The world's a little blurry as Bucky slowly feels himself come down from the use of his code words, the cold, unfeeling nature of The Winter Soldier slipping away and leaving him empty. His eyes slowly readjust to the bunker lab HYDRA's been storing him away in for the time being, and he hardly stirs as personnel flit around him like moths to a flame.

Checking for injuries, stripping him of his weaponry and gear, making sure his cybernetic arm hasn't sustained irreparable damage; it's all routine.

The Fist of Hydra doesn't return from a grueling week-long mission carrying out assassinations without being thoroughly checked out, even with the Super-Soldier serum in his veins.

Bucky's been programmed to be silent— they'd nearly erased any trait of his that wasn't essential to his compliance or his lethality— and he maintains that silence until all the doctors and all the scientists finally leave him alone. Once he's left to his own devices, Bucky rises from his chair and stalks into the adjoining room.

Spotting you in the corner at your desk, Bucky crosses the office until he's standing right beside you. It's not hard to discern he's still in between states of consciousness, but with your soft utterance of "солдат?" he snaps back to attention.

"Да?" His voice is gravelly, rough from disuse as his metal hand rests atop your desk. He bares his palm, shifting it slowly until it curls around yours. Not enough to hurt but enough to ground himself.

They'll wipe his mind and put him back into cyrosleep soon enough, but for now, he'll savor the moments of peace with you that they allow him post-mission. Pierce and the others like to say they're not cruel— a man has his needs, even if he is their asset first and foremost— but it's not like that. Not with you.

"How long until they wipe me?" He notices how your lips purse tightly in response. Soon, then; not even his handler could ward off HYDRA forever.

"Stay," he implores instead. The mind-wiping hurts less when you're there. "Don't… don't leave me."