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A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant	By : TheConstant1944 Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Captain America Views: 2391 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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Chapter Thirty-Five
The Constant & Winter Soldier - What Have You Done To Me?

You need to get these files over to Lehmann's office by midday and it has taken you all morning to sort them out. When did you turn into such a paper-pusher? What is worse is that you have to see his assistant, Jocelyn, and you don’t like her. The feeling is mutual. She is young, attractive, and men seem to fall over themselves paying attention to her; she knows they do. You were surprised that she was Lehmann's choice of secretary, but maybe she is good at her job.
Of course...that's what it must be.
As you turn the corridor you look up. Her desk is up ahead at the T junction, just outside of Lehmann's office, and the Winter Soldier is there.
He is standing close to Jocelyn. Something about them stops you in your tracks.
You are looking at them side on. She has her hand on his right arm and is walking her fingers up it; you cannot see his expression, but he is leant towards her. You can see by the expression on her face she is enjoying their talk; both of them seem calm, relaxed. A stab of jealousy goes through you that physically hurts. You have never felt such raw envy before and you are shocked at how much the scene makes you feel sick.
He leans further forward and you think he is going to kiss her; so does she, she lifts her head to meet him but instead he leans towards her and whispers something in her ear. You cannot see her reaction. He pulls slightly away and is now looking into her eyes. You badly want to look away but you can't. You hear the girl laugh, and slowly she takes her hand away from him and he turns to go.
She sits back down. Neither of them have seen you, and you back away until you are back around the corner.
You lean against the wall and close your eyes and hug the folders. He is sleeping with her. It is obvious. How did you ever think he wouldn’t want other women? How did you ever think you would be enough? You have never had a high opinion of your looks, even though it has never occurred to you to compare yourself to other women. But when you think of Jocelyn you realise you must look like some...clumsy oaf next to her.
You hear voices from down the corridor and you pull yourself away from the wall and pretend you are going through the files until the guards walk past. You have to take these files to her; there is no other option, and so you follow the guards. They hover next to Jocelyn for a few moments, flirting. Then they carry on and she sees you. Her smile is one of pure calculated malice and now you know why she always acts so superior to you. She is sleeping with your man. Your confidence has taken a knock. No.
It is in tatters.
You look at her beautiful black hair, bobbed and sculptured to her neckline, her brown eyes shaped like a cats', and her small shapely body and you want to weep; no wonder he likes her. She wears her clothes like a model and you feel shabby. The Hydra logo on her sleeve stands out proud.
You do not see yourself as others see you. You do not see yourself as he does.
You hand the folders over trying to keep your voice steady and then you escape back to your quarters, closing the door behind you, shutting everyone out.
You spend the rest of the day working on reports, timetables, anything to stop yourself from thinking. But as you work you cry: you feel so sick, so alone. What if he asks to have the girl as his Constant? What if you have to leave him? To never see him again, never touch him. You are driving yourself mad.
Finally you finish and go to use the bathroom. Whilst washing your hands you look at yourself in the mirror: at five foot ten you are tall for a woman; you do not see your shapely figure; your long legs. You just see her small delicate body superimposed on yours, and you despair.
You pull your plait forward and release the hair into a pony tail. To you it is dull; you do not see the different colours in it that reminded James of sable fur. Hers is black, just one tone but beautifully coiffed. Her eyes are so delicate and clear; you look into yours and you see the pain in them. They are so large, and to you just plain but to everyone who knows you they have the capacity to show all of your honest emotions.
You can't look any more, and instead you move away and into the other room. He will be back soon and you can't help but wonder if he has been with her instead of the additional training as he said he was. Then it occurs to you...will he be back or will you get a message from one of the guards to say he is busy and won't return until tomorrow, if at all?
You pace up and down. You can't settle, and as you pace you get angry, with him, but truly with yourself. As you walk you have arguments in your mind with him. You ask if he is sleeping with her and he tells you it is none of your business. By the time you finish you are totally convinced: he is going to leave you, you hate him in that moment.
But you hate yourself more.
There is a pair of scissors on the table and you take them and open and close the blades, then moving to the bathroom mirror you look at yourself, you look at your hair. It has not been cut since you were six years old and your mother had caught you cutting it; she had been so upset and you couldn't understand why. She made you promise never to cut it. You didn't want to make her ill again.
But now you are so angry that you want to do something. You take some of your hair in your hand and place it between the blades and cut, but it is so thick it won't cut at all. The scissors are too blunt.
“Goddamn you,” you shout and try again, but this time someone stops you. It is the Winter Soldier. He is stood next to you and before you can react he takes the scissors out of your hand.
