2014-02-20 - Cutscene: The Death of a Dream - A Russian Farewell

...Medical Bay, Avenger's Mansion... Drip. Drip. Drip.

Natasha sits in a chair beside the medbay bed in the Avengers Mansion that held the recently unbrainwashed form of James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes. One of the holo-screens had been pulled up, floating in front of the pair of ex-Russian, ex-spies.

The funeral procession is shown on the screen. A pair of talking heads were giving their commentary, but Natasha has long since ordered the screen silent. She didn’t want to hear what a pair of people who had, in all likelihood, never even been in the same ten block radius as Captain America had to say.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The rest of the Starktech medical bay is silent, the technology so quiet. A blessing any other time, but for now, it was a curse. The only sounds are two people breathing, and the steady dripping. James’s bionic, cybernetic arm lay unattached on a nearby table. The man himself lay on his bed, propped up enough to watch the funeral of his best friend, his partner. The man who for over half the years of his comparatively short life he desired the death of, thanks to the brainwashing of the Russian spy program.

Steve Rogers was someone that James Barnes never wanted to see die. He never believed it possible. Captain America was more than just a man, he was an ideal, a vision. He was...

...dead.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He had saved her life more times than she could count, on the field as allies in SHIELD and as fellow Avengers. But somehow, no matter how old she grew to be, Steve never changed. He was still the man, standing tall and fearless, pulling her small, childish body from the deep, slushing snow as buildings burned around her. He didn’t know what the Russians would do to her in the coming years, but it was that moment, his arms scooping her up, carrying her, handing her to the tall, gruff man with only one eye… that moment is why, when she was burned, she came to SHIELD. To Fury.

To Steve. To Captain America, who pulled her from the fires once, and she knew he could do it again. He /would/ do it again, he was there, immutable, immortal, the older brother who would protect her from anything, even herself.

And he was gone.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Bucky had been a gung-ho kid from the military, it's all he'd known, his entire life. Steve Rogers had been an assignment, at first. 'Keep an eye on him, show him the ropes', they'd said. The fateful night when he had blundered into Steve's tent, watched him don the Captain America mask. It was something that he thought he'd never forget. But, they'd stolen it from him. Ripped it out of him. The two memories, experiences, dance and intertwine in his head. Steve was not only his best friend, Steve was -- Steve was his older brother, his best friend, his father, all rolled into one. He'd realized his destiny, with Steve Rogers. Together, they ensured a victory for the Allies in WWII. ... Together, they had lived, laughed, loved, fought. They had been inseparable.

The brainwashing was gone. The neural implants that reinforced the Russian's control neutralized. He's not fit, mentally, to be there in person, he knows. And he's not sure he's wanted, there. His eyes are unblinking, despite the water in them. Despite the trickle, down his cheek. And no matter what anybody would ever tell him, he would always blame himself. He'd given the Red Skull the opportunity. And all he could do now, ... was to pay a debt he could never repay, even if he lived a hundred years, to the man whom he owed everything that was still good in him to. And that thought was a distraction, from the ache of emotions that he'd not felt in years. The burning, in those unblinking eyes is ignored, as fixated brown eyes remain on the screen to the man who he now owed his redemption to, and who he'd never see again...

Drip. Drip. Drip...

Natasha’s hand reaches for James’s, and her fingers entwine with his. Ice blue eyes, cold as the Siberian winter, meet his deep brown ones. His hand squeezes hers, half in comfort, half to reassure himself she was there.

And Tony Stark steps to the podium on the stage. As he begins to speak, with a roughened voice, Natasha orders the volume restored.

“Natalie...” James tugs at her hand, her arm. Without thinking, she moves from her chair, sliding onto the medbay bed beside him, burying her face in his shoulder. He wraps his arm around her, listening to the speech. And the next. He doesn’t move his eyes now from the footage in the corner of the scene, focused on Captain America’s casket.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

His hospital gown is soaked with her tears, as her shoulders quake and she weeps silently against him. And his own face...

The tears haven’t stopped since the funeral began. And it will be a long time yet before they do.

-fin-