Bucky's POV

          As I walk the halls towards the meeting room, I can't help but replay the events that just happened before me. It plays like an old film reel and I am captivated by every frame. Part of me knows that I should stop thinking about it, but the other part of me knows that it's a step in the right direction. For a fleeting moment, I could see her, hear her voice, and feel her presence. But I couldn't pull her out of Red's grip on her mind.

The first time we met, she was laying on an operating table, her heart failing. I was a different man then, the Winter Soldier, the deadly assassin. But something in me changed at that moment. As I looked at her, fighting for her life, I couldn't stand there idly and not do anything. She was a stranger–one that was becoming just like me–and I couldn't let her die. I did what needed to be done and gave her half of my heart.

But as quickly as she entered my life, Hydra took her away again. There was that moment in Vienna, a stolen moment of intimacy in that quiet kitchen. Our lips met in a kiss that ignited a fire within me. It was a glimpse into a world that were more than soldiers honed with dangerous abilities. We were two people, longing for a connection we never reached.

          Now that I walk these halls, I can only think that she's a part of me. That we're inexplicably connected. Half of my heart belongs to her, it's a connection that deserves an explanation. And I will do anything in my power to bring her back, to make her whole again. The idea that she might be conscious of what's happening but unable to control, it fills me with a profound sense of sorrow and frustration.

I reach the meeting room, pushing my thoughts away to figure out the best course of action. When I step inside, I find Steve and T'Challa waiting, deep in discussion about treatment plans. They glance at me walking in and they hushed their voices. Concern grows on both of their faces as I sit down across from them. With one look, they know something has gone amiss.

"What's going on, Buck?" Steve asks, concern etched on his face.

T'Challa, who always seems composed, watches me with a keen eye. He senses that something significant transpired.

I take a deep breath, knowing that I have to share this dire situation with them. Avalon's situation isn't just mine to fix; it will take a whole village to help her. It has become a shared burden, one that will require a collective effort.

"I went to see Avalon today," I say, my voice steady but wavering. "She was fronting. I talked to her, but I wasn't enough to keep Red at bay."

Their expression shifts from concern to a mixture of surprise and hope. In this time spent here, there is a glimmer of light, even if it was only for a false moment. Although we don't know the effects of Avalon's rewiring, we know one thing for sure; that it's possible.

"What happened, Bucky?" T'Challa asks, pressing to the matter. His curiosity intrigues me, giving me hope that Wakanda will help bring Avalon back.

I recount the brief moments that Avalon resurfaced, the emotions and our connection, and the subsequent takeover by Red. Steve and T'Challa listen intently, making sure they don't miss a singular detail. When I finish, Steve rubs his chin thoughtfully and T'Challa clasps his hands together, deep in concentration.

"We have to figure out a way to get through to her," Steve says, leaning forward, resting his chin on his fists. If only it were that easy. I did it by accident. "She's been coexisting with Red for far too long. It's time we help her control it."

T'Challa nods in agreement. "I agree. We have resources in Wakanda that can aid us through this endeavor. But we must tread carefully. The Red Ghost is a formidable force, and we must expect things to go awry."

I take a moment to consider what T'Challa is saying. I know concern is written all over me, but I can't help but want to fix the one person I care for the most. You mean, the one you love? "You know, therapy is a good start. If she has the opportunity to talk to someone, maybe it could help her sort through everything."

Steve looks at me with a hopeful expression. "It's a good idea, Buck. if there's a chance for her to regain control, we should explore it."

T'Challa acknowledges our suggestion with a thoughtful nod, his regal bearing offering contrast to the situation. "Here in Wakanda, we have therapists that specialize in this kind of treatment," the King explains, not missing a beat. "I can arrange for her to see one of the best."

As we dive deeper into the complexities of Avalon's situation, I can't help but reflect on my own experiences. Red, the persona that has held Avalon captive for so long, is a part of me, in its own way. We were both forged by Hydra, shaped into deadly weapons with our own designated purposes.

I've spent years battling my own demons, trying to become the man I used to be and the man I became as the Winter Soldier. In that sense, I understand Red more than she might let on. We share a dark past, a history of violence and servitude that has left indelible marks on our souls. But while I've managed to break free from Hydra's control and find some semblance of redemption, Red remains trapped in a cycle of violence. It's a fate I wouldn't wish on anyone, especially not someone who shares a connection as profound as we do.

With Steve's unwavering dissolve, T'Challa's wisdom, and my quiet determination, we mold into a daunting alliance. Each of us knows what's at stake and what the task at hand is worth. Although the circumstances aren't ideal, we will do anything to bring Avalon back to herself.

