straightshooter | winter captain } { too real when i feel what my heart can't conceal

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winter captain } { too real when i feel what my heart can't conceal

Howard's prognosis was not optimistic.

It seems that the Russians' brainwashing was quite thorough and getting Steve back was going to be a process. Not that Peggy is opposed to a project in any sense of the word, especially when that project is bringing back someone she loves so dearly, but the fact that Steve can't even look her in the eye right now without causing himself pain is still just as heartbreaking as it was before.

But they could work on it. They would get him back again. It was simply a matter of time.

After her debriefing from Howard, she makes her way back to Steve's room - she refuses to call it a cell, even if that is what it normally would be - knocking lightly on the door. He's not a prisoner, she doesn't want him to be, which means certain courtesies can be afforded. Perhaps the sooner they make him feel like a person, the sooner some things will come back to him.

"Steve? It's Peggy. May I come in?"

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He glances back at the drawing pad and flips the page. "A little." He shut his eyes and saw black for the longest time. Images managed to creep their way in eventually. These were more haunting than violent which is the only reason he didn't snap afterward. He didn't want to get out of bed for the longest time instead. "A man kept reaching for my hand. He woke me up."

Her head tilts to the side at the mention of the man, before moving to sit across the table from him. Not close enough to be invading his space, but close enough to still be near by if he wanted her to be.

"Can you describe him?"

"His hair was dark and he wore blue. I couldn't see the rest. It was too blurry." Steve frowns in frustration. He searches for another way to describe the man. "He wasn't a target. I think I wanted to take his hand."

She nods slowly. It sounds like it could be Bucky, but she couldn't tell for sure. She knows he probably doesn't remember much but the fact that he's remembering something is a start. She glances from him to the paper for a moment, before nudging a stray pencil towards him.

"Do you think you could draw him?"

He looks at her as much as he can. He's not sure he can fill the request, but failure has never led to good things for him so he picks up the pencil and tries silently. Steve starts off with his hand and surprises himself when it comes out just the way he wanted it to. He'll reflect later on how he acquired this skill when he's alone again.

The success encourages him to lose himself in the work. Before long a rough sketch emerges of the side of a train and a man holding onto a rail with his hand extended. It's peculiar mix of incredible detail and shading to fill in blanks. You could see every bolt on the side, the part in Bucky's hair, the cut of his jacket, and the crinkles on his glove, but the rest were dark shades. He had no face to identify.

Steve pushes the finished product towards her and waits for an assessment of his work. There is a question he should be asking here. It's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't work it out.

She recognizes it the second she takes the drawing from him, even though she wasn't there. Steve had described it in his debriefing at the time, and it's an image she never got out of her mind. She can't imagine he did either.

"This man was a friend of mine." She doesn't have to see the face to know. Every other detail fits, and there's a soft pang of loss. Bucky was one of the hardest casualties of the war, on all of them. She looks up at him again. "He died during the war. Perhaps it isn't a dream, so much as a memory."

Steve stares hard at the drawing. He wants to claw off the shading to the man's face. Maybe he would be safe to look at. The thought comes and goes as he looks at Peggy's neck with equal intensity. He wishes he could look her in the eye without pain getting in the way. He needs to stay sharp for this. Something is finally clicking in his brain.

"Why do I know your associates?" He thinks that's wrong. He should used a 'would' there. He's unused speaking so much so he can't be blamed for getting it wrong. Or was it right? It sounded right when he first said it.

She pauses for a moment, trying to consider exactly how to answer. "Perhaps you were in the war as well. It would give us a start, in determining who you really are."

Not that she doesn't already know. There's no research that needs to be done, no searching for answers that are already there. She knows his identity. But simply telling him what it is isn't the same as his remembering it. Howard says that some of this needs to be done organically if they want to stand any chance of getting Steve back as they knew him.

He runs the idea through his head. It feels right. For a brief second when he shuts his eyes he can see the other man's face. He smiled at him while strapped down to a table. Steve doesn't have the capacity to interpret the scene properly. "Another weapon." He murmurs to himself as he opens his eyes and resumes sketching. He knows what the man looks like now. He has to record it before the image is lost forever. It doesn't occur to him to explain himself.

She lets him draw, waiting until he's finished before prying further into what he means by "other weapon." She doesn't want him to lose any of the memories he's regaining, and distracting him from the task at hand seems counterproductive to that.

