Bucky's not even fully conscious when the pain kicks in. He groans and arches his back, swearing in Russian under his breath. His vision is blurry when he first opens his eyes, but after a couple seconds of rapid blinking, he has a chance to observe the room around him. The first thing he sees is a collection of picture frames on the opposite wall, each containing a different sketch. One is of a line of flowers, the next is a larger picture of some skyline, yet another is a startlingly accurate drawing of a dog. Bucky remembers; Steve's bedroom.
He pulls an unattractive face as he struggles to sit up. The knife wound in his shoulder protests with a sharp flash of pain, not to mention the various bruises and cuts across the rest of his body that still ache. He pushes the blankets partially off of his chest, just enough to examine one of the shallow knife cuts that had found its mark. Much to his relief, it's almost completely healed, with only a pink-toned scab marking a line up his stomach. That's a good sign.
There are footsteps in the hallway and then Steve appears in the doorframe. "Bucky!" The blond exclaims, stepping inside quickly. "Are you feeling alright?"
Bucky grunts in response as he disturbs the knife wound yet again. "Could be better. You wouldn't have some Anacin or OxyContin, would you?"
"Unfortunately, no. Imagine my surprise when I came out of the ice and found out that stuff was illegal. Hell, people used to take methamphetamines all the time in the war just to stay awake during the fighting. Give it a few decades and suddenly I find out they're not only highly addictive, but illegal. I'm lucky that they wouldn't work on me because I probably would have taken them if I didn't have the serum."
"If you think I would have let you take one more pill if you didn't absolutely need it, you're wrong."
Steve grabs a washcloth from his back pocket and leans over the bed, dabbing beads of sweat from Bucky's forehead. The brunet protests quietly, pushing his hand away begrudgingly. "If you thought it would help, you'd let me take it," Steve says. "Remember the one time my doctor told me to take some random pill for my heart palpitations? You thought the dosage was way too high when I told you about it later, but I was so sure I was old enough for the adult dosage that I didn't even stop to consider my weight. And what do you know, I started having bouts of unconsciousness and confusion and all that, and you took me to a different doctor and what do you know! It was the wrong dose, and you were right the whole time."
Bucky's mouth quirks up in what would probably resemble a smile if it wasn't for all the bandages. "You should listen to me more."
"I do." Steve leans forward, planting a small kiss on Bucky's chapped lips. When he pulls away, there's a teasing glint in his eyes. "However, listening to me every once in a while could do you a world of good too. So, I hate to make you get up, but we're gonna go to the tower soon. I got some tech off the assassin lady and I bet either Natasha or Sasha knows something that could help us, so I'm gonna have it checked out there."
Bucky's not too enthusiastic about the idea of getting out of bed, but in an effort to not sound pathetic, he just groans. "And I'm going too?"
"There's better medical supplies there. I'll swap out some of the... well, I'd say gauze, but it's really just hand wraps I use for boxing. I'll swap out the wraps for actual gauze and maybe spring for some disinfectant."
Bucky curses, but it's all in good nature. "Fine. I need a shower while I'm there anyway."
The pair makes some light small talk until Steve finally decides to clean up before they go, leaving Bucky to get up on his own. He kicks the blankets toward the end of the bed — regretting it instantly as his sore legs remind him that moving fast is not a good idea — and stumbles out of bed, having to brace himself on the windowsill. He looks out through the glass at the low sun. He must've been out for a while.
He strips off the bloodstained sweats and pulls on a new pair of loose black pants. In Steve's closet, he finds a blue polo that is miraculously loose enough that he's not concerned with popping the buttons every time he takes a breath. Steve, on the other hand, chooses a tight grey athletic shirt that sends unholy emotions coursing through Bucky.
Minutes later, they're in the car, Bucky munching on a granola bar and Steve with one hand draped casually over the wheel. If the brunet cared a little more, he might chastise his partner about the bad, not to mention dangerous driving habit, but it's not like there's too many curves or cars anyway.
And then it dawns on him.
"Did you ever get your license?"
"You remember that?" Steve shifts nervously in his seat. "Uh, no. But I got good at it. I figure if I stay the speed limit, stop at the red lights, and don't hit pedestrians then I should be good to go."
