[ WWII AU ] a ghost story

[from_the_outside]

It's been almost two years since she's been home, and little by little, the grief has gotten easier to live with.

It hasn't gone away. But she's able to focus on her job, watch movies, chat with friends, sleep most nights. She still dreams about him, but the dreams are tinged with wistful longing and only sometimes does she wake up with tears on her cheeks. She can't have his picture out in this apartment, Kate's apartment, but it's safe in the mountain house, along with his last letter to her, and she has a scan on her phone to look at when the long day is over and she's in bed, the stars from the lamp he'd given her filling her dark room.

Steve has helped, more than she could ever explain, and she hopes she's helped him in return. Aside from a few deeply classified missions here and there, they haven't worked together all that much, but she still sees him almost every day. In the halls, she's undercover as his mild-mannered neighbor, Kate, but in her secure apartment they can talk over anything, everything.

And it works. Every day is a little easier. They lean on each other when they need to, and they spend hours remembering and reminiscing about Bucky, talking shop, chatting about how Steve's fitting into the future. It's nice. She still misses Bucky, an ache that never really goes away, but they can both breathe through it, work through it, live through it.

She's on her way up from the basement laundry machines when she hears a familiar step in the hall, and has to smile to herself – first her own, then Kate's sweeter, more open one. "Hey, neighbor."

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[from_the_outside]

Not SHIELD. She can't think of anyone she knows with hair like that, with eyes like that.

But she knows him. She knows his voice. If she could get him to say something else, to say something familiar...

Or if she could get the damn mask off –

Sharon jerks her head away from him, trying to get him to lean forward and a little off-balance, then bends her name and rolls her hips up, aiming for his jaw, trying to knock the mask loose.

[nerves_of_ice]

Impatience flares in his glance as he jerks back from her attempted blow. The Winter Soldier adds stubborn to his mental list of descriptives for her, and moves with sudden stunning speed.

He drops the strip of tape across her throat in order to pin her flat to the ground by the shoulder with his left hand, then swings a leg over and settles his full weight over her hips, his ankles hooked behind him over her thighs to keep her from being able to push up. The Winter Soldier reaches behind her head and runs his right hand into her hair, tangling his fingers in it and gripping hard, forcing her to tilt her head back so she can't twist away as he picks the strip of tape back up once more in metal fingers.

[from_the_outside]

He's over her and on top of her in the next second, his weight bearing her down and his hand is gripping her hair, tugging her head back –

His hand. Fingers slipping through the strands of her hair, a horrible nightmare of intimacy as he leans down, his eyes boring into hers and she breathes and can smell his scent, and then it washes over her, horrible certainty.

His voice. His eyes. The fingers in her hair, that touch her with ruthless efficiency and violence. His weight settled over her, as familiar as her own.

Her eyes widen, horror stabbing through her as realization hits. "No..."

It's not possible. It can't be. Is she dreaming? Is this some new, terrible nightmare?

But she knows his voice. " – Bucky?"

[nerves_of_ice]

Again, she has surprised him. He pulls his left hand back for a second and stares at her with total incomprehension.

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

[from_the_outside]

"Take off your mask," she demands, desperate. "Take it off, let me see your face."

It can't be. He's gone. He's been gone for decades. She's lost her mind.

But she'd know him anywhere. "Goddammit, take off your mask!"

[nerves_of_ice]

Her demand makes even less sense than anything else she's said or done up to now. He stares at her in silence, his mind racing. What is she thinking? He's never seen her in BaseOps, or any facility or outpost, not that he remembers anyway. Why would his appearance matter?

He doesn't know. It shouldn't matter, but if there's a way this development could affect the mission somehow, then he should find out.

He discards the tape to the side and raises his left hand to his face. He removes the mask and sets it aside on the floor, then meets her eyes and waits for her reaction.

[from_the_outside]

Her breath shudders to a halt in her throat, her chest, and she idly wonders if she might pass out. She's not the type to faint, but there's only so much a woman can take, and the assassin who'd broken into her apartment and tied her up revealing himself to be her long-dead lover, who doesn't seem to know her, is about as far as any person can go.

"Bucky," she whispers. It is him, although she has no idea how. How he's here, how he looks like he's hardly aged, how he has a metal arm, how he's become a Russian assassin. She can't stop herself; it jerks out of her, two years of agony and longing and all the shock she's feeling behind the word. "Baby."

Not helpful, Carter. It's clear he doesn't remember her, or even himself. "You are James Buchanan Barnes," she tells him, and can't help the desperation in her voice. "Don't you remember me? Don't you remember Steve?"

[nerves_of_ice]

She's striving to convince him, calling him by an affectionate name, asking him to remember her, to remember others, and he can't make sense of any of it.

"I am the Ziminy Soldat," he tells her, the one thing he is sure of in this moment, and reaches for the tape again.

[from_the_outside]

"You're Sergeant Barnes," she tells him, sharp. "Snap out of it, Bucky!"

The lamp he'd given her is the bedroom, the hairclips on the bureau. He isn't everywhere in this apartment, but there are small things, things she can explain away if she needs to, like the photos on her phone –

Her phone. If he opens the photos, he could see the one she'd taken of them on that hillside so long ago. "Just listen to me – "

[nerves_of_ice]

The tape has twisted with all this stopping and starting. He drops it and lets go of her hair to lean over and retrieve the roll, methodically tearing a fresh piece.

"I understand." Her bravery deserves acknowledgement, he decides. "You are trying to save him. Them. It won't work. Take comfort that you did everything you could."

[from_the_outside]

"I'm trying to save you all."

Steve. Steve. This will break his heart, just like it's breaking hers. "Bucky, please."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Soldat," he reminds her, even as her heartrending plea twists something deep inside him for reasons he can't explain. This conversation needs to end. He can't afford to be distracted any longer. "Hush now."

