Leipzig AU: the choices we make

[nerves_of_ice]

It's a month after Thessaloniki when he slips the unmarked, unstamped postcard in the mail at Sharon Carter's apartment.

(It had taken him the entire month to decide to reach out. He'd spent most of the time burying himself in his self-imposed work and not allowing himself to think about anything other than the mission. Eventually, he'd realized that it wasn't working, and that there was only one way to find out what he now needs to know, even if he can't admit even to himself exactly why he does.)

Of course there's always the chance she'll think it's just an advertisement and ignore it. If she does, he'll try again with something a little more obvious before deciding she's not interested in reconnecting. Still, he thinks she's clever enough to catch it, and to decode the message, which isn't that subtle when it comes down to it: time, place, location.

It takes far less than a minute to pick the lock on the mailbox security panel - two seconds, maybe three, and he's able to pull it open, drop the card on top of her mail, and secure it once more.

Bucky makes his way from her apartment back down the Berlin street quickly and quietly, cap pulled down to hide his face, and disappears into the crowd.

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[nerves_of_ice]

He sighs, slow and quiet. There's no good way to say this, at least none that he's thought of yet, and he's been trying since he realized they'd likely end up here at some point - since he realized, some time ago, that if nothing else this part at least he'd have to explain. The only thing he's settled on is to approach it simple and matter-of-fact, and that's what he tries now.

"It has to do with how they ... implanted, I guess," he starts. "Implanted it in the first place. I guess it's called 'pain conditioning,' or at least that's the closest thing I found when I started trying to look into it. I found a couple of books. After - after D.C."

He keeps his tone as calm and easy as he can, trying to be gentle.

"You saw the chair. Did you notice the crown? The headpiece?"

[from_the_outside]

She hates that he's trying to spare her feelings almost as much as she hates everything he's saying.

"Yes," she says, bracing herself. It would have been hard to miss, with the way he focused so ruthlessly on that first piece before dismantling the rest of the chair.

[nerves_of_ice]

He nods. "It's - it uses electrical shock. I don't know much about how it works beyond that, but from how it feels - felt - I think it's probably based on what they used to call electroshock therapy, back in the forties."

He touches the fingers of his left hand to his temple, the metal cool against his skin. "It rests here, on each side of your head. The power goes through the metal ring behind it, and ... you can't think, when it hits you. It just -- it takes everything. And it hurts, I won't lie to you."

He says that as gently as he says anything else.

"The way the conditioning worked is they locked me into the chair, with the restraints, and put on the crown, and then started asking questions. All kinds of questions. Pushing me to answer. No matter what I said, no matter what I tried, they hit me with a shock. Every time. Eventually I couldn't think clearly enough to answer. I couldn't remember what I was trying to say. I couldn't remember me."

He breathes, carefully, in and out, then finishes, "They did it over and over again until I lost the ability to make any kind of choice at all, outside of mission parameters. And now... my body remembers. If it - if I push too hard -- it feels like it's happening all over again."

[from_the_outside]

Oh, good, it's even more terrible than she could have ever imagined for herself. She feels sick to her stomach as he describes it to her, as he lays out everything they did and how and why, the gentleness of his voice only magnifying the horror of it all.

Sharon lifts his hand and presses her forehead to it, closing her eyes for a selfish moment of refuge as she struggles with the wave of nausea and ice-cold rage that follows. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I'm so sorry, baby."

And sorrier still that he isn't now in the company of someone who has some ability to be careful, whose hands are as good with something delicate as they are in a fight or curled around a gun.

Someone whose immediate instinct isn't just to push as hard as she can whenever a problem appears. She looks back at him, wrapping her hands around his. "How do I keep from pushing you too hard?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"You're not going to hurt me." Certain and sure, with the weight of stone. He lets her hold on to him, trying to give her whatever she needs to deal with this.

"Like I said, I've been practicing. Working on it. I'm pretty good at dealing with the little stuff now, and getting better. I don't think it's going to be a problem. Questions usually aren't, anyway. It's choices that can be tricky."

[from_the_outside]

"You don't know that," she argues. "How can you say that? You think I want to chance it?"

