Thread: The Asset - Avengers (Moon Struck Fox & Defiant)

Bucky looked to the pile of clothes on the bed and walked over to it. He picked up a pair of sweat pants and moved the material between his fingers, his brows furrowed as he thought. These are softer than what I wore before, he pointed out. It had always been jeans and protective gear or nothing. He was being naked when a whole medical team was poking and prodding at him while guards stood near by after a mission. Or when he woke from stasis. He would spend the first few hours in the buff, his vitals and muscles being checked over before he was briefed and sent out to a mission. Yes, he answered simply and watched the other leave the room and looked down at the clothes again. He wasn't sure why the other had left him alone but knew the medical team and guards were never naked around him so it was logical it was something they only expected of him. He dropped the towel and pulled the pants on then a long sleeved shirt. I haven't eaten solid food yet, he said in way of warning and stepped over to the door and looked at Steve. I throw up when I eat solid food. My stomach is not used to it, he pointed out. He glanced down at his clothes then looked at Steve. There was a small pinch behind his left eye, a sensation he'd become accustomed to when he'd remember something. It would be a phrase, a picture, a name. Sometimes it made no sense and sometimes it was like he got a whole year of his life back. Or a single mission. He hated the missions. He felt littered with guilt afterwards. Clothes are too big, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't mean on him, or on Steve. But it was something he felt like he had to say. He inhaled sharply through his nose and got a good whiff of Steve. Part of his brain remembered how he smelt before the war while another part of his brain registered how different he smelt. He stepped away from the doorway and went to sit on the bed. The memory came back like a movie. It was dark and the room stank of medical cleanliness but there was an underlying heaviness of mold or something. He could hear his own voice, chanting something. He didn't know what exactly. His eyes couldn't see very clearly either. It was all blurry. He remembered a scrawny little blonde, he was scrappy. You got big, his slurry voice said in the memory. Bucky shook his head. You were small before... before something happened, he clenched his jaw, the headache was backing off now, thankfully. The movie memories seemed to hurt his brain the most. But it had been so long without being wiped they were coming more often now. Scrappy, he said and ran his hands over his face, the metal of his left arm still warm from the shower. What kind of soup? He asked after a few moments, he wasn't used to dwelling on his memories, he didn't have anyone to help him sort it out afterwards. No way of making sense of what he'd seen and it would usually leave him frustrated and more confused. Until he found a computer, typed in a general idea of what he'd seen. Usually he did that for assassinations. Figure out who it was he'd killed. And hope they'd done things in their life which made their death almost like justice. But it was rare. Hydra was the bad apple. The poison spreading their disease to others and he'd helped them by eliminating good people. He understood how and why, his hands had acted without knowledge or the ability to make his own decisions but it had still been his hands to rob people of their lives and he was going to have to find a way to live with that.