then that she was struck with a realization: she hadn't seen herself in a decade. Not really. Not more than a glance.
Her eyes automatically dropped downwards, but she wished they hadn't. The mottled skin of her left leg was enough to bring a grimace to her lips, but she still scanned the rest of her skin for old injuries.
The sight was slightly jarring considering she never thought to look at herself when she was in Siberia, and she certainly was never given a mirror. The only time she would have looked at herself was to assess a wound, but they were never something to be... acknowledged past tending, so she'd forgotten about them.
In truth, her time as an operative didn't leave her with many scars; it was rare that someone was able to injure her, let alone injure her enough to leave marks.
But her eyes fell onto the scar that snaked up and around her bicep. It was jagged, not one long, spiraled line, but jaunted straight ones that connected sloppily...
It was the time before she became an op that was visible on her body.
She was moving forward within a heartbeat, pushing the curtain aside as her breathing quickened. She knew that wasn't the only scar they'd given her during her months of torture, and as she approached the mirrored wall adjacent to the showers, she finally saw those marks.
Burns in the shape of lighter heads and cigarettes, lines tracing her left side ribs, the X that was etched into her upper thigh.
She turned before her mind could advise her not to, and immediately nausea rocked her. The top of her back was a mess of scars, and now that she could see them, she could almost feel the knife carving through her flesh as it had a decade ago. The Russian's jeer's echoed inside her mind, the words she didn't yet understand spilling from his lips in frustration as he tried to pull answers from her.
She traced the marks with her eyes, watching them dip and lurch. Then she noticed familiar shapes.
Letters. Cyrillic letters.
"No," she groaned, "no, no, no."
He couldn't have written something into her skin. No.
The nausea worsened as she stared at her back in horror, feeling as if the Russian's lips were pressed against her, whispering sick words across her skin.
She didn't know what it said; she could barely make out the letters between the lighting and angle, so she spun, hurrying back to the stall where she pulled on her clothes and practically ran out of the shower room.
Her speed didn't slow much as she made her way through the halls, not thinking as she stopped at a door and threw her fist against it loudly.
When it opened, Bucky's eyes were pressed into a glare, but they filled with worry at the sight of her. "What's going on?" he asked, searching behind her briefly before looking back to her.
"I—I need your help," she panted, realizing how hard it was for her to breathe. "I n-need you to look at my back, tell—tell me," she gasped, running her hands over her face.
"Take a breath," Bucky said gently as he stepped to the side. "What's going on?"
"Please, just look."
"At what? Your back?"
She nodded, walking past him. "Y-yah. Yah, just..." she didn't even get the rest out, just pulled her top off and pressed it against her chest.
"Marlow," Bucky gasped as she heard his feet shuffle against the floor.
"Bucky, please," she choked. "It says something—I know it does but I can't tell and I need to know—please. Please," she whispered as she squeezed her eyes shut.
She wasn't pleading to him. She was pleading to whatever was listening that she was wrong. That it didn't say anything, and he didn't permanently tattoo himself into her skin.
A release of breath was followed by a quiet scuff of feet and then silence. That silence held for longer than she thought she could bare.
"Marlow," Bucky repeated, but this time, his voice was pained. "What... God."
Her legs threatened to give out and she dropped to kneel on the bed, letting her head hang. "Please."
"It... does," Bucky said quietly. "It... it says... shlyukha Gidry."
She knew the word, heard it being passed between the agents, although she never learned what it meant. But considering Bucky didn't translate, she knew it was bad.
She squeezed her eyes tighter as she tried to keep her voice steady. "Hydra's what? I don't know that word... shlyukha. What..." she let out a breath, "what does it mean?"
"Marlow..."
Her throat burned. "Bucky, please."
He was silent for a few moments before he shifted. "Whore," he whispered so quietly, like it could soften the blow.
But that's exactly what it felt like; a blow. Like someone had punched her in the gut.
It made her want to rip her skin off, to scrape it off, burn it off—anything to get him off of her. It no longer just felt like his lips and words, now it was like the Russian was all over her, rooted into her.
