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Steve took one last look at Bucky before closing the door. It was a late summer night, the sunset had set the sky on fire, the soft blue clouds were coloured by strokes of auburn and rogue. A soft mist was descending onto the city of New York, dimming the street lamps, hushing away loud noises, lulling the tired citizens into sleep. It was a perfect sunset and it would be a perfect sunrise the next day; it felt as if the day was dying, only to be reborn out of the velvet of the night.
Steve went down the corridor to a loft-like room in Stark Tower (Avengers tower now). He poured himself a brandy and watched dusk settle outside through the enormous windows. Bucky was home. Bucky was safe. Bucky was back. The real Bucky; free from the control of Hydra, free from the chains that bound his memories. But at a price.
Bucky’s freedom came at a price. All of his memories were back. All of them. And that meant that Bucky was hit by a tsunami of guilt, by an avalanche of regret, an earthquake of self-loathing. He was mostly quiet during the day, he avoided everyone except, maybe, Steve, kept himself to himself. He didn’t eat with the ‘team’; hardly ate at all, really. Sometimes Steve would try to get him to talk, try to bring back happier memories, but that didn’t work very well.
At night Bucky was haunted by nightmares. Vivid, dark, angry, bloody, hateful, terrible nightmares. He woke up screaming, crying, squirming in the bed sheets, thrashing out. It was Buck’s fourth night at the tower, Steve got more accustomed to the nightly visits to Bucky’s room; he woke him up, he told him it was all a dream, only to hear Bucky answer ‘I wish it was’. And so tonight, like two nights previously, Steve waited in the loft, waiting for Bucky to wake, hoping beyond hope that he didn’t.
Across the hall, Natasha didn’t sleep easily either. She too stayed awake every night hearing James’s screams. Twice she wanted to go and comfort him, twice she was ‘beaten’ to it by Steve. She couldn’t help it: she was cracking. Her perfect disguise was slipping away, like sand through her fingers. Superior, trainer, friend, lover, friend again, lover again…then foe…and now- She didn’t know what James was to her now. He didn’t acknowledge their relationship, though he seemed to remember everything now. She realized, that this wasn’t exactly the man she loved. This was James Buchanan Barnes, not the Winter Soldier. Steve didn’t see him as the ‘old Bucky’ though. So this was a combination, a toxic concoction between lady-killer volunteer, Cap’s sidekick and ‘dark’ half* and that of a ghost, a super assassin and spy without a past.
Natasha watched the last glimmer of light illuminate the city beneath her, flashing, before disappearing beyond the horizon. The day had died. Dusk engulfed the world. Natasha Romanova continued to stare into the sky above, into the hive of life below. She stood on her balcony, tattered by the wind, chilled by the evening air. This was all she had left, she thought. This feeling of complete serenity, watching cars and people rush by, horns and sirens blaring in the distance, a feeling of eternity, left by the sunset. She got that strange sensation to swing over the railings and let go. She decided long ago that this is how she would like to end her journey: watching a perfect, hard, infinite sunset. She felt completely empty, as if her whole life was washed away; all of her worries, hates, loves, all her guilt, coldness and snatches of empathy were burnt by those final glimmers of light.
She went back inside, deciding to relish the moment of purity and nothingness and go immediately to sleep. She had almost reached her bead when she heard the grunts of pain from James’s room. Suddenly emotions boiled up in her again: love, anguish, torment, pity, sorrow. James, her James! Without a second thought she rushed to his room.
He was still asleep, his body paralyzed, but his arms jerked and started to thrash. She came up to his bed, tried to grab his shoulders to shake him awake, but was almost hit away by his metal arm. But she was still the Black Widow, even with this preposterous sentimental flush. She caught his hands, held them down, called his name until he finally woke up. His dream still clouded his mind as he tried to attack her. When h finally saw who she was, he stopped as if frozen.
His head fell, his arms loosened. He tried to curl into a ball, softly sobbing. Natasha sat beside him and nuzzled her nose against his shoulder, one arm around his back.
“It’s okay now…” she whispered. “It’s all over…” She let one of her hands bury itself in his hair, just the way he liked it. He turned to her; yet she could only guess if it was instinct or a rational decision. Their embrace barely lasted a few seconds as she toppled him onto his back, cradling his head in her lap.
“It’s finished now. They have no control over you anymore.” She continued to whisper. She clearly saw his bruised eyes from lack of sleep. “Try to go to sleep again.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’ll all come back again.” He tried to hide his head in the back of her knee, both arms clutching her leg.
“I won’t let them.” She answered, kissing his cheek.
“От края до края, небо в огне сгорает,
И внем исчезают, все надежды и мечты.
Но ты засыпаешь, ангел к тебе слетает,
Смахнет твои слезы, и во сне смеешься ты.
Засыпай, на руках у меня засыпай,
Засыпай, под пенье дождя,
Далеко, там где неба кончается край,
Ты найдешь потерянный рай.”
She only ever sung to him. She left her hand buried in his hair, softly lulling him to sleep. Before she got to the end of the first verse, James lay asleep in her arms. They would never admit this happened to anyone. This moment was theirs and theirs alone. Once in an age, they thought, even the hardest people can be weak. Once in a age they can let love and sweet sorrow flow through them. Just once...
Steve had dozed off. Looking after Bucky rid him of his few hours of sleep, and they took their revenge on him. He woke up hearing Bucky’s grunts and cries, but it took him some time before he realized what was happening. When he did, the cries had stopped; this roused his suspicions even more, so he dashed to investigate.
Opening the door to Bucky’s room he saw Natasha sitting on the bed, cradling Bucky’s head in her lap, gently singing what seemed to be a lullaby to him in Russian. Shocked and confused, he stood in the doorway. She noticed him, looked around, trying to tell him Bucky was all right now. He took the hint, deciding not to disturb Bucky’s well needed sleep, leaving all the inquiries till morning. He didn’t understand what had happened but couldn’t find the strength to speculate.