With that, he leans forward, using his forearms to frame her face in a vise so she can't turn away again, and pastes the tape over her mouth.

[from_the_outside]

He leans down, bracketing her head with his arms, close enough to kiss. But it's duct tape that presses against her lips, even as she takes a shuddering breath.

He's alive. Somehow, some impossible way, he's alive. Grief and loss and pain and longing and horror all mix in her eyes as she watches him, before they gloss over with a skim of tears. She blinks hard to clear her vision, a single drop leaking out of the corner of her eye, tracking over her temple.

[nerves_of_ice]

There's no fear in her gaze, but he can't fathom everything else that he sees there. The Winter Soldier gets to his feet in a single lithe motion and stares down at her for several long seconds before he steps away and withdraws his phone from his pocket. Even while he places the call, he's careful to keep her in view.

"Она у меня. Очистите подход," he says, when the contact answers.

"Copy. Do you want us to notify STRIKE?" The Winter Soldier considers. "Я разберусь с этим."

[from_the_outside]

There's not much she can do aside from roll around on the floor, and she has to be careful not to hurt herself, not to tire herself out. Methodically, she starts working at her wrist ties once more, doing her best to ignore the way her mind is racing.

If she lets herself think about it, she'll break. And she can't afford to break. Not yet.

[nerves_of_ice]

He places the next call to the STRIKE team leader, switching languages as the other man doesn't speak more than fundamental Russian. It doesn't matter that he's being overheard; she won't be telling anyone about any of this.

"Targets contacted and acquired," he says, when Rumlow answers. "The operation is go. Maintain the perimeter."

"You sure you don't want us in there with you?" The Winter Soldier represses a sigh. The man's dislike of the target, his need to cause him harm and his enjoyment of pain, all of these are weaknesses that could risk the mission.

"Maintain the perimeter," he repeats. "Allow them to pass in, then secure it."

[from_the_outside]

Rumlow. That goddamn traitor. She'd known there was something off about him, and the Steve had said SHIELD had sent STRIKE after him.

Grief gives way to hot rage as she listens, her temper simmering behind the tape that's keeping her silent.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Your call," Rumlow assures him. He can hear the smirk in the man's voice, and ignores it. "Just, you don't know Cap like I do, is all. He's a hell of a fighter. Might even be a match for you. You might want the backup."

He makes himself consider the idea from all angles, and makes his decision. "Hold the perimeter as instructed. Prevent the targets' escaping - a third time," he says, pointedly. "Maintain plausible deniability."

"Fine, fine," Rumlow sighs. "Have it your way."

The Winter Soldier disconnects the call and stashes his phone before he crouches down beside Sharon. He picks up his mask and dons it, then lifts her into his arms and stands, starting toward her bedroom.

[from_the_outside]

He slips his arms beneath her and picks her up and all she can think of is him laughing up at her, down at her, picking her up like she weighs nothing at all, kissing her down into the bed.

She won't. Refuses to let it hit. Not yet, not now.

But she can't help her glance as it goes to the little pottery lamp he'd given her so long ago, sitting there on her bedside table.

[nerves_of_ice]

She looks over at something and his glance flicks to follow, but he doesn't see anything of interest. No weapons, no other phone to try to call for help, only a small ceramic piece of some kind. Maybe she was evaluating her odds of breaking it and using it as a makeshift knife to saw at her bindings.

She won't have the opportunity. He sets her down in the middle of the bed, then pulls at her ankles until she's laid out in a straight line, after which he flips the comforter up over her feet. He doesn't do the same for the edge that would cover her head; she'll need the airflow. Instead, he moves to the side so that he can do the same from there and roll her up in middle of the doubled blanket.

[from_the_outside]

He sets her down without any care other than to not drop her bodily on the bed and begins wrapping her up in her comforter, which at least allows her to work more busily at her bindings without fear of him seeing the minute shifts of her shoulders and hips.

She watches him as he moves around her, her gaze ruthlessly locked on him, looking for any sign, any hint, that the man she knew still lives inside that body.

[nerves_of_ice]

She watches him intently, at least until he finishes rolling her over and over in the comforter, wrapping her securely. Once he's done so, he pulls the outer edge hard, until it covers her face and head, then swings her up and drapes her over his right shoulder.

Once she's stable, he brings her to the window and shoves it fully open. He scans their surroundings, then unsnaps a grappling hook from behind his belt and attaches it to the windowsill. He grasps the cable in his left hand and steps out into space in a descent that's rapid enough to be nothing more than a controlled fall to the street below, carrying her with him.

[from_the_outside]

The shock of the fall sends her heart slamming into her ribs, but she can't make any sounds louder than a few muffled moans. She wishes, fervently, that she'd asked for an apartment a little closer to the ground floor.

But he doesn't drop her, thankfully, and at least the blanket is loose enough over her face that she can breathe, albeit only through her nose. Where he's taking her, she has no idea: she can't see and has no sense of direction. She might as well be blind.

[nerves_of_ice]

Moving quickly, he carries her across the street and down half a block to the vehicle. The Winter Soldier deposits her in the trunk and makes sure she has airflow before he slams it shut and gets into the front.

The engine roars, and he pulls out at a discreet pace. It's only a couple of miles from here to the ambush site.

[from_the_outside]

Darkness falls, and she only has to listen for a moment before she hears the engine start up and feels the car begin to move.

How much time she has, she doesn't know, but there's none to waste. In wrapping her up with the comforter, he'd made it far more difficult to maneuver herself, but a few moments of flopping like a fish on dry land loosens the comforter enough that she can move, a little.

She bends her knees and pushes her shoulders back as far as she can – Christ, she really should have been doing more yoga – trying to access the ties at her ankles with fingers that are swiftly going numb.