She waits, and when he's done: "Another weapon?"

Steve sets down the pencil and nods. He studies the image of the man intently as he matter of factly delivers the details. "They had him on the table. Weaker restraints. No mouth piece." His eye brows furrow together. Obviously the man was a weaker weapon, less fine tuning was needed, but this part escapes his understanding. "He was happy to see me. He smiled and then..." He shuts his eyes as he focuses on the image. He sucks in a sharp breath once he sees the next part. "I broke the restraints?"

He grabs his head and curls in on himself as much as his current position will allow him to. Suddenly he can see himself struggling against the reenforced metal on his table. He can taste the wild hope that same man would come to yank these restraints off him as his mind started to go. He would save him like he did a thousand times before.... but he didn't. The nameless man never came for him. He left him there with the metal, cold, and endless pain.

Betrayal? Had he tricked him into saving him and left him there in his place?

The thought makes him furious enough to lash out. He brings down both his hands hard on the table, destroying it with ease, and he finds himself trapped in his memories. His eyes are wet as he angrily stares down at the floor, unmoving after his hands fall down to his lap as if he has no idea what he's done or that there's anyone else in the room with him.

Peggy jumps back at the destruction of the table, but she doesn't reach for her gun right away. She waits, studying his posture to try and determine what caused the outburst in the first place. Was it grief? Anger? There was some human emotion that was driving it, and she wanted to find it.

"Steve? Are you alright?"

Steve glances up at her, nearly directing his anger her way, before the usual sharp stabbing sensation grounds him. He shakes his head, bringing one hand to rub his eyes for a moment. "He didn't help me." He sounds lost as he says it; like a terrified child waking up from a bad dream. "I waited for him, but he never came."

Peggy watches him carefully for a moment, and her heart breaks. She slowly takes a few steps closer, placing her hands on his shoulders gently. "Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was killed in action in 1945. If he could, he would have come for you. I know he would have."

He leans forward to rest his aching head against her torso in a strangely intimate gesture that was decidedly not Steve Rogers. He's never needed to seek out comfort as far as he knows, but he desires it now. Something about those words tears him to ribbons. He just wants the pain to stop. "They killed him after-?" His breathing turns shaky. "Are they going to kill you too? Should I go back?"

"No," the word comes quickly but her tone doesn't change, sliding her arms around his shoulders. One hand comes up to gently stroke through her hair, letting him take whatever comfort he needs. "No, you shouldn't. You should stay here, with me."

It occurs to him belatedly that this might be another way to control him; perhaps the most cruel of them all. He doesn't care. He feels warm and safe. He genuinely believes she knows best in this instance. It wasn't anything beat into his mind through torture, drugs, and everything else the Russians came up with. It's an unwavering faith based on these interactions and the life he lost.

"Okay, but you have to really stay. You can't go somewhere I can't find you." Steve is certain he can get out at any time. He simply doesn't want to. If he thought she was in trouble outside these walls, they wouldn't be able to keep him here even if they had an entire army on their side. While she's present or he at least has a decent idea when to expect her return, he'll pretend otherwise.

Her hand brushes over the top of his head lightly, before nodding. "No. I wouldn't dream of it." He'll always be able to find her, one way or another. She wouldn't hide from him for the world.

He nods slowly against her. His eyes finally open properly. Steve finally realizes what he did. "I broke your table." He sounds a little disappointed. He'd have to use the floor now.

She chuckles softly at that, and she shakes her head. "We'll get you a new one. Tables are a dime a dozen around here."

He looks up at her as if she promised something extraordinary. "It's that easy?" Isn't there some punishment? Consequence? He is waiting for one.

She nods at that, brushing her hand over the top of his head. "That easy. I promise."

His gaze falls back down just as quickly as it raised. "This really isn't a test?" It's more said out of lingering fear than mistrust. It is going to take a long time to break that thought process that everything inevitably leads to pain or cold.

She frowns for a moment before shaking her head, one hand wandering over the top of his. "No. It's not a test. We're not here to hurt you, Steve."

He draws his lips into a thin line and nods grimly. It makes sense as much as anything does now in that shattered mind of his. He has examples to pull back. "I know you're not. He's not." Howard Stark. It's plain to see from the man's behavior hurting him was the last thing on his mind. "The rest?"

