entranceway | 003 | audio/action

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003 | audio/action

[ The soldier didn't dream before he came to Wonderland. Now, it feels like he does nothing else. There are the memories that fall into the waking world like shards of mirror glass, and then there's Wonderland itself, whole and clear and impossible. He sleeps rarely, and wakes in a cold sweat every time.

Still, he thinks he's starting to know which nightmares are his. When he dreams of monsters, they smile kindly at him, and the blood on his hand is cold cold cold...

The Jabberwocky is something else.

When he turns his phone on and checks the network, he realizes that he isn't the only one to have seen it. He skims some of the information, but finds that little of it is new or useful.

He doesn't turn the phone off right away, the way he usually would. He stares at the screen. Something is coming, and he isn't prepared for it. This is a better day. There are too often worse ones, even now that he doesn't shake or scream or beg for something to still his mind. The need is still there, living under his skin. He's been trying, bit by bit, to put himself together... but he doesn't have all of the pieces, or the time to stumble into them. He needs to be functional. He needs to be fixed.

He looks at the phone. He isn't putting his face up on an open network, but there are very few who would recognize him by voice in his own world, and only a few more here. There's no point in hesitating over Bucky's friends. They must know what's happened by now. It doesn't matter.

It takes him a beat, and then another.

He could write.

But no, it doesn't matter. ]

I know that there are people here who deal in memories. [ The voice is low, a little rough from long disuse, but still unmistakably Bucky's. ] Is there anyone who knows how to get them back and... fix them?

[ He lingers long enough for replies, and then turns off his phone and moves on to the roof. It's exposed, but the chill doesn't bother him, and it will help to keep the curious away. Or so he hopes. He has a sniper's nest there, and the scope on his rifle will let him get a look at the scar on the hillside.

He lays down on his belly to do just that, the rifle braced against his shoulder. He's wearing ill-fitting layers, the brim of a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Keen eyes might catch the edge of a knife sheath strapped against his lower back, hidden largely by the bulk of his clothing. It's a fair bet that he's carrying at least as many weapons as he has layers to hide them.

If anyone approaches, he may not move, but he will notice. ]

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[ She knows he's back. She's known since shortly after he reappeared, but she hasn't personally set out to look for him. Even with Steve's suggestion that maybe her presence would be beneficial. Helpful. She has her doubts about that. Suspects that, because of what she knows, her presence might only complicate matters further. Not that she doesn't want to see him. She does. And his absence, after having him here, so close by, is like an ache she hadn't anticipated to hurt quite so much.

But she lets him have his space, knows he has things - memories - he needs to come to terms with, and if he wants to seek her out, she's made sure to make herself available and easy to be found. He hasn't, though. And today, this message over the network in the aftermath of a mansion-wide nightmare, it seems, is what it takes for him to initiate human contact.

Even if it isn't directed at her personally, she takes him up on the invitation. She doesn't answer over the device - that's not a good medium for a conversation between them, not with how things stand. Instead, she goes to find him. And because she knows him - knows him better than she should have any right to - the first place she checks is the place she finds him. because of course he's up on the roof. Somewhere high and quiet with the best vantage point of everywhere around him. There might be other reasons, too, but she doesn't dwell on them as she approaches, her step careful but audible, letting him know she's coming.

Once, she might have snuck up and surprised him, tested him, tested herself. She doesn't risk that now. ]

I was wondering how long it would be before you let yourself be known.

[ He knows the sound of her footsteps. He can't say how. Maybe it's something Bucky knew or maybe it's something he does, but it's unmistakably her. He's expected this since he arrived, yet every muscle in his body seems to tense.

He's tried to kill her, and he's meant to keep trying. He has no counter-objective, no one has told him otherwise, and for a moment he feels the way his body wants to roll and aim the rifle at her heart. He takes a breath. He stays where he is.

His memories of Wonderland have long since settled, but when she speaks... It's like the stirring of dust in a bombed out building. There was something there once, but all he's got is the ruin of it. ]

Then I'm sorry the wait was for nothing.

[ She resists the urge to roll her eyes at him, sauntering instead to come beside where he lay stretched out. She turned, her back to wherever his gaze was fixed, her own gaze scanning the opposite direction instead of studiously studying him. She didn't need to. She could already pull up every facet about him like this from memory.

She tucked her knees up against her chest, wrapping her arms about them as she settled on the roof beside him, casual and watchful. ]

Shouldn't that be for me to decide? You have no idea what I was waiting for.

[ He tenses, at first, when she sits with her back to him. A half-dozen scenarios spin out in his mind, surprise attacks from him or her, or some third-party she's come to distract him from. The likelihood of the situation seems to have little bearing on the way his mind calculates it.

But then there's the underlying feeling, the calm certainty that nothing will happen, and that if it does it won't be undeserved. ]

Why don't you tell me then?

Maybe I like keeping you in suspense.

[ The words are light but she glances over at him with an intent look, knowing and thoughtful, green gaze flitting over his face, taking in everything.