Hydra's whore.
The words repeated over and over, like it was the only thing she could think or understand.
She wondered whether he planned it all; whether he knew then that he was going to keep her. Use her. He must have; it would have been a waste of penmanship otherwise.
"Marlow, I... I didn't know..."
She opened her eyes, glancing over her shoulder with glassy eyes. "How could you? I didn't know... I don't even know when it happened... I don't know if it happened at once or on different days. That whole time is a blur. But I... I remember being in pain. They," she huffed in bitter amusement, "they poured vodka onto them. So they wouldn't get infected..." She clenched her jaw, dropping her eyes to the bedding. "I wish they did," she whispered.
Bucky didn't say anything, but she heard him move towards the wall. That's when she clued in that she was in his room, on his bed. Without a shirt.
"I'm sorry," she blurted, fumbling with the shirt as she tried to flip it the right way. "I barged in here and yanked my shirt off, I'm sorry, that—that was," she shook her head, finally pulling her shirt on. "I shouldn't have done that. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, it's just I panicked, and I needed someone and you—you're safe, I don't feel like I'm about to be attacked, and you know Russian, and I couldn't go to anyone else, but that doesn't mean I should have just ran in here and taken my shirt off, we barely know each other and—"
"Marlow."
She stopped short, realizing she was standing, and when she let her eyes look up at Bucky, she felt the need to disappear into the floor at her rambling.
"There's no need to apologize," he mumbled. "But... is that true?"
She furrowed her brows and he elaborated.
"You're not nervous around me. I'm... safe."
She couldn't meet his eyes as she pulled her lips between her teeth. "Yah," she breathed as warmth came to her cheeks, "I mean I thought that was obvious..."
Why was she embarrassed? It was obvious, but for some reason stating it so bluntly... it made her worry that maybe it would scare him away. Either because she was becoming too attached, or because he didn't want that type of commitment, or because it was weird.
God, she shouldn't have said anything.
"I just—I'm glad," he stumbled, a hand reaching to rub the back of his neck. "That you feel comfortable around me. I don't understand, but I'm glad."
"Don't understand?" she asked airily, the previous moments of embarrassed distraction fading as her mind returned to why she'd come to his room in the first place. "You didn't do this. You are the only thing that has been constant and not dangerous for ten years because you were like me. You never hurt me to be cruel or to control me; you were made to do things the same way I was... I didn't understand much, but I understood that. I knew I could rely on you and that you were safe. But even now, how could you look at me and tell me you don't understand when you've stayed by my side for weeks?" she asked, doing her best to ignore the burn in her throat that threatened to waver her words. "You've put your own life on pause and stayed with me night after night, and you don't see how I could feel safe with you? Fuck, Bucky, open your eyes," she muttered weakly, running a hand through her damp hair.
Bucky just stood there, apparently dumbfounded by her words.
"I just thought that after what I did..."
"I understood," she repeated. "But even so, it was nothing like what the others did."
His eyes flicked to her shoulder before coming back up. "No, I guess not..."
The skin of her back burned, and she wanted to get away from it, but she knew that she never could. It was always going to be part of her.
He would follow her.
Hydra's whore.
Fuck.
She bit down on her teeth hard, forcing her eyes away from Bucky's. "I—I should..."
"Don't go," Bucky mumbled, dipping his head slightly to keep eye contact. "Don't do that to yourself."
"I'll be fine."
"Marlow, stay."
After watching him a moment, she nodded, forcing her lip not to quiver.
She suddenly felt like a child searching for protection from the dark. There was no threat, but God, she felt afraid. And he was safe... Before she could think twice, she stepped to close the space between them and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.
He seemed to have expected it, because he wrapped his around her immediately, his grip gentle despite the metal that pressed against her.
"Thank you," she mumbled, words muffled by his shirt.
"Anytime. I'm glad I'm able to help."
She shut her eyes, letting herself stay there a few seconds longer before pulling away. "Sorry... for jumping you..."