***

Red's POV

          The moment I walked into the room, a tidal wave of emotions threatened to wash over me. Annoyance, irritation, betrayal–they course through my veins, vying for dominance. The room's chaotic decorations only fuel my resentment. I feel like a caged animal, forced into ungodly situations against my will. And if I could kill everyone I've encountered, I would do it in a heartbeat.

Adding insult to injury, my wrists are bound in cold, metal cuffs; a reminder that they see me as dangerous and unpredictable. I want my gaze to kill, to seek a path of mass destruction, to convey the irrevocable depths of my displeasure, but the doctor sitting calmly across from me seems entirely unfazed by my demeanor. I have no intentions on cooperating. 

My movements are restrained from the cuffs, I can't help but to seethe in the silence. My distant stare bores into the therapist, it's my wordless declaration of my vexation of this entire ordeal. It's a look with such intensity that it could wither flowers, but his composure is unaffected. Yet again, the room is smothering me, and I have this sinking feeling that as hard as I try and resist, I will be thrusted into a battle that I cannot win.

One look says a thousand words: this is my territory, my mind, and I will not yield to this intrusion. Let the battle of wills begin.

My entrance was anything but gracious. I practically dragged myself inside and sank into the sunset orange colored chair. The clinking of the handcuffs reverberated the room, a constant reminder of my newfound captivity. The therapist, unfazed by my hostile entrance, extends a welcoming hand towards me. Are you joking? I scoff at his politeness, but there is no other option, not with these damn restraints.

He leans forward, maintaining eye contact despite my hostile reception. "My name is Dr. Mbali," he introduces himself, his tone calm.

I offer him nothing more than a curt nod in acknowledgment. I am not willing to engage with pleasantries. My skepticism runs deep, and no amount of words can help ease that feeling.

Dr. Mbali remains unaffected by my uncooperative demeanor. He seems like the type of man to have dealt with far more intimidating patients than a stubborn one like me. With a sly smile, he continues, "I understand that you may be weary of this kind of treatment, Red. Maybe even resistant to this process."

I shoot him a venomous glare, but atlas, he doesn't seem to mind it. Instead, he shifts in his chair, clasping his hands together. "Let me assure you that my main goal here is to help you. I won't ask you to trust me blindly, but hopefully, you'll see that I'm committed to helping you."

I roll my eyes, refusing to speak to the man in front of me. Why the hell would I want to be here? It's a waste of time. I am not easily swayed by words, even if it's to make a point. Unfortunately, Dr. Mbali has patience with him, as if he has all the time in the world to unravel all the secrets I keep.

A chuckle escapes my lips. "Help me? That's a first."

He doesn't react to my defiance. In fact, he looks more intrigued by it than anything else. He maintains his stance, not backing down. "It's not about what you want, Red. It's about what you need. And right now, what you need is a way to navigate the storm inside of you."

I sigh, knowing that this isn't a battle that will be won easily. "You think talking to you is going to solve anything? You think I'm just going to spill my secrets because you asked nicely?"

I clench my jaw, determined not to let him get under my skin. This was a battle of wills, and I had no intention of being defeated. Yet, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered, reminding me that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that this man could save me from myself. Avalon, shut the hell up. But regardless, I shut out the voice, not allowing my inner persona to get through to me again. I am here because I was forced to be, not that I want to be.

Dr. Mbali maintains his equanimity, seemingly composed with every snarky comment I give him. "I don't expect you to open up easily," he explains to me, steadily. "And I understand that this isn't a process you willingly signed up for. But sometimes, we have to confront our pasts and learn from them."

I grow increasingly frustrated with his persistence. "Confront them? You think I regret anything I've done?"

He doesn't say anything before picking up his pen. It moves steadily across the notepad, jotting down his thoughts. I can't help but get agitated by the silence that stretches between us. But I am curious about what he's writing. Is it about my resistance? Body language? My distaste? My mind is asking a million questions, but I have no intention on voicing them.

Dr. Mbali places his pen down on his notepad, he looks at me quizzically. "So, what makes you the Red Ghost?"

In a way, I feel insulted. For the sole purpose that my legacy, my reign, hasn't reached him here. It's like my notoriety, the ghost stories whispered in soft tones, mean nothing within these walls. That my entire existence doesn't mean anything to anyone here. Hydra may have controlled me and created me to fit their desires, but they were also responsible for the fear that my very name instills. Over the years, I've made it a point to leave behind my own destructive mark, and all he sees is a simple woman.

To him, I'm just another patient to unravel. I am another mind for him to play with. But I can't help but think if my life's work means nothing outside of the criminal world. Those who fear me call me the Red Ghost. But here, I'm only Red.

"What makes me the Red Ghost?" I smirk at his question. "Years of training, countless missions, and a niche for survival that few can match. I'm the ghost that haunts your mind, the one they call when they need the impossible done. I'm a weapon, Doctor, that's what I am."

He absorbs my words, giving me a measured nod. Curiosity takes over, he presses me further. "What led you down this path?"

The doctor continues to listen intently as I answer his question. "Hydra," I say, my voice fills with resentment and distaste. How much more of this? "That's who made me what I am. Trained me, molded me, and used me as their weapon. And I was damn good at it."

"A powerful yet dangerous organization," he says, telling me information that I already know. He doesn't judge me for it, but I know he's interested in how someone like me can become a useful weapon. "How did you come to be a part of it?"

I shift in my chair, trying to piece together the fragments of my memory. It's like trying to catch smoke–it's elusive, intangible, and always moving. It's hazy, I can't pinpoint the moment I joined. It's a testament to how deeply they've infiltrated my life–their very existence is the reason I am here, and what courses through my veins.

But there are snippets that flash through my mind like old photographs. The frigid air against my skin, the taste of metal, and the feeling of fire in my veins. The distant screams that echoes around me. It all comes to me in waves, never giving me too much at once. All random and out of place, but it creates a puzzle that I'm unable to solve.

Dr. Mbali waits patiently for an answer. He quickly jots down my hesitance, my inability to give him a snarky retort. His notepad becomes a silent spectator in my inner turmoil, capturing the moments where I am unable to dig into my past.

"I can't give you the exact moment," I explain. I begin to feel myself getting frustrated. "I think I've always been there. It's like one day, I woke up and I was already in their clutches."

He nods thoughtfully, acknowledging that I struggle to recall my upbringing. He continues to take notes, his pen moving methodically across the yellow pages. In the stillness of the room, my words hang heavy, a testament to the enigma of my past. It irritates me that I cannot remember the details of my past, to not have a clear understanding of where I came from. I don't even know my own birthday.

As his hand glides swiftly across the page, I can't help but feel relieved. I am exposing the gaps in my memory, but at the same time, I am learning that I don't always know the answers. Not even when it comes to me. I feel relief, because for the first time, someone is curious as to who the assassin is.

His brown eyes lock onto me as he speaks. "It's not uncommon for individuals in your circumstance to have fragmented memories. Trauma often does that, especially if it's a significant part of your life."

I don't respond, but I listen to his words. Trauma, I think to myself. I find myself fixating on the word. It's a term that I've heard often, usually in the horrors of war, the scars left by violence, and the lingering memories of a terrorizing past. But I've never allowed myself to confront it head on, to acknowledge its impact on me in my line of work. 

As I sit here, I allow my mind to drift back. Closing my eyes, I try to picture the day where I was awakened from a deep slumber. Then, flashes of images begin to form behind my eyelids. The smell of disinfectant. The chill of the metal against my head. A distant, haunting scream is echoing in the corners of my consciousness. I remember, Red. 

As soon as those memories work in unison, I hear them–the words that hold the power to flip me like a switch, to turn off my humanity, and destroy my freedom. They echo in my mind like a sinister incantation: Science. Forty-four. Red. Laboratory. Desolation. Each word carries a significance, carrying the weight of the past with them. Together, they are the key to the Red Ghost. But they are the key to my destruction. The key to chaos. And the key to my torture. Our torture. 

I can't bear it any longer. The words, the gaps in my memory, the doctor asking too many questions–it's overwhelming and I can't stand it. I rise abruptly, catching the doctor by surprise. My body is tense, gaze fixated on the door in front of me. Dr. Mbali notices my change in demeanor, his eyes soften, understanding that this is a strange situation for me.

"Red," he begins, but I cut him off.

"Enough!" I hiss through my gritted teeth. My voice is sharp like the blades of my knives. I need to escape this room, to find solace in myself. But those words sent a chill down my spine and I don't like the way it made me feel.

Dr. Mbali backs down, learning my limits. "Of course. We'll stop here for today." He doesn't ask anymore questions, respecting the boundary. "I will see you tomorrow." 

The session comes to an abrupt end, leaving me with a sense of discomfort. It's an odd feeling, one that I don't feel too often. Those damn words keep echoing in my mind, reverberating my spine. These words have haunted me for as long as I can remember. They are a reminder of the darkness that lurks within me. But for now, I suppress them, not allowing them to affect me longer than they have to. Tomorrow is a new day.

Until then, I remain locked away, unable to take control of my own life. 

a/n: I've been killing it with these updates. im genuinely impressed with myself. I have the best chapter coming up soon and I AM READY FOR IT. hope you enjoyyyyy :))) -k