She lets go of his hand with her left, then presses her freed fingers against her own side. "You opted to be careful with me, just in case. Don't you think I want to do the same thing?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Sharon, even if you did trip something, it wouldn't be your fault," he argues. "It's them who did this to me, not you. But I know."

He reaches out with his newly freed hand to try to touch the side of her face. "I know," he repeats. "I trust you. I don't have all the answers to this. I don't know how it all works, I'm still figuring it out. Putting the pieces together. But I know you don't want to hurt me."

[from_the_outside]

"I don't."

It's low, a bare murmur in the quiet room. She can hear Berlin waking up around them, outside and below them.

It feels totally alien.

She's going to worry about this, she knows. She's never been a precision instrument, and he wasn't wrong: he's shattered glass, still sharp and fragile. It's only a matter of time before she fucks it up and runs into something she shouldn't, she's certain of it.

She shakes her head, minutely so as not to dislodge his fingers. "How can I help?" she wonders aloud. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Come here?" he asks. He strokes his fingers over her cheek, then pushes back from the table and tugs on her other hand, trying to coax her to come to him.

[from_the_outside]

Sharon pushes back from the table and comes to him, following his gentle guidance, and lightly perches on his lap when coaxed to do so, her arm going around his shoulders to balance herself.

[nerves_of_ice]

He keeps his left arm behind her back, supporting her and holding her close, and takes her free hand in his right.

"I know it's a lot," he tells her. "I'm sorry, for that. I don't know if there's anything in particular that can be done to help, just, maybe - be patient with me?"

[from_the_outside]

"Please don't apologize," she tells him, squeezing his hand in hers. "Not for this. It's not your fault. I just wish there was something I could do to make it better."

She lifts her hand from his shoulder and strokes it over his hair, gentle. "Okay," she murmurs. "Okay, Bucky."

She's not good at patient, and she's not good at delicate, but she is desperate to be good, somehow, at this. "Whatever you need. I'll do my best."

[nerves_of_ice]

"You already have," he murmurs, with absolute sincerity. "And I know. I know you will."

He looks up at her, tipping his head back into her touch, and smiles, just a little.

"Look at it this way. They don't have me any longer. And they're never going to again. So there's that. Steve set me free."

[from_the_outside]

"That's a lot," she agrees.

It's not enough, but it's a good deal more than he had for decades. She threads her fingers through his hair and gently cards them through as she silently promises she'll find a way to get him more.

[nerves_of_ice]

His smile warms, just a little, and he stays quiet, just watching her.

[from_the_outside]

She combs her fingers through his hair, then lifts her hand and runs them through again. Whether she's trying to soothe him or herself, she's not wholly certain.

"I'm sorry to make you talk through all that," she murmurs, finally. "But thank you for being willing. And trusting me."

[nerves_of_ice]

"You didn't. I offered," he points out. Bucky tightens his arm around her, encouraging her to lean against him if she wants. "But you're welcome."

[from_the_outside]

She lets go of his hand and puts both her arms around his neck, leaning against him like he's coaxing her to do. Sharon nudges her forehead against his temple, breathes him in, and tries her best to relax.

[nerves_of_ice]

"You okay?" he murmurs.

[from_the_outside]

"Don't worry about me," she says. "I'm fine."

None of this happened to her. She's only hearing about it, and that's bad enough. "Just pissed off on your behalf."

[nerves_of_ice]

He huffs out a soft, amused breath. "Been a while since I had anyone mad over me, instead of at me."

[from_the_outside]

"You deserve better than you've gotten," she says, fierce.

"But you've got me on your side, now."

[nerves_of_ice]

He puts both arms around her and holds her closer for a moment. She'll do everything she can, he has no doubt of that, and can only hope that she won't put herself at risk in the process.

"Just be careful," he murmurs.

[from_the_outside]

Being careful is hardly her strong suit, but she hums acknowledgment and curls against him, savoring the sensation of being held, of him around her.

[nerves_of_ice]

He keeps his arms around her, his breathing slow and steady, and tries to focus on the here and now rather than the past... or the future, either near or distant.

"Want more coffee?" he asks, after a moment.