He smiled a little before shrugging. "Don't get too many hugs now adays, so it's kinda nice—now," he said, changing the subject, "do you want anything to eat? Drink?"
She shook her head. "I'm really not in the mood to eat anything right now..."
"Is there something you do want to do?"
"I... maybe we could finish that movie? We never did, did we?" she suggested.
"Sure, but you're going to have to put it on, I don't have a tablet in here."
"I'll go grab mine," she said, pulling open the door and heading across the hall quickly. She pulled the tablet from her duffle, before grabbing the blanket and pillow off her bed.
When she got back to Bucky's room, he eyed the bedding, a brow shooting up before dropping to sit on the bed. She shifted her gaze to the tablet and loaded the movie, noticing how Bucky had pushed the black bin against the wall like she had in her room. After backing the movie up a minute or so, she propped the tablet against the wall then pressed play.
As Vivian and Edward talked quietly, she dropped the pillow to the floor and wrapped the blanket around herself—
"What are you doing?" Bucky asked.
Confused, Marlow looked over to where Bucky was sitting against the wall. "What?"
"You're not sittin' on the ground."
"Well, I'm not going to make you sit on the ground," she countered. "It's your room."
"Marlow, come sit up here. It's alright."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
With a nod, she grabbed her pillow and crawled onto the bed, secretly happy she didn't have to sit on the floor. After settling herself against the wall—a foot and a half from where Bucky sat—she laid the blanket across herself and pulled the pillow into her arms.
Her chin rested against it, letting her mind be absorbed by the movie... until Bucky's voice cut above it.
"Were you alright this week? You seemed... off."
"I..." she trailed off, unsure. "I don't know... I've felt out of it. Like I'm not really here."
"Like you're still with Hydra?"
She clenched her jaw and shook her head. "No just... not here. In my body," she whispered to clarify. "I don't know, I'm just tired I think.'
"Hopefully sleeping will start getting easier for you," he mumbled. "I'm sure getting out of this place will help too..."
She hummed in response, half agreeing that being out of this place would be good, but still unsure whether being with Sam was the right decision.
He didn't speak after that, and neither did she, and she wondered if that was part of the reason she found herself fighting to stay awake. She didn't even think it'd been twenty minutes since they'd started the movie when she let her eyes close, wanting just a moment to rest.
The movie dimmed from her hearing and the familiar feeling of falling came over her, immediately being replaced by the thickness of sleep.
⁂
Marlow shifted slightly, moving her right arm that had gotten trapped beneath her at some point. As she did, her hand brushed against something firm—but not the wall and definitely not the mattress.
Her first thought was that she was having a nightmare, so she shot up, eyes searching the space around her in an attempt to orient herself, but instead she found a bleary-eyed Bucky.
He was propped in the corner, a pillow behind him while his legs were splayed across the bed. Legs that she was clutching like a lifeline.
She released his calve as her mind reminded her that she had fallen asleep during the movie.
Wait.
I was sleeping on him.
Her mouth opened to apologise, but then she was hit with a thought.
I slept.
I didn't have a nightmare.
She was stunned, the half dozen thoughts ringing through her mind stopping her from forming any coherent words.
"I guess I fell asleep too," Bucky mumbled, his voice gravely as he straightened.
"I slept on you," she stated with her brows pulled together.
"Mhmm."
"I... I slept,"
A look of realization crossed his face and nodded in understanding. "So did I..."
"Sorry I fell asleep on you, that must not have been very comfortable," she said, nodding to the corner.
"Best sleep I've had in a while," he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face.
She shifted to lean herself against the wall, trying to get over the slight embarrassment of falling asleep on him while also appreciating how much better she felt.
How long did we sleep?
"What time is it?"
Bucky twisted his wrist, eyes falling to his watch. "Quarter to four," he breathed.
Quarter to four? That doesn't—
In the morning, she realized.
"What time did we start the movie?"
Bucky shrugged. "I think it was around six..."
"We've slept ten hours?" she balked.
