When We Lie

You spend the day chatting with Bucky about Loki, Manhattan, your and Emma's childhood and the Avengers. You don't press him for his own stories; the gods know you hate it when someone asks about your.

"— and then she adopted it," you finish your latest Tale with a broad smile.

"Where's it now?" Bucky asks. "I've been here for a while, but there's no cat."

The clock above the TV ticks loudly and you stare at it. "It died a long time ago. Run over after we called it across the road."

Bucky calmly looks out the window and nods. "I am sorry to hear that."

"So, tell me, how'd you get here? Would you tell me?"

He nods solemnly, his eyes staring into space. "I was wounded and had to hide. I don't remember the specifics, but according to Emma, I stood outside her door. She was about to go grocery shopping. I fainted and she took me in."

How a small and petite being like Emma managed to inconspicuously drag a deadweight Winter Soldier inside her apartment is beyond you. Maybe she has super strength, who knows?

"Emma has a thing for wounded animals." Her cat had been a rescue, after all. And she used to tend to sick and hurt birds and butterflies until they managed to leave.

Bucky asks about your family to change topic and immediately regrets it when seeing your pained expression. "We can talk about something else," he says. "Don't look like that. Please. Emma will be angry if I make her best friend cry."

"It's not you as much as the memories," you assure him. "It's a bit like asking you about the torture."

He nods in understanding. "Then, do you like to read?"

"I was about to answer your question... Um."

"If you don't want to, it's fine. I'm the Winter Soldier, I don't ask questions."

No one knows about your circumstances. Not everything, at least. By the time you were ten, the Hydra-supporting organisation had disappeared, and before anyone—the Avengers—could get a hold of the information, you wiped what was left of the computers and systems.

"I love to read," you say slowly, licking your lips. "I love fantasy, you see. At the facility I grew up in, there was this one woman that always had a book in her hands. If asked, she would read them to us, didn't matter if the book was in Russian, English, Swedish or German. Most of her books were about magic and love and creatures we didn't know if they existed. You know, werewolves, pixies, kelpies and näcken, things like that."

Bucky smiles faintly. "Sounds good, at least to a child."

You nod in agreement. "As a child growing up a test subject, I wasn't too keen on listening to sci-fi stories. But unicorns and angels were fine. After I got out of there, fantasy books kept me from going insane." You shrug. "About my family... What should I say? I was born to Fanny and Tobias Rehnholm and kidnapped at the hospital. They never noticed, of course. They swapped babies, after all. I checked the story myself. Even found them, when I was fifteen." You look in the ceiling and remember How happy they'd been with their fake child. "I was taken before they got to know my gender. For all they knew, the daughter they named Dorotea was their biological child."

Bucky frowns darkly but doesn't ask. You send him an appreciative smile.

"Dorotea got sick one day," you explain patiently. "They did some tests, and turned out she needed a donor. The Rehnholms were the first to volunteer, which was when they realised she wasn't their daughter."

"Did you come forward?"

You shake your head. "I've never craved parental figures. The ones I had were the scientists that cut me open and killed my friends. But I do acknowledge I am their child, so I keep an eye on them to make sure they're happy."

"Most people would consider knowing the truth to help."

You give him a long look. "I know, but I'll break their heart if I turn up now, more than two decades later, revealing that not only did I become an Avenger, but I was horribly mistreated while they took care of s stranger's child. They won't ever forgive themselves."

"You hesitated."

You smirk. "I did indeed. I went through a phase after Manhattan. I was hurt, lost and angry. So I decided to fuck it and anonymously reached out to them, telling them I knew their child was alive and had been living in Sweden up until a few months prior."

"They must've asked for you."

"They did, but I told them their child wasn't ready to meet them, though it wanted them to know it was alive."

"'It'?" Bucky repeats, raising his eyebrows. "You didn't even tell them your gender?"

"No. But they're happier now. Dorotea still lives and is treated like their daughter and they know I'm alive. They send me pictures and treats sometimes."

He nods. "You came out alive and managed to build a good life. I'm happy for you."

You notices the pictures hanging on the wall beside the TV, of you, Emma and the rest of your friends. You smile. "Thanks. I am too."