She sighs softly before walking over to the cot, taking his hand so that they can sit next to her. "The rest take orders from me." Because she is the head of SHIELD, after all. She rests her hands over his as they sit. "But there are other friends. Other people I could bring you to talk to."

Steve stares at their hands together as he listens. She's important. He knew this. He thinks he can remember hearing people whisper about her at some point. She was significant enough to be used in his programming if nothing else.

His eyebrows furrow in concentration. "Soldiers?" He doesn't know where that comes from, but it sounds right.

She nods, a small smile crossing her face at that. "Yes. Soldiers. Soldiers you fought together with, actually. I'm sure they'll be quite happy to see you."

"And you'll be nearby if I see them?" It's the ideal situation. Peggy will have more security and he can figure out who these men are in relative safety. He may be a killer, but he doesn't seek out unnecessary conflict.

She nods in agreement. "I will be there for as long as you need me to." She doesn't want to equate their relationship to something like a handler and her asset because she knows it's more complicated than that, and she doesn't know what kind of connotations he has with his own. But she knows that in the face of men who fought with him, who are still expecting him o be Steve, no matter how much she prepares him, he's going to need all the support he can get.

The truth is what he perceives them as changes by the minute. Sometimes she's his handler and he calls all her actions into question as a result. He tries to work out her angle and waits anxious for a misstep to burn away these experiences. Sometimes he really believes she's his friend and that he's going to be okay. Others he just desperately wants to protect the only person who has treated him humanely in his limited memories.

He's there right now. All he can think of is keeping her alive because this is the only decent thing he's ever known. He needs it to stick around while he tries to work out what he is if he isn't a living weapon. "Okay." Steve sighs in genuine relief, his whole frame visibly sagging as a result.

Peggy nods a bit in response, placing her hand on his shoulder gently, giving it a small squeeze. As far as she's concerned, she doesn't want to let him out of her sight until he can work through everything that's going on. He can take all the time in the world, as far as she's concerned. He's earned it.

"Why don't we go get some lunch? I hear the cafeteria has cooked up something ... interesting, at any rate."

He looks up at her in surprise. Steve can't determine if it is a good or bad kind of surprise. His gut twists in anticipation though so he figures it may be worth a shot if only to satisfy it. Solid food is a luxury he can't pass up even if there will be exits and people to mind.

Steve slowly straightens up, nodding once he's back at full height. Lead the way, Peggy.

Peggy nods before leading the way down to the cafeteria. As they move further away from the room where Steve was staying, more and more people stop to pause and gape, as fewer people in this end of the building knew of his recovery. A stern look from Peggy, however, keeps them from saying anything as she leads the way over to the cafeteria where a number of different meals are set up to serve.

"Take as much as you like."

He notes them at first before dismissing the situation entirely. This isn't the first time he's been gawked at. If there's no threat to be had he sees no reason to stare them all down. It helps that Peggy does an excellent job for him. It makes him feel... good. Valued.

He doesn't say a word once they reach the meals at hand. He very tellingly grabs one of each, held precariously in his large arms, and moves to sit down with them. Yeah he is going to eat each one if allowed. This shouldn't be surprising given how quickly he burns energy. The casualness in how he goes about it though. He trusts Peggy to deal with the others as much as he can trust anyone.

No one stops him from taking all of it, though there are few that look as though they're about to say something, before they decide that they don't want to interrupt Captain America's zen. The girl at the end of the row will even offer him a smile before handing him a plate with one of each of the desserts too, holding it out to him with a hesitant smile.

"Not sure which one you like, sir."

He's not actually sure what to do with her statement. He can't remember people treating him this way before. Despite that Steve behaves as he did before his capture. He ducks his head shyly and gives just a hint of a smile.

"I'll... let you know." He rushing back to his spot somewhat awkwardly. He looks to Peggy for a reaction either way. Did he handle that well?

She gives him a small smile before nodding. Yep, he handled that just fine. The girl was just being nice, and he was polite in return. It was good to see a bit of his old self again. She's not expecting a drastic change, but she's hoping, slowly but surely, they will be able to find a way to bring back the Steve they knew.

"If you let me know which you prefer, I'll make sure they have it most days."

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winter captain } { too real when i feel what my heart can't conceal

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