"Not sure the last time you had a proper sleep, but it's been a while for me," Bucky said, and although his voice was light, his face revealed exhaustion. Not like the dark circles that she'd seen before, but his energy. It was exhausted relief, like he'd been waiting for this. He probably had; he'd been awake every time she journeyed to the commissary, and stayed there with her until morning, so she doubted he'd even gotten as much sleep as she had the last week.
"I guess the exhaustion finally caught up," she quipped half-heartedly.
She had a feeling they were both too tried to have given nightmares a chance to fester. They just knocked the hell out.
"I guess so..." Bucky agreed quietly, resting his head against the wall and shutting his eyes.
"Want me to let you sleep some more?" Marlow asked.
"No, just... feels good."
She let out a hum of understanding. "Then do you want to go get breakfast?"
The corner of his mouth raised, and when he cracked open his eyes and tilted his head slightly to look at her, she remembered why she felt giddy the first time she met him. But quickly, she shook those feeling away; they were friends who had no time or mental capacity for anything else. Not to mention that they were both uninterested in a relationship with each other.
She just thought he was pretty.
That was normal. Especially considering the way he looked. Especially right now.
"I heard there was a shipment of fresh goods yesterday," Bucky said mischievously. "I bet there's some bacon and eggs like last time."
"You think so?" Marlow asked hopefully.
She wasn't sure when the last time she had bacon and eggs was—not fresh at least. It must have been before she left and Lord, they sounded really good.
"Let's find out."
"Let me change and then we'll go. That okay?"
"Course."
She slid off the bed, grabbing her pillow and blanket from where they were laying on the bed before shuffling across the hall and into her room. After dropping everything onto her bed, she turned to the duffle and pulled a new set of clothes from inside, changing into the leggings and crewneck.
When she stepped from her room, she saw Bucky waiting, and when he met her eyes, they quietly made their way to the commissary.
"How much of the movie did you end up watching?" Marlow asked as she leaned herself against the shelving unit in the kitchen.
Bucky went to the fridge, pulling it open and scanning its contents. "Hmm, about a half an hour, I think. I don't know how you didn't wake up, but you fell asleep and literally fell onto me, and then it was a few minutes after that that I fell asleep."
"No, I didn't," she groaned in denial, rubbing a hand over her face. "I'm so sorry, I was really tired, I don't even remember that."
He turned to look at her, brows scrunched slightly as he sent her a gentle smile. "Hey, don't worry about it, sometimes it just hits you."
"Next time just kick me off," she grumbled.
He let out a chuckle and shook his head. "I'm not going to kick you," he mused, turning back to the fridge. He reached forward to grab a few things before elbowing the doors closed.
When he turned towards her she saw it was a flat of eggs, a huge pack of bacon, and a container of sausages.
Her mouth watered at the memory of those foods, and she had to yank her eyes away when Bucky spoke up.
"Hungry?"
She shrugged. "For something I haven't had in a decade? Yes."
His face fell slightly and she felt herself shrink, waiting to hear some apology or comment about Hydra, but he wiped the look off his face and dropped everything onto the counter. "Can you grab a couple pans?"
"Yah," she breathed.
They set to work together, cracking eggs and turning sausages. After a half hour and a few slices of burned bacon—which Bucky insisted they couldn't waste—they brought their haul to Marlow's room to eat.
"I'm just going to change and I'll be back," Bucky said as he dropped his tray onto her dresser.
She nodded, placing hers onto the bin before turning and grabbing the blanket she'd dropped messily. After tucking it in properly, she grabbed her food and sat at the top of the bed, crossing her legs and resting the tray across them. She'd gotten a bite of her eggs when Bucky returned, grabbing his tray and nodding to the other end of the bed.
"Can I sit there?"
"Yes, Bucky," she said pointedly, taking a sip of coffee.
He sent her a small smile and carefully dropped to the other end of the bed, resting his tray in front of him while he propped a leg up. "Alright?" he asked, eyes flicking down to her food.