“What are you doing?” he asks in bewilderment.
You look at him in the mirror and he sees an anger in your eyes he has never seen before. Your eyes are red-rimmed, as if you have been crying.
“What's wrong? What are you doing?”
You turn around and try and take the scissors.
“I'm cutting my bloody goddamn hair, not that it's any of your business.” But you can't get at them, he holds them up high where you can't reach them. He doesn't want you to cut your hair.
He makes the mistake of smiling at you as if he is amused. He is not being funny with you; it is more of a nervous gesture because this isn't you and he doesn’t know how to react. He rarely hears you curse. And he has been out of cryo long enough to start knowing what you truly mean to him.
You walk out of the bathroom and slam things around. You are so angry you feel like you are going to burst.
He follows you. To his knowledge, you have never been like this before.
“What is it? What's happened?” He keeps his voice neutral.
“As if you would care,” you mutter.
You feel his hand on your shoulder and you shrug away from him. You want this man so much, even through all the mental and physical abuse you still want him, not just to sleep with but to hold you, to love you; for you to be his world as much as he is yours...but that will never happen. You feel so angry with everything, so angry with the world.
You are going to lose him, and that thought stops you.
He sees your shoulders slump as if you are suddenly tired, and he pulls you around to face him.
For a moment you give in and rest your forehead against him but then you see the scene from the corridor replayed in your mind and you try to pull away.
He won't let you. You put your hands over your face. “What have you done to me?” you say. And then, a whisper: “Why didn't I let you die at the field hospital?”
For a moment you are both quiet.
“Tell me what's wrong,” he says and you look up to see him looking at you, those beautiful eyes, looking at you as if he cares. He doesn't, he can't, he doesn't have emotions for you unless its connected with sex. You know that so why look for anything else in him.
You know you are damaged in mind as well as body, you are so angry with him, but even now you still want him so much, hate and love so entwined that you don't know which one is which anymore.
All your frustration comes out and you punch his chest with both your fists. He is taken by surprise and falls backwards.
You are shouting how much you hate him, how you wish you had let him die at the field hospital, how much he has hurt you and what he has made you become. Your words run together and he can't understand them all. You are crying, hiccuping.
You hit him again and again and he lets you until your anger runs out. You are still weeping. He catches hold of your wrists and tries to hold you but you try and push him away, he won't let go of you though, he keeps hold of your wrists.
Then you go quiet and he has to strain to hear you. “Hurt me,” you say. He bends down to catch your chin to raise it to ask what you said. “Hurt me,” you say louder, tears running down your cheeks and he realises what you are asking of him.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because it's what you always do,” you say.
You get your hand free and hit him again, but this time there is no power behind it. He buries his hand in your hair and pulls your head back and kisses you hard, biting your lip. You need this man so badly you ache.
He moves you to the bed and you back up on it whilst he removes his shirt; you unbutton your blouse but that is all. He moves up to you and this time you pull him to you and his hand slides up under your skirt.
“Hurt me,” you say.
He pulls away and looks at you but you just pull him back, watching his mouth and you mumble “Please...for God's sake please.”
He pushes you back and you know he can see how much you want him.
He has taught you well, this Winter Soldier: you think that with sex comes pain and you need it. You feel the coldness of the metal on your thigh, your fingers dig into his back; you will give him anything he wants. He moves to kiss your neck and bites down on your collarbone and you moan. You know that he will draw blood and you don't care, you will draw your own as your nails claw at his spine and work downwards.
You want to feel him hurt you, you want it to hurt; if this is going to be the last time you want to remember it, to have the scars. You feel for his zip and unzip his trousers and release his cock which is hard. He grunts as you run your nails down the length of it and it makes him harder. He reaches for your hand to stop you but you surprise him, you smack his hand away, then moving your pants down you guide him into you wrapping your legs around his so he goes deep.
You moan and arch under him so your bodies are not just close, but completely together.
“Please, harder,” you beg and he moves up and, grabbing both your hands, he holds them up above your head.
He is deep inside you and you can see in his eyes he wants you. He dips his head and sucks at your breast, nipping you and then drawing your nipple through his teeth, and then catching the delicate skin again between his teeth; the pain of it runs through you and you moan again.
One hand holds yours and his metal hand moves under you and down until he can feel the cleft of your buttocks, he runs his finger down and then into you and you groan. He inserts another finger.
You are so close to coming that he can hear your breathing hitch and he knows he has you. He keeps up the rhythm but now moves slower. He lets go of your hands to support himself slightly above you, he watches you; your cheeks are flushed, your eyes closed and you moan softly.
