Chapter 12 – Stay Away From Me

Diana didn't sleep as long as Bucky had expected. He heard her moving around a little later, but stayed on the top bunk, afraid his feelings of guilt would show on his face. He tried to tell himself he hadn't actually done anything wrong, but deep inside him a voice that sounded like his old boyhood friend was saying;

Show some respect, Buck, she's a lady!

Respect, he told himself firmly. You owe her that, considering what she's done for you. Be respectful.

Diana blinked her eyes open, took a moment to process where she was, and looked around. "Bucky?" she said after a minute.

"I'm here," a voice came from above her, and he swung lightly down from the top bunk, gave her a slightly crooked smile. "You feeling better?"

"Mm," she stretched languorously, not thinking about how the movement pushed her breasts against the thin fabric of her top. "Think I just took the opportunity of being able to actually lie flat to sleep!"

Respect, you jerk! Bucky tore his eyes from her breasts with difficulty. It was cool in the cabin, and he could clearly see her nipples through the thin, clinging material. He decided not to mention to Diana that she'd fallen asleep sitting up.

"Where was I?" Diana pushed her fingers through her hair as she sat up, grimacing at the tangles. "Ugh. Wonder if I can get someone to give me a comb?"

"I could try to untangle it for you," Bucky offered, before he thought better of it.

"You?" Diana looked at him surprised.

He smiled wryly. "I had a sister, I'm remembering. Rebecca. Her hair was curly, like yours, only golden. Shirley Temple curls, we called 'em."

"After the actress," Diana smiled slightly.

"Yeah, that's right." He smiled a bit mistily. "I 'member taking her to see A Little Princess. Becky was only nine – a lot younger than me." Bucky wondered suddenly if Rebecca was still alive. It was possible, she'd be eighty-four now. He'd have to try and track her down, when he got stateside. Or – maybe not. Seeing her brother come back as he was now would probably shock an eighty-four-year-old lady into her grave.

Guessing fairly accurately at his thoughts as his expression turned grim, Diana tried to distract him. "You can try to untangle my hair if you like. We can ask the crew for a comb when they come back – and maybe a razor for you."

He grinned at that, putting his hand to his chin ruefully. "I guess I look pretty disreputable, huh?"

"You make a very handsome hobo," Diana said cheerfully. She patted the mattress, and when he sat down, twisted to put her back to him.

Bucky hesitated, suddenly realising he'd only made the offer because he wanted a legitimate excuse to touch Diana. Just her hair, Buck. You can just touch her hair. You're doin' her a favour. Slowly he took a handful of the chestnut curls, started from the bottom, holding the hair in his metal hand and combing with the other, thinking that would probably be the best way to avoid catching any strands between the shifting plates of his prosthetic.

"Ahhh," Diana sighed happily. "So. Where was I? I'd pretty much finished with the seventies, I think. Did any of what I talked about ring bells in your memory?"

"Not really," he admitted. "From what you said about the Cold War, I think I was probably operating behind the Iron Curtain, when I was awake. So the Western history you've talked about doesn't really apply to me."

"Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, I'm trying to catch you up on things you don't know. Now, the eighties. Hmm. The decade of conspicuous consumption."

She'd have made a good teacher, Bucky found himself thinking as he combed the tangles from Diana's long hair with his fingers. Clear and succinct, light enough in tone to occasionally crack a joke, her students would have been riveted. He certainly was.

"And then, oh, I suppose I ought to tell you since you'll be working with his son, Howard Stark was assassinated," Diana said. Bucky had long since finished untangling her hair and they were sitting side by side on the bunk, backs against the wall, shoulders not quite touching.

Bucky stiffened. "Stark?" he said, his tone flat.

"Yes, Tony Stark is Iron Man, he's the leader of the Avengers, well him and your buddy Captain America I suppose. He owns Stark Industries which his father founded – actually Howard worked with the SSR during the war, did you ever meet him?"

"Howard. Stark."

"Yes…" Diana turned her head to look at Bucky and flinched back in alarm. His eyes were wide, the pupils so far expanded that the ring of blue around them was almost vanished.

"Kill. Stark."

"Oh shit!" Diana flung herself away from him, and like any predator, Bucky's eye was caught by the movement. She didn't even get off the bunk before he had her pinned down, his metal hand remorselessly closing on her throat, those terrifyingly black eyes boring into hers.

"Please," she choked out, before he blocked her airway entirely. "Bucky…"

The man had begged, had tried to shield the woman and the boy. Too late for the woman, she'd been killed when he swept her out of the way, her head cracking against the wall with a sickening sound the Soldier recognised as final. The boy sobbed, clinging to his mother's body.

"It's me you want," Howard Stark had said, unafraid. "Do what you have to do, but please don't touch Anthony." And then his eyes had narrowed, and he'd leaned forward, staring hard at the Soldier.

"Barnes?"

The gun cracked. The boy screamed. Soldier looked at him, blank of emotion, save for a tiny thread of confusion beginning to wind around the edges of his mind.

"Who is Barnes?" Soldier said, his voice raspy, unused for a long time.

The boy shook his head, his dead father's head gathered in his lap, tears pouring from his eyes. "I don't know!"