"More than alright," she hummed. "I forgot how good food could be..."
"It's weird, isn't it? All the stuff that gets pushed to the back burner... The things it felt like you couldn't live without that you forgot you needed."
"What was it for you?" she asked.
"Cigarettes... and coffee—hell, most people survived off those two through the Depression and the war... Wasn't getting any of that with Hydra."
She took a bite of bacon. "Did you crave them?"
"The cigarettes yes; I remember seeing people around me smoke and I would... know I wanted something, I just couldn't quite understand what it was. I would get antsy for them sometimes, but obviously, never got one... Coffee, well, didn't really think about coffee much. What about you? What's the thing you've missed the most?"
"My family," she said immediately. "Sam, Steve... Natasha, Wanda... I've missed them."
The ache of Nat's memory was thankfully dulled from what it had been a week ago, but it was still there. It was an emptiness she was sure would stay the rest of her life.
His lips pulled to a thin line and he nodded. "That's a lot more heartfelt than deathsticks..."
"I mean before the snap I was living pretty minimally, and before then... well, I've never been too attached to material things, but them... like you said, I forgot how to live without them. I never had anyone like that, where they just fit so well with me."
"Yah," Bucky mumbled, a gentle smile on his lips, "I know what you mean. That was always me and Steve; like two pieces of a puzzle that somehow fit together."
"You're going to stay close to him right? You're going back to Brooklyn?" she asked, suddenly worried for their friend.
He nodded.
"Good. Good, you both deserve time to catch up. And he shouldn't be alone... not... not when..."
She couldn't say it, for her sake and Bucky's. He had so much more reason to be heartbroken over Steve's decision, yet somehow there was no resentment behind his eyes. No questions, just... understanding.
How could he be so good?
"I'll be with him," he whispered. "I won't leave him."
"Good," she nodded, dropping her gaze to her tray. "I also missed coffee," she added, taking a sip to cut at the burning in her throat.
"You can visit when ever you want," he said quietly.
She flicked her eyes up to his and sent him a weak smile. "I'll try."
He nodded and took a sip of his own coffee. "How are you feeling about going?"
She shrugged, picking up a piece of bacon and taking a bite. "I still feel like it's a mistake," she admitted. "And dangerous."
"If something happens... you're welcome with me. I don't think something will happen, but just know the option is there. I really don't know how much help I'll be, but you can stay until you're back on your feet, alright?"
"Hmm, thanks... I'm going to try to be out of there before anything can happen though."
His brows furrowed. "How long are you planning on staying?"
She tilted her head in thought. She hadn't thought of a time period, just until she could find a new place. "I guess a week or so... a few, depending on when a place is—"
"A week?" he balked before shaking his head. "Sorry, I just thought you were going to stay a while, long term."
"I can't do that to him. Or his family; I'm way too much of a mess to have around, especially with the kids. So, I'll find a place close, I know as much that Sam won't let me go far—not that I want to be away from him, I just... He's been away from his family, he deserves the time to be with them and not hyper-focused on me."
He watched her before running his tongue over his teeth. "You keep talking about what everyone else deserves, what about what you deserve?"
She didn't have time to be taken aback by his question, she was answering too quickly. "I deserve a lot less than what I've been given. I get to stay close to my best friend, I get paid every month by the government, I'm not locked away somewhere, I get to survive."
His eyes were sad and she wasn't going to sit there and be pitied by him.
"Your food's getting cold," she muttered, pulling her eyes away from his and stabbing a sausage.
"They're excited to meet you," he said quietly. "Sam's nephews. He hasn't stopped talking about it all week."
She almost wanted to huff in annoyance that that comment brought her hackles down some.
"I'm excited to meet them too. I've always wanted to."
"Focus on that. Focus on the good stuff..."
"What was your good stuff?" she asked quietly, hoping to hear something helpful. And although the guilt was there for searching for it, she let herself have it.
"My memories. A lot of them were bad, but a lot of them were good. And when you're living in back ally's, the past is sometimes all that keeps you going."