“Freya,” he says quietly.
You hear your name just as his fingers inside you move slightly deeper. You can also feel his cock moving sending hot flushes through your body.
“Don’t stop,” you beg
“Tell me what's wrong,” he whispers. He knows he has you at your most vulnerable now.
“Nothing! Oh, God, don’t stop,” you beg him and open your eyes.
“Tell me or I will.”
“No...no please don’t.” You will do anything. Your legs tighten their hold on him, you don’t want him to come out of either place.
“Look at me...tell me...or...” He slows down.
You look into his eyes and your body is begging you not to let him stop; you move slightly but his weight is too heavy and you can't alter your position, he has you firmly under his control.
“Please. Just fuck me,” you beg.
“Why were you going to cut your hair?” He has to take a deep breath to try and stop himself from coming; he knows he has power over you but you don’t know the power you have over him. It is part of your innocence.
You look at him and he sees the unshed tears in your eyes.
“No, nothing, please just...please!” you beg but he is determined to find out what is wrong. He goes to move again and you are desperate for him to finish, desperate for him to make you climax. “I...saw you, earlier...with her...” You are finding it difficult to breathe and talk but as you say the words your anger starts to resurface and he sees it.
He is confused but doesn't show it. “Who?”
“Jocelyn,” you spit her name out and now he is genuinely puzzled. “You're going to ask her to replace me, I know you are.” You try to move again and he is quiet, instead he concentrates on your body and making you groan again as he pushes a third finger inside you and you almost stop breathing.
“Oh God please, please...” you moan, forgetting yourself for a moment.
“Freya.”
He gets your attention back. Then bends and kisses you, his tongue tracing around yours and then he moves back again so he can see you.
“Why, why would I do that?” he asks.
You bite your lip, oh God he is going to stop, he is not going to let you come.
“Please, please I need you, please fuck me,” you whisper.
“Why? Tell me!” his voice is more serious, deeper; you know he won't do anything if you don’t answer him.
You asked him for pain, well here it is - mentally and physically.
“Because she is young and beautiful and you're sleeping with her.” Your reply surprises him so much that he stops and you misinterpret it.
“No please, please don’t stop.”
He starts again and kisses you again, whispering that he won't. His hand strokes the side of your body; he has to let you come because he can't hold himself back any more. You feel the change in him and your hands move to grip his shoulders, your nails drawing blood as your body arches and he kisses your throat as you cry out and he comes inside you.
He withdraws his metal hand and draws out of you but stays over you so that you can't escape. He knows you will try.
“I'm not sleeping with her,” he says but you won't look at him. You don’t want to hear his lies. He is the one person you always thought would be truthful.
He can see you won't listen so instead he moves away and stands up, tucking himself back in and doing up his zip, putting his tee-shirt back on. You turn onto your side, away from him. You don’t hear him move for a moment but then he pads to the bathroom and you hear him washing his hands.
He comes back in and, sitting on the edge of the bed, reaches over to pull you onto your back. You are surprised how tired he looks.
“Come with me...” He sees you are going to refuse. “...please,” he adds. He has never said that before.
You adjust your clothing and get off the bed, and he goes back into the bathroom. In there he stands you in front of the mirror; you try to move away but he won't let you and instead holds you in place, looking at your reflection.
You don’t know what he is doing. You don’t want to look up at him, but he makes you.
“What do you see?” he asks you. His eyes give you no clue as to what he is expecting you to say.
You wish now you hadn't said anything. Why did you make a fuss? Why is everything with him so difficult for you?
“Why were you going to cut your hair?” He scoops up your hair and brings it over your shoulder to the front and runs his metal hand through it.
“I don’t know,” you whisper.
He doesn’t say anything, just watches you. Your cheeks flush.
“Because I hate it. I hate myself. I'm so ugly, so ...” You turn around against his chest, weeping again when you don't want to. You hit him with your clenched fist but there is no power behind it. He brings his arms up around you and strokes your hair.
“Look in the mirror,” he tries to turn you back around.
“Please don’t make me,” you beg, but he doesn’t stop until you are facing it again.
He holds up your hair.
“How can you say you hate it? It has such beautiful colours, and is so soft.” He rubs it against your face so you can feel it. “Promise me you will never cut it.” You lift your eyes and look at his reflection and he strokes your cheek.
“Promise me,” he repeats and you give a slight nod. He knows you will do anything he asks of you.
“Your eyes are so big, a man can lose himself in them - I love the way their colour changes in the light. And your lips,” he runs his fingers over them “so beautiful, so sensuous,” he looks at you, his voice serious.
He pushes up your left blouse sleeve so you can both see the star shape he marked you with.
“I should be sorry for marking you with this but I'm not, it means you are mine, you are my woman, do you understand?” his voice is soft and he traces the outline of the star and then gently pulls your sleeve down.
Then he allows his hand to move down and runs his hand over your waist and the top of your thighs.
“And your long legs and soft thighs, why would I want to lie anywhere else? Why would I ever want anyone else?”
You turn back around, weeping even harder; you are clinging onto the material of his top breathing in his scent.
He lets her weep and then after a few minutes, he moves her away and gets her to look at him.
“Do you want to leave? Is that it? Are you tired of all this?” he asks, a horrible feeling in his gut which he doesn’t show in his face.
But he sees the look of horror on her face and knows he is safe.
“No, no, never,” she stumbles over her words. “If you tire of me then I understand but...I would never leave you unless you wanted me to.” She runs her hand down his cheek.
*
Earlier that day he had gone to see Lehmann about the additional training. But Lehmann is not in and instead Jocelyn gets up from her desk and walks over to him. She gets close, very close. He wants to move back, wants to put the desk between them. He cannot stand her. She runs her nails up and down his arm and leans in close. He leans in too: he knows she thinks he is going to kiss her but, instead he moves slightly and whispers in her ear.
“Take your fucking hand off me or I will cut each and every one of your fingers off.”
He hears her indrawn breath and sees her cheeks flush. She has never been turned down before. She drops her hand away.
“Don’t ever touch me again,” he adds.
She pretends she isn't bothered and that she has taken it in her stride, but inside she feels fear clamp down; she knows from his voice he means it. She will leave this one alone, well alone.
When he returns to his rooms Freya is in the bathroom and he hears her cursing. She is trying to cut her hair and he snatches the scissors away from her, a panicked feeling running through him. He loves her hair, doesn’t want her to cut it, doesn’t want her to change in any way. He can see she is annoyed and he follows as she moves away. To his knowledge she has never cut her hair before, she isn't the type of woman to ever think about the way she looks.
He is puzzled by her mood, it is so out of character for her. When he sees anger in her eyes directed at him, he knows something must have happened. But she is so angry and from somewhere deep he draws the knowledge that a woman angry cannot be reasoned with, he wonders how he knows that. When she hits him he is surprised again at the power behind it; she really means it but he needs her to let it out so he does nothing until he can see she runs out of steam.
Although now he knows they wipe his memory and leave only a part of her behind so that he recognises her, it takes them days to get back to the relationship they had and she is always patient. He knows from the last time he was wiped he is surprised when they give him this woman, and that she allows him to do anything to her. This time when he first used her and was so cold towards her she still drew him to her. How many times has she had that happen to her? How many times has he cruelly used her, then dismissed her and left her alone?
When she asks him to hurt her he knows that is his fault. He knows how cold he felt inside when she was given to him, how he had no feelings whatsoever. When he first comes out his only reason for being alive is his mission.
This time there was no mission. He was taken out for training, to learn new weapons. He has been out for a longer duration than normal, and now his feelings have not just resurfaced - he is remembering far more.
He knows soon, very soon, that they will wipe him and freeze him again.
And that when he awakens he will hurt her all over again.
He needs to find out what is wrong. Time is running out for both of them.
He seduces her and brings her to her most vulnerable point and makes her confess. It confuses him where she could have got the idea from that he wants Jocelyn. Why? She has nothing he would want, and a seed of doubt enters his mind, does she know something he doesn’t? Is Lehmann going to replace Freya? Now he is the one to feel sick. There are times when he welcomes the wipe; he can't cope with feelings.
They are stood in the bathroom and he is trying to get her to realise he only wants her, but he is not good with words.
“Why? Why do you think they are going to replace you?” he asks.
“I saw you...I saw you with her earlier.” It clicks in his mind and he would have laughed if it wasn't so sad.
“She touched me,” he says. “ And I told her to never touch me again or I would cut her fingers off one by one.”
She blushes as she realises what he is saying, what he is telling her.
“I'm sorry,” she says to him and he shrugs his shoulders.
“Just promise me you will never cut your hair,” he says wrapping it around his hand, pulling her around to face him and kissing her softly.
Later that night, whilst she is asleep, he lies in bed replaying her conversation with him. She told him she wishes she had let him die in the field camp. She said it twice. But now he wonders, what field camp?
What was she talking about?
What else is there that he hasn't yet remembered?
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A Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Fic - The Constant