Bucky buries his head in his hands, but it's partially to disguise his grin. "You are and have always been unbelievably moronic, Rogers."
Steve laughs, pretending to swerve the truck as though to prove Bucky's point. "I drove a tank once, if that makes up for it."
"It does not make up for it."
"It was weird. It had, like, this tiny wheel and some levers and stuff. Not as many buttons as you might think. Dum-Dum would sing Minnie the Moocher at top volume and to get the rest of the squad to join in and I'd yell at them because not only did they suck, I was trying to drive a Nazi tank—"
At this point, the two of them are laughing too hard to continue. Bucky feels actual joy well up in his chest at the thought of Steve, who hits potholes way too fast and winces every time he runs over the curb when he makes a turn, driving a tank. "You idiot," Bucky reiterates.
The two of them continue like that for the rest of the drive, Steve telling stories of the stupid things he did in his youth and Bucky spitting a variety of well-meaning, endearing insults about the shenanigans. Eventually, they arrive at the base of the tower where Steve carefully helps Bucky out of the car and into the tall building.
"I'd wish you both a good evening but Mister Barnes appears to be in need of medical attention. Shall I escort you to Mister Stark's personal medbay?"
"No thanks, J.A.R.V.I.S. Can you tell Natasha to meet us in the evidence lab? I've got a collection of some things she might be able to help me with."
The voice follows the pair into the elevator, which moves up soundlessly as soon as the doors close. "May I inquire as to the source of these items?"
"We got in a tussle this morning with some assassin who tranqed my dogs. She had some photos of me and Bucky in her uniform, but intuition tells me she's from what's left of Hydra."
"Well, that is certainly cause for alarm. Miss Romanoff is on her way to the evidence lab. If we are going to be investigating the whereabouts of your items, I may need to broaden my security range, which would take down this building's security system for around 30 minutes. I can lock exterior doors preemptively and continue basic scans on your items if you so wish, but the strain is mildly excessive for my systems."
Steve ponders it for a moment before shrugging. "Sure, go through with it once we start testing."
"Noted."
Steve and Bucky step out of the elevators into a brightly lit hallway with sets of doors on each side. The blond walks confidently into the first set on the left. Inside, there are multiple long black countertops protruding from the walls, each with a different sort of box-like device sitting on them. A row of see-through cabinets is mounted on the opposite wall with shelves holding different beakers, vials, and goggles. Some rolling stools are scattered haphazardly throughout the expansive room, as though abandoned after a long shift. A lab coat is tossed over the stool closest to the door as though to prove this.
Steve, however, doesn't seem to mind. He steps inside and dumps the items on the nearest table. "Alright, J.A.R.V.I.S. What now?"
"I would advise Mister Barnes to step away from the doors."
Bucky complies at the same time that the doors fly open, a slender redhead racing inside. A pair of latex gloves materializes in her hands and she snaps them on quickly, disregarding Bucky and walking straight to the table with the items they've brought for evidence. "What the hell happened?"
"Well, we got attacked."
"I figured that out," Natasha scoffs, brushing away a few stray hairs dangling in her face with her forearm. "Are you okay?"
Steve gestures vaguely. "I'm fine, a few bruises here and there. Bucky got the brunt of the attack."
Natasha spins around, looking Bucky up and down. Her expression is schooled, but her eyes don't miss the bulk of makeshift bandages that leave a lump on Bucky's right shoulder. "Of course she was armed. Give me the rundown."
Steve gets to work explaining how the woman tranquilized the dogs outside before the two men went out to confront her and subsequently got to fighting her. Bucky, on the other hand, hasn't forgotten his throbbing wounds and finds himself wishing Steve could hurry up with his explanation. Natasha has her hands folded nicely in front of her and is hanging intently on every word the blond says, but the more he talks, the more impatient Bucky gets. He knows it's irrational and he knows that the redhead has information that could prevent them from getting almost killed again, but this trip to the tower was supposed to be for both of them. Steve's all business now, arms crossed, displaying rigid muscles that would normally make Bucky stare for longer than socially acceptable, but now just seems annoying. He hasn't so much as spared a glance in Bucky's direction.
