He paused at that, considering. He supposed it made sense, to choose to think about the worst things you'd been through on your own terms so they didn't spring up and surprise you. Almost like some kind of method of desensitizing yourself to your own thoughts and memories. "Does it work?" His voice was a little hesitant now, sneaking a glance at her even as she lifted their hands to her cheek. He held his breath, chest feeling suddenly warm in a way he can't remember ever feeling before.
Bucky shook his head at the question about pain killers, dropping his gaze from her face even though their fingers were still threaded together and for the life of him he wasn't sure why she'd taken him by the hand to begin with, considering. "My body metabolizes them too fast. Can't get drunk, either." He was quiet. "They had me on something, though. I don't know what all it was. I guess they figured out some kind of drug cocktail that didn't metabolize as fast as everything else. Kept me more docile when I was out of cryo." Kept his mind fuzzy. It had taken him nearly two weeks before the withdrawal had passed and it had been a miserable two weeks of existence. More than once he'd contemplated eating his gun. He still wasn't sure what had stopped him.
He lifted his other hand up, rubbing it over his forehead. "No. Mostly -- mostly I just see the results of the missions they sent me on." There was unmistakable bitterness in his voice. All he saw on a loop was the bodies of the people he'd murdered for HYDRA. He supposed it was poetic, in a way. Why shouldn't he be trapped with those images? He'd taken countless lives over the years. And maybe he hadn't had a choice, but he'd still done it.
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Bucky shook his head at the question about pain killers, dropping his gaze from her face even though their fingers were still threaded together and for the life of him he wasn't sure why she'd taken him by the hand to begin with, considering. "My body metabolizes them too fast. Can't get drunk, either." He was quiet. "They had me on something, though. I don't know what all it was. I guess they figured out some kind of drug cocktail that didn't metabolize as fast as everything else. Kept me more docile when I was out of cryo." Kept his mind fuzzy. It had taken him nearly two weeks before the withdrawal had passed and it had been a miserable two weeks of existence. More than once he'd contemplated eating his gun. He still wasn't sure what had stopped him.
He lifted his other hand up, rubbing it over his forehead. "No. Mostly -- mostly I just see the results of the missions they sent me on." There was unmistakable bitterness in his voice. All he saw on a loop was the bodies of the people he'd murdered for HYDRA. He supposed it was poetic, in a way. Why shouldn't he be trapped with those images? He'd taken countless lives over the years. And maybe he hadn't had a choice, but he'd still done it.