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A message from Peggy - SHIELD's got Bucky. Again. And has managed to hold him for longer, this time….though SHIELD HQ's nothing like the hardened lockups at the Triskellion. They've divided one of the cells with a a transparent panel, all the better to let someone in to the room to talk to, inspect, or otherwise monitor him, without putting the agent in question in arm's reach. Because no one wants to be within the span of that metal arm.
The sound of someone coming down the corridor has him standing up to see whomever it might be. He's in what looks like the bottom half of a set of scrubs, and a plain t-shirt, his hair hanging loose around his face. They won't even give him a rubber band….though he's clean and clean-shaven, at least for now. Pale and weary, but apparently in good health, save for the bruises that ring the one wrist that's still capable of bruising at all. And most important of all, seemingly sane for the moment - the sunken blue eyes are clear, his posture relatively easy.
*
Steve got the call when he was at home and eating dinner. With a quick apology he excused himself and hopped aboard his Harley. A little bit of traffic allowed him time to think. He hadn't been able to reach Peggy, yet, and he became troubled. Would there be any deal to be had anymore? Would there ever have been in the first place?
Steve goes through the normal procedures to gain entrance into the secret offices of SHIELD and walks promptly down the corridor. As he turns the corner and sees Bucky, his heart sinks just a bit. He approaches the glass and gives his old friend a nod.
*
"Steve," he says, evenly, as if he weren't something between a prisoner and a mental patient, and this were just some random meeting on the street. But there's a hint of what might be actual warmth there - no confusion, no fear in his gaze.
*
"Buck," Steve responds as he tilts his head, searching for the words to say. "Have you spoken with Peggy yet?" He notices that Bucky seems to be more clear, but will get to that a bit later.
*
"She's been here a few times, yeah," Bucky allows. His expression's lapsed into that default grimness. There are lines of strain in his face that weren't there, all those years ago.
*
Steve nods a few times, resigned to the fact that it's probably not good. "What did she say?"
*
Now there's a hint of sharp humor. "Well, one time, I tried to kill her. We didn't talk much that time. But….she's got someone who can affect memories. We're working on that front."
*
"I suppose that particular conversation was rather short," Steve says as he chuckles. "They can affect memories?" His mood brightens, almost immediately. "Have you had any progress?"
*
Bucky lifts the hand that isn't metal, waggles it in a little indefinite gesture. "Some," he says. "I remember that night in the Ardennes. I remember meeting you when Jimmy O'Malley was trying to grind your face into home plate in that sandlot we used to play ball in. It's not gone, all that's here," Buck taps his temple with a metallic finger. "It's pretty messy, it's going to take a lot of work and it hurts like seven kinds of hell, but….doesn't look like it's impossible. Might be they can undo or neutralize the conditioning." He doesn't sound hopeful, but there's not despair there, either. "And if they can't, Peggy promised to take care of it." What a benign euphemism for the final mercy their old mission planner might have to grant. We took that dog to the farm, Steve. He'll be happy there.
*
Steve folds his arms across his chest and nods, "Did she give any idea whether or not the government was going to come after you? Or whether or not they even know you're here?"
*
"They don't know," he says, voice still light. "She said that if….if they could be certain I'd be safe, that I wouldn't be a threat, she'd find a way to give me a new identity. New start. James Barnes's been listed KIA for twenty years. I don't know how many people on this side know who the Winter Soldier was."
*
"Well," Steve says sardonically with a raise of his eyebrows, "I imagine quite a few G-Men and folks down at the CIA are plenty aware." He breathes deeply. All in all it's as best as could be expected, really. "Any idea how long you'll have to remain cooped up?" He doesn't know this person who can affect memories, and therefore has no idea about their power or how effective it might be.
*
That's not good news….but he's still maintaining that careful neutrality. "I might be able to, if they're sure I'm sane, trade work for SHIELD for amnesty, or so Peggy says. No idea. It's gonna be slow. They've only got the one person and it's exhausting as hell for both of us. We're also just working on breaking the barriers to memory, not the real mindcontrol. As long as the Army doesn't get me, I've got a chance of something." HE doesn't sound terribly optimistic.
*
"Well, I won't say anything," Steve says, looking at him with a grin. "And if it comes down to it, I'll throw around what little clout I have to try and either delay any action for as long as possible if they do find out."
*
Bucky slants a look at him, just as sardonic. "Well, good," he says, drily. "Hell, any of it's better than where I was. What about you? Your life all right?" Not even a hint of jealousy or envy - he sounds curiously remote.
*
Steve nods, "Yeah, things are good." He thinks, for a moment, about the similarities of what they've both experienced. And the vast differences. "Things have been good for me. Got a great girl. Still trying to break into things with my art. Beat up bad guys on the side."
*
"I suppose anything they can muster here seems pretty penny-ante after the war," His tone is almost musing. "Good on ya," he adds. He doesn't ask the girl's name - what he doesn't know, he can't be made to betray.
*
Steve chuckles at the comment, "It's a lot different. Though things have kind of ramped up over the years. It's a different world, to be sure."
*
Only then does tension start to bleed into his posture, that faded blue gaze sharpening. "Listen, Steve," he says, with sudden urgency, as if afraid of being overheard….though the camera in the corner he can't reach, clearly trained on him, has its little red light on. This is all being recorded anyway, and he's not really making an attempt to conceal it . "Listen to me," his voice has gone tight. "This …." A sweep of the metal hand takes in the cell, that divider, "This has to be a play. Twenty years of submission, and now I get away from them, even though I'm out of my head half the time? I got out of harder SHIELD facilities than this, but now I'm taking a rest cure in the basement of a dim sum restaurant or whatever the fuck it is ou there?" He puts his hand on the divider, splaying the fingers. There's sweat on his forehead, now, as if even this little bit of direct disobedience to those distant masters is costing him. "I'm a Trojan Horse. Don't let them trust me."
*
Steve looks to Bucky seriously, "That's only true if we can't fix you before they spring their trap." He response is short. Short and defiant. "Do you know that's the case, or do you just believe that's the case?"
*
"The fixing has to be the trap," he insists. "I don't know. But I don't know much consciously, it's true. This is a gut feeling, and these guys play the long game. We both knows that."
*
Steve nods, making a note of looking into this person who helps with the memories. That's the difficult thing with SHIELD and these spies. Even when you're sure, you're never really sure you're sure. It takes a lot of trust. And faith. "I'm hoping you're wrong, but I will pass along your concerns to Peggy and the others."
*
Bucky steps back from the divider, hand going to his side again. His shoulders droop, as if he's just set down a heavy burden. "Good," he says, wearily. "Good."