Quietly, Bucky pushes the door open behind him and slips out. He doesn't know where he's going as he turns away from the elevators and continues down the long hallway, but he just doesn't want to be in that ridiculously immaculate room. The perfectly waxed floor and glaring white ceiling lights remind him of a hospital, and not the nice kind. He's vaguely aware of two armed guards marching in step behind him, escorting him forcefully to another room, but when Bucky looks back, the hallway is empty.
"Isn't the boyfriend supposed to run after me?" He grumbles. He's not jealous, really, just... frustrated. Ignored. He doesn't like it.
There's another hallway that branches right and Bucky turns down it, literally running into another figure just around the corner. He stumbles backward, an apology on his lips, before he recognizes Sasha. She's the new girl in the tower and a former Widow. Even though his past is dripping in the blood of the dozens of people he's killed, he can't help but not trust her for hers.
To his credit, she seems equally startled. "Oh, shit, sorry. Um... You're probably in the middle of something."
Bucky is a little miffed. "Not really."
"Oh. Okay. Um, great. Listen, I know we got off on kind of bad terms and I know you probably don't trust me, which... which is a fair assessment. I probably shouldn't have threatened Natasha. I knew she was coming down to the evidence room and I figured you'd be here, so I wanted to make things right."
"Okay."
Her eyebrows furrow. "Okay?"
Bucky isn't sure what to make of her response. "Yeah. Okay."
There's a pause, and then she taps her foot impatiently. "Damn, you're making this impossible. I don't have all day." She takes a deep breath.
"Сиерра."
Sierra.
Bucky wants to squint at her unusual word choice, but his body won't move. His posture readjusts against his will, stiffening, straightening, and he's overwhelmed with the feeling that the one word she said is one that she can use to control him. He's not the one in control. Dread settles in the pit of his stomach, the one thing he can identify.
Sasha taps something on her watch before looking the Asset in the eyes. "I want to know about the Stark technology in this tower, particularly concerning interstellar travel."
The Asset's mouth opens mechanically, speaking English tainted with a heavy southern Russian accent. "I know little regarding the particulars. The technology appears to manifest on floors 37 through 54. More investigation will be required. The possibility of space travel is unknown."
"Пиздец." Damn it. Sasha runs a hand over her face. "Then I want you to investigate. Be mindful of the other occupants of the tower. Do not let them see nor hear about what you discover."
"Understood."
"That was easier than I expected." Sasha takes one more glance at her watch. From her pocket, she withdraws two metal cylinders interconnected by a single black wire. Bucky strains inside his own body, trying to override the stiffness as she reaches toward his head. A malicious grin spreads across her face and she wiggles a few fingers in front of his eyes mockingly. "Alright. Спокойной ночи." Good night.
She presses the devices to his temples and electricity runs through every nerve in his body, igniting his senses and making his muscles contract involuntarily. A groan escapes his lips and there's an audible crackle in his ears. If his consciousness, Bucky's consciousness had a body, it would be pounding on the bars of its cage and screaming in delirium. But he can't, and it's not, and the crackling is the only thing he can hear and —
"Bucky?"
Bucky turns around at his name, rubbing at his forehead absentmindedly. "Hm?"
Steve is hanging out the door to the lab at the other end of the hallway. "I didn't see you leave. Are you okay?"
"Yeah." The brunet's tongue feels heavy in his throat. He's not sure what he's doing out here. The door to the emergency stairwell is closing quietly so he must have been talking to someone, but there's no one around besides Steve. "Jeez. Weird," he mutters to himself, turning around to head back toward the lab. He doesn't remember when he left and it's frustrating him.
It's a different kind of memory loss than what he's used to, but it still sets him on edge. It's that feeling you get when there's a word on the tip of your tongue that you can't quite remember, an itch that you can't quite reach to scratch. He likes being in control, so when he can't remember the last two minutes... it's concerning, to say the least.
It's what he doesn't know that scares him more than anything.
_
Y'all remember that memory wipe device from Agent Carter?
Yeah, that's the one mentioned here, in case it wasn't clear or you haven't seen it. It has some unintended side effects from the electricity that you'll see in future chapters.
Hope you are all staying safe. I appreciate every single one of you.
~ Raven