Enough dancing around the subject then. ]

What do you remember?

That, I do remember.

[ He flicks the safety into place on his rifle. When he shifts up to rest on one knee, he does so with an easy economy of movement, without once taking his eyes off the target. He'll see, if anything moves. He doesn't want to have this conversation lying down. ]

The memories of this place seem intact. [ He wouldn't know for certain if something was missing, but what he does have seems to form a cohesive whole. ]

Before that. [ He shakes his head once. When he speaks again, it's in Russian. ] I remember missions, then bits and pieces of things. It's like trying to read a book, but most of the pages have been burnt out of it, and the ones that remain are about someone else.

[ She shows no visible reaction when he switches to Russian, but something in her posture eases a hint and she dips her head in a nod, listening and understanding. When she speaks, she matches him in tongue, falling back on the language that still remains more familiar to her than the English she'd been taught so diligently. ]

That will get easier, as more comes back to you. [ She knows from experience, even if the methods that had been used on her were different than what he'd had. ] It's like putting together a puzzle as you find the pieces. Each makes the whole make a little more sense.

[ He speaks to her in Russian because it feels natural. There's something soothing about the cadence of her voice in her native tongue. He knows when she speaks, she speaks from experience.

It's strange, to feel even that much less isolated. She's lived it longer than he's been alive, and maybe more often, too. How many people has she been? How many masks has she worn and known better than her own skin? ]

I've shot you twice now, but you came looking for me to bring reassurance?

You're just like him. Generous with forgiveness for everyone but yourself.

[ She gives him a mild look, then lets one corner of her lips tip upwards in a wry smile. ]

Who else could?

[ It's a valid point. Also she shot him back. Sort of. At the very least at him, and with a great deal of determination, even if it was only to draw him off Steve.

His assessment gets a dry laugh from her and a shake of her head as she wraps her arms around her knees. ]

Oh, hardly. 'Generous' is not a word usually used about me. I'm not. Only on a rare occasion, when the situation calls for it. Understanding. That's a different matter. I was made to do that. In all manner of speaking. It makes it easier, sometimes.

[ And harder, as well. ]

Understanding, then.

[ He rolls his eyes to look at her. ]

I'm sorry if I left any scars.

[ She gives him a scowl that hints just enough at playfulness to keep things light. ]

You made bikini shopping a hell of a challenge, I'll give you that.

[ The words are drawled, all wry humor accompanied by a twitch at the corner of her lips as she glances over at him. It's not something she holds against him, in the long run. How could she? But she's not sure just how well he can read her yet, either. How much understanding of his might still linger under what they'd done to him. What they'd taken away. Sometimes things like that stuck with you. Other times they were lost forever. ]

Don't worry. I don't hold it against you. Much.

[ He looks her over, head to toe, and raises a single eyebrow. Natasha Romanoff remains one of the most attractive women he's ever laid eyes on. While he understands that her charm is a part of her repertoire of skills, that doesn't make the assessment untrue.

He wonders if she really wants to forget that easily, or just get under his guard. He remembers enough of Wonderland to doubt that it's the latter. He inclines his head before turning to look out on the grounds again. Though he doesn't smile, the corners of his eyes tighten a little when he says: ]

If it makes you feel any better, I'm sure I look terrible in them too.

[ For a moment, she blinks, because the turn to humor is unexpected, even if maybe it shouldn't be. In one way, it's not, and it's much more like the James she remembers - and has come to know over the past few months that it's wonderful to hear.

So she laughs, the sound easy and genuine, even though it starts as a chuckle and then just keeps growing until she curls over her knees and buries her face against her jeans, still giggling. ]

Now there's a mental image. I bet we could always ask the closets for some assistance so we could find out? That would certainly make me feel better.

[ You should know better than to give her ideas, Barnes. ]

[ He likes the sound of her laughter. He feels like he's liked it for a long time. He turns a little to look at her, but the moment he's tempted to reach his fingers curl against his knee and he remembers himself. ]

If I remember right, neither of us seemed to need one the last time we went swimming. [ He isn't completely certain that he's remembering right. It feels like Bucky's voice coming out of his mouth. He doesn't think that it feels wrong, exactly, but he's unaccustomed to the ease. ] Is it getting cold for you already?

[ His memory isn't wrong and she glances over at him, her smile quick and bright and holding more than a hint of fondness. ]

I wasn't sure how much of that you would remember. And no, we didn't. Probably wouldn't again, either. Although you'll probably fare worse in the cold than I would.

[ Because the conversation has turned playful and easy, she doesn't mind giving a pointed glance to his lap, carrying on the simple teasing and innuendo that have filled so many of their conversations since they landed here. ]

[ He might not remember being a part of the things she told him about that night, but he does remember what they were. He can see, even now, how things between them could have been. He almost says it's difficult to forget you. It must have been.

The comment and the glance tease a laugh out of him, short and sharp. ]

That sounds like a challenge.

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