The Soldier stared, his gun still outstretched. His orders were to kill the boy too. But…

He holstered the gun. "Run."

"Wh – what?"

"Run. I'll tell them you fled and I couldn't find you, that your father put up enough of a fight to delay me. Run."

He knew Barnes. Soldier looked down of the body of the man at his feet. He knew… me. The least I can do is give the boy a chance. Until someone else is sent after him…

Bucky blinked, the dark, dingy alley disappearing from his sight to be replaced by Diana, ashen-faced, her eyes closed – his hand around her throat.

"No!" he snatched his hand away, saw with horror the black marks already appearing where it had been, used his other hand to feel frantically for a pulse. "Diana! My God, what have I done?" There, there was a pulse, she was still alive… he held his hand over her parted lips. Was she breathing? He was crushing her chest, that couldn't help – quickly he scrambled off, rolled her to her side. Yes, she sucked in a slow breath. Bucky collapsed to his knees on the floor, pressed his forehead to the mattress and began to sob.

Bucky wouldn't speak to her. Wouldn't look at her. Her throat felt like the worst case of laryngitis ever, so story time was certainly at an end, and with Bucky's refusal to speak the silence in the cabin was oppressive.

He'd been sobbing weakly into the mattress when she came around with the sore throat from hell, had flinched away from her when she reached to touch him, said only two words;

"I'm sorry," and then retreated into a huddled ball in the corner of the cabin, his long black hair hiding his face.

Well, that's lesson number one, Diana thought wryly. Don't mention anyone who's been assassinated to the Winter Soldier. He might well have done it. She could read between the lines that he'd probably been the mystery assassin who'd killed Howard and Maria Stark. Well, that's going to go down like a lead balloon with Stark if he finds out. I'd better warn Bucky not to mention it. When my voice comes back…

Diana pulled her hair forward to cover her bruised neck when another crew member came by a little later, bringing more food and removing the things left after their lunch. A second man handed her a bundle of cloth – clothes and towels, she realised – and she mimed combing her hair, then pointed at Bucky and made a scraping motion at her cheek to indicate a razor. She got a babble of Korean in return, but the crewman returned a few minutes later with the requested supplies, plus toothbrushes and toothpaste. She smiled gratefully and got a bow and more babble.

Bucky had stayed in his corner, though he ate the food Diana pushed in front of him, he wouldn't look at her. Not until she pushed the tray aside and knelt before him, holding out the disposable plastic razor.

"No, don't give me a weapon!" he reacted at once, looking up at her. Her eyes blazed at him.

"You are a weapon," Diana mouthed, hoping he'd understand. "You don't need this to kill me."

He looked at his metal hand bitterly, looked at the bruises on her throat. "Stay away from me. I'm dangerous."

She only smiled, sadly, and held the razor out again. When he looked at her curiously, she mouthed something he didn't understand. He frowned.

Diana scowled. She couldn't make any sound at all come out of her throat. It was a relief that dinner had been broth and noodles, she'd just about managed to choke it down. Well, most of it. She looked at her dinner tray, grabbed it and picked up a few leftover noodles. Carefully, she formed them into letters.

PTSD.

He knew what that meant. Had figured that frankly he probably had the worst case of it known to mankind. It wasn't an excuse, though.

He looked at Diana, still holding the razor out with a sad smile on her face. Thought about the fact that her husband had been Special Forces.

"Did your husband ever hurt you?" he hadn't meant to ask such a personal question, but it just spilled out.

"Not on purpose," she mouthed, clearly enough so that he understood. "Nightmares." She pointed at the four letters spelled out in noodles again. Stared at him with such understanding in her eyes that he wanted to weep again.

"Stay away from me. I don't want to hurt you."

Diana sighed, put the razor down in front of Bucky and turned away, collecting a towel and some clothes from the bundle the crewman had left her. She headed for the bathroom, and stood under the thin stream of hot water in the shower with her eyes closed. Reliving old nightmares. Pressing her fingers to the scar on her chin and sucking in deep, calming breaths.

It had been the very first night she spent with Paul. He had only a single bed in his barracks room, but they'd made a little magic there together and she'd fallen asleep on his broad chest.

She'd woken as he flung her across the room, screaming his head off, not even awake. Hit her chin on the sharp metal edge of his desk.

Paul had said exactly the same words as he sobbed, his head in her lap after he'd tenderly treated the cut on her chin. Stay away from me. I don't want to hurt you. She hadn't listened. She'd stayed, had learned to get out of the way fast when he started nightmaring, shout his name from across the room until he came back to his senses. Loved him because he was broken, not despite it. Broken just like she was. Perfectly fine on the surface but a fractured, shattered mess underneath. They were just better at hiding it than most people.

Oh, Diana. You sure know how to pick 'em, don't you?

Bucky stared at the razor on the floor in front of him. A cheap piece of plastic with a couple of equally cheap pieces of steel moulded into it. Slowly, he reached down and picked it up.

You are a weapon. You don't need this to kill me.

"No," he whispered. "But if I kill you – I'll need this to kill myself."

OH MY GOD THE FEELS.