Before I can untie the string, Bucky sits down beside me, the clean smell of shampoo wafting off him. He's just showered and changed into something more comfortable, a black tight t-shirt sculpting his defined form beneath, matching black shorts. He elected not to wear just boxers, I guess. I kind of miss the sight, his cute, firm ass taunting me under the fabric. Can't wait to see that again.
His dog tags jingle around his neck as he rubs his hair dry with a towel.
"What did Sam say?" I ask, placing the journal back down beside me.
He takes the towel off, tossing it into his duffel bag in the corner before looking at me. "He wanted to know who you were, why I never told him I had a kid. If Steve knew."
"And?" I want to hear everything.
"No, he doesn't know. I just told him it was a long story, one we're still figuring out. But that you're basically like me," he whispers, careful to keep his voice low from prying ears.
"Is that why he was staring at me so heavily while we ate?"
Bucky nods silently.
I didn't think about all the implications of coming back, there's so much we have to figure out now. I know for certain I can never come clean and go straight like Bucky. I will, without a doubt, end up in a maximum-security prison if I do. I'm not a hero. I don't have Captain America to vouch for me like some people.
Even if Bucky vouched for me, he's still on thin ice. His word doesn't mean much, and neither would Sam's, I imagine. I could bribe some government officials to get what I need, but that might bring unwanted attention down on all of us.
I groan and lean my head back into the couch, thinking about all the overwhelming things I have to figure out as quickly as possible.
"Sarah told me we should send Mira to kindergarten soon," he murmurs.
We turn to face each other, his head now resting beside mine.
"She'll be five in a little over a month," I say, the realization hitting me that this would have been the first birthday I'd miss. I'm so glad I won't have to.
He smiles in response. "This is my first birthday with her," he whispers.
"And Christmas," I remember.
"Should probably get a tree or something, right? And presents?"
I chuckle. "We never celebrated Christmas in Madripoor. It wasn't exactly a jolly place. So this will really be her first."
His face lights up. This will be her first, first with him. My heart aches thinking about all the firsts he didn't get to see because I was selfish, because Hydra kept me in a state of constant fear, and because they still had him.
"Find anything?" he asks, gesturing to the journal beside me, my hand still on top of the cover, fingers toying with the string.
I shake my head. "I haven't finished it. Makes me feel sick reading it."
He flips his arm around me, and without thinking, I lift my head, letting him slip it under and pull me so my back rests against him, his arm wrapping around my stomach, pulling me close. I feel his stubble tickle my temple as he rests his cheek on my head.
Taking a deep breath, I pull the string off and begin again, feeling safe in his arms.
Continuing where I left off, Edward consults with Zola and his weird computer self to determine the best option. To no one's surprise, the sick bastard Zola is thrilled with the idea, uncaring about orders not to do it.
He recommends Bucky, saying the asset would be erased after, preventing any kind of annoying paternal feelings from surfacing. Plus, he's easier to control than the others; they might see it as betrayal to Hydra and report it.
The next few entries cover what I already know, the exam done on me to confirm my uterus is intact. They also ran tests on Bucky to ensure he wasn't shooting blanks.
Then comes the actual 'procedure' and all the pregnancies I couldn't carry, including measurements of my poor babies before they were lost.
A tear escapes me. My hands shake. I never thought about it. All the children I lost… I never told Bucky. Never mourned or named them. There was nothing to bury. My own body destroyed them as if they never existed.
Bucky plants a gentle kiss on my temple. I realize he's reading along with me this time, but he doesn't ask anything as I flip through the pages, trying to skip over it all. Until finally, I hit the last pregnancy, where Zola gave him the cruel idea that carried me to term.
His thrill and excitement as he watches my belly grow, the clinical depiction of my torture as if it's just 'treatment.'
I want to skip again, but if I survived this once, I can again. I need to read, see if he learned anything. Something good has to come from reliving all of this.
Bucky and I are pleasantly surprised when a sonogram picture slips out between two pages.
"That's—?" he whispers, lifting the photo.
"Mira," I say, cheeks warming. The date shows I was about four months along.
"I never had one," I murmur, watching his thumb glide across the picture, tracing our little girl's form.
My attention returns to the journal, the page where it fell from containing an entry:
Journal entry:At 1420 hours, surgical removal of the left arm, distal to the humerus, completed on Subject 13. Subject remained fully conscious during the procedure, restraints applied. Artery and vein left open.Immediately following separation of the limb, Subject displayed unexpected behavior. Despite the active neural suppression implant, she initiated coherent speech.Verbatim transcript:"A child born of them, shall act as a vessel of all their power."Simultaneously, notable ocular transformation observed: irises shifted from brown to luminous blue; scleral tissue cleared from bloodshot to bright white. Severed left arm regenerated within moments.At 1422 hours, Subject collapsed into unconsciousness.The subject's ability to override the control chip raises concern. Device immediately extracted and replaced while Subject remained unconscious and unresponsive. Chip integrity confirmed post-replacement.At 1534 hours, Subject regained consciousness with no signs of override. Fetal heartrate confirmed, sonogram confirms no issues.Statement made by Subject remains unexplained. Possible subconscious memory retrieval or external influence. Requires further monitoring.
I had my chip replaced?
I don't remember this.
I could have gotten away sooner. What the hell was I rambling about? Did I lose my mind for a minute there? Is that why I can't remember it?
If my chip was replaced, then how the hell was I able to get free only a few weeks later? I don't understand…