In Search Of One Man [Defiant x Temptationist]

Handing the file over to him, Natasha smiled confidently. "All I could dig up on his case." She looked at Steve as he flipped open the cover to the folder. "I uhm..." She said, hesitating. "I think I know someone who can help you." Digging into her pocket, she pulls out a small piece of paper and slips it in the file. Steve looks at it, puzzled, as he stared at just numbers. "It's a P.O. box..." She paused before admitting, "To Phoenix, and not the city in Arizona." Natasha chuckled lightly at herself before continuing. "You leave your contact information in there, and she will find you. You don't go to Phoenix, Phoenix comes to you. And if there's anyone qualified to find Bucky, it's her."

Steve's mouth dropped slightly. "Phoenix? Penelope Phoenix?" A woman most well known for being a ghost, was now just at arms reach, via a mail box, right here in New York City.

Knowing full well Phoenix was a well-known criminal on SHIELD's active radar, any information relating to locating the vigilante would be used to arrest her. Realizing this could put Phoenix in jeopardy at the mercy of SHIELD, Natasha looks down. "She's a friend of mine. A good person. Don't make me regret it."

Immediately understanding, Steve looked at Natasha and nodded. "Thank you." He says with deep sincerity. Those two simple words were proof enough that Phoenix's information and identity was safe, and secret, even within the hands of Captain America. Those two simple words were a statement to Steve and Natasha's everlasting friendship.

Giving Rogers one last kiss on the cheek, she smiled at him and left the cemetery.

* * * * * * * * * *​

Steve approached the PO box with nothing but empty hands and a cross bag. The box was one in a line of hundreds near a subway station. He stared at it, wondering how he'd open the thing. Realizing he could just slip his information through the cracks, Steve moved to do just that. Right as he was about to slip HYDRA secret photo of Bucky, the photograph was plucked right from his fingers.

Sunglasses on, dressed in a black trench coat and strutting in black high heels, I looked like a model straight off a fresh runway. As I approached my box, I instantly see the very recognizable Captain America standing before the rows and rows of mailboxes. Before he would manage to get the photo in the box, I snatched it from his hand and continue to walk past him, as if nothing had happened.

Rogers, looking wide-eyed and confused, just stood there in awe as he watched this mysterious vixen strut away from him. "Uh-" He mumbles.

"Denied." I refuse the case, tossing the photograph of Bucky in confinement right over my shoulder as I continued to walk away.

The photo fluttered to the ground and Steve went to pick it up. Unimpressed, I could feel his eyes burning at the back of my head. "Just like that?" He growled.

"Just like that." I assured.

"Wha- wait!" He quickly realized I was being serious, and came running after me. Grabbing onto my arm firmer than any gentlemen should, Steve spun me around to talk to me. "Please! I'm asking for you to help me. He's my best friend. A brother; a good man."

In a sudden fit of rage, I ripped off my sunglasses to look Rogers dead in the eyes. "Do you not understand that he doesn't want to be found?" Steve had a blank expression on his face. He seemed more confused than ever, as he watched my eyes well up with tears. "Do you see this?" Pointing to my hazel eyes, which were beginning to water, "This is the pain I felt when I touched his photograph... His pain."

Rogers seemed stunned. He looked down at the photograph, and for a split second, it seemed like he felt that pain too. "What can I do to help him?"

Taking a breath in, I tried to contain my acquired emotions. Placing my sunglasses back on, "Let him breathe." I said firmly. "Let him come to you." Although I meant those words, I was compelled to search for this individual regardless of what I felt he needed. Seemingly changing my mind, I calmly took the photo back from Rogers and slipped my hand, without hesitation, into his cross bag. Pulling out Bucky's entire file, I confirmed to him, "I work alone."

Confusion. Anger. Fear. Loss. Sadness.

His life had been so simple until that man from his past had broke something open in his brain. Something like a wall which had been built up to keep things simple. But that wall which kept things simple was what made him angry. And sad. But that wall, it kept all those emotions away. And then he'd wish it'd come back. And then he felt the fear. Fear of that wall, keeping him from being who he was and then he wondered who he could have been and he felt everything.

Going from feeling nothing to everything was almost too much so he did what he'd been trained to do. He gave himself missions and with every Hydra agent he ended, he felt less angry for a time. But it always came back, the emotions he didn't know how to handle and he'd remember another Hydra base. And he'd go and kill and he'd be okay and then the flood of emotions. It was a vicious cycle and one he was currently trapped in and had no idea how to get out of it.

It had been months since the events at SHIELD headquarters and his memories were still so jumbled they didn't tie in with each other. Scents, sights, sounds, pictures and random people brought back random memories. But he couldn't make sense of them. He knew who he was. He knew what his name was supposed to be and he thought once he knew who he had been, things would fall into place. Of course it wasn't that simple.

February was cold in Estonia but he liked it. The cold was nerve wracking as it brought back memories of being frozen and in the cryochamber. But for now it kept people inside and he didn't stand out being bundled up, his mouth covered and gloves covering his hands.

There were no Hydra bases nearby. He'd fallen off the map. He didn't want to continue down that road anymore. It helped for a time but he'd seen enough death and violence to last him more than a lifetime. He'd shown up with a handful of blood money he'd taken from Hydra and the elderly woman who he'd given $10,000.00 to had asked no questions nor required any paperwork when she handed him a set of keys for an apartment on the top floor.

It had a bed, shower, heat, fridge and stove. He didn't need anything else. Nobody bothered him. Nobody expected anything of him. He was free to suffer through his nightmares and memories without prying eyes or judgement. Sometimes he wanted someone to be there with him, he'd remembered the blonde man before he was big. They'd lived together for a bit, been close friends. And someone Bucky could talk to and trust. It was tempting to try and seek him out but he wasn't ready, he didn't need someone who knew him with certain expectations of who he'd been and what he should be.

He'd been in Estonia for about three weeks. Things had been calm but after arriving back to the apartment something felt off. Different. The air was different. Someone was in there. He unlocked the door as casually as he always would and pushed it open, he reached over and flicked the lights on, his eyes scanned the room as he shut the door behind himself then walked deeper into the small apartment and grabbed the gun he'd hidden in a jacket hanging just off the main entrance. He cocked the gun, the sound echoing through the room. “I”m done with Hydra. If you're with them then walk out and that'll be that,” he leaned against the wall, there was nothing but a wall and table behind him, no place for anyone to hide.

When I looked for someone, especially an individual of such high profile, they were either in one of two places - within the area/state, or at the complete opposite end of the world. Those were the two options, and they were not usually far in between. Unfortunately, to my dismay, in this particular case, it was the latter. Word of the Winter Soldier had covered every headline, newsfeed, and radio station across the nation. His picture, one from the 1930s of trusty Bucky Barnes, was now plastered across every television screen from New York to Texas. Where had the infamous sidekick of Captain America gone to? How was he alive, and how had he survived? These were the same questions mutually shared by both strangers of the general public, and even Barne's closest friends. James "Bucky" Barnes. Even I, rolling that name off the tip of my tongue, had longed for the answers to those questions.

This was no simple case. With the HYDRA bank accounts drained to the payoff of any witness - I couldn't just willingly obtain my information, I had to forcibly take it.


Slipping the man a picture of the Commander from his glory days, I watched as the Russian hawked at it. "Never see him." He spat out in a thick, salivating East-Slavic accent.

Looking at him unimpressed, I maintained a straight face. "No?" I said, practically in total sarcasm as I slipped him another photo, snapped at one of the scenes that had unfolded in downtown New York City. This one was up to date. "What about him?"

With the utmost attitude, the fat, bald-headed drug dealer glared at me with the most distaste. Without even looking at the photo, he stared me dead in the face and responded. "Nothing."

Sighing, I took both photos back. "Mr. Petrov... I told you we could do this easy way..." His two armed body guards clenched at their guns harder - anticipating the worst. Slipping both pictures back into my coat, I muttered. "Or the hard way." Retracting my hand out of my coat, I launched a knife into one of the guards throat. The blade pierced his jugular and within a second of my first attack, his second guard raised his weapon and fired. The bullet missed my head and struck my back. But I didn't fall, nor did I stop moving.

The remaining guard continued to fire. I stood silent for a moment, allowing this sad excuse for a protector to get his fire-rage out of his system. And there I was, still standing. Turning around, the Russian looked terrified, as so did his trusted wingman. "You done?" Over a dozen shells had been shed before his gun clicked; he was on empty. They both watched in horror as my body rejected the attack. One by one, in the order they were fired, bullets were pushed out of my skin only to fall on the floor. Clack. Clack. Clack. Within several seconds, all of them had fallen from my body and had fallen flat on the ground. One bullet rolled to the foot of the guard. Looking down, he swallowed roughly. By the time he would raise his head to look back at me, he'd already be dead.

Blade in hand, I swung forward and slashed his throat. Blood began to streak out of the slit in his neck before the man fell to his knees and face-planted on the floor. The Russian, slouched back in his chair behind his dingy desk, began to pee himself. "Vhat are you?"

Swinging my body towards him, I grabbed his hand and slammed the blade through his palm. I trapped his hand to the wooden top of the table; he was unable to move, and unable to escape. Mr. Petrov squirmed in pain as his hand bled out onto his desk. "I see him. I see him!" He admits, without me even having to say