The next day, Bucky was back to being an absolute gentleman. While I slept, he had cleaned and cared for my body as gently as he could with his one hand. I woke to the smell of eggs cooking—and a soreness like I had never known.
"You're awake?" Bucky stepped into the room, a glass of water in his hand.
"Morning," I rasped. My voice sounded so rough I hardly recognized it.
He gave a smug little grin at the sound, clearly proud of himself. "I made breakfast. But first, let's get you into a bath."
I lay there, feeling like a deflated balloon, slowly sipping the water he handed me.
Before long, he returned and knelt beside the bed. He leaned in and slipped his arm carefully under my legs. "Grab onto me" he said.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he lifted me effortlessly, carrying me to the bathroom and lowered me slowly into a warm bath he'd prepared.
"You need anything?" he asked, crouching beside the tub, staying close.
"No, I'm okay. Thank you," I whispered, giving him a grateful kiss.
He stayed next to me, helping with what he could. The soreness radiating from between my legs was intense, but truthfully, I didn't regret a thing.
We spent the rest of the day tucked away in our little house, just the two of us. I was confined to bed, really. Every time I tried to stand, I wobbled around like a newborn foal and collapsed soon after. My legs were as sturdy as Jell-O.
Later that day, I had Bucky grab my laptop so we could put on a movie. I scrolled through the limited selection available when something caught his eye.
"Wait, does that say The Hobbit?"
"You know it?" I asked.
"Yeah. I read it when it first came out. It was good."
"Well, let's watch it then."
We curled up in bed with what little snacks we had in the house. I never would've guessed, Bucky Barnes was a bit of a nerd. And he absolutely loved the movie.
Days like that, simple and soft, continued for a while. Slowly, Bucky became more comfortable. Sometimes he walked around shirtless, and those were definitely my favorite days.
He eventually found work in the boarder tribe helping on the farm. Missing an arm didn't slow him down one bit, he was strong enough for the work and enjoyed being around animals.
He looked so calm, so grounded, whenever he was out there among goats and sheep. On some evenings when I got home late from work, I'd find him asleep outside, leaned against a sheep, the rest of the herd nestled around him like they were guarding him.
But the good days didn't erase the bad nights.
The nightmares still came. Some nights, they hit him so hard he wouldn't sleep in our bed. He'd curl up in a corner of the room, back against the wall like he needed something solid to hold him up. On those nights, that corner was the only place he could find rest.
One afternoon, I came across his notebook going through old boxes, the one I had tucked away for safekeeping while he was still unconscious. I brought it to him as he sat at the table eating lunch.
"Bucky, here," I said, setting it down.
"You got this from my apartment?" he asked, running his fingers along the worn and dusty cover.
"Yeah. I figured you'd want it."
"Thank you," he murmured, opening it slowly and flipping through the pages.
"Did you read it?" he asked, eyes lingering on a certain passage.
"No," I said. "You'll tell me when you're ready."
A broken smile touched his lips.
"It's everything I've done," he said after a long pause. "When I remember it, it's like I'm watching someone else. Like I'm there, but can't do anything to stop it. I just... watch. But the blood? It's still on my hands."
His voice trembled. His fingers gripped the book tightly.
"It wasn't your fault," I said softly. "They controlled you."
"I still did it. I should've fought harder. I should've..." His eyes fell to the scars along his wrist. "...finished it."
Tears welled in his eyes. He bit his lip hard, like he was punishing himself.
"You've done bad things," I said gently. "But since you woke up—you've done good, too. You saved me. You stopped Zemo."
"Yeah, and I made Steve a fugitive. I tore apart his team. I got his friends locked up."
"They made their choices," I said. "Zemo didn't create that conflict—he just poured gasoline on a fire that was already burning. You were just another match he used."
He didn't say anything. He sat in silence, spiraling inward. I knew nothing I said would pull him out of that place. Shuri and I had talked about this before, how as his memories came back, he might become unstable. Not dangerous to anyone else... just maybe to himself.
I spoke with the King and arranged to work from home. I had already been going in only a few days a week. Shuri helped set me up with the tech I needed to attend meetings remotely. I wanted, needed, to stay close to Bucky.
His new treatments were helping his mind heal, but they were also bringing memories back fast. Sometimes violently fast. There were moments he'd suddenly double over in pain, saying it felt like "an explosion of clips playing out in hours, but compressed into seconds."
Watching him go through that was torture. But he insisted he had to remember, all of it.
Sometimes, he'd share pieces. A memory here, a flash there. Some were good. Most weren't. He was always hesitant to speak about the darker ones, afraid that if he started, the horrors would never stop. Just like Zemo had said.
One night, he told me about a bar he and Steve used to go to with their team. How they'd drink, laugh, and dance with dames until they forgot their troubles, if only for a few hours.
It was hard.
It was painful.
But little by little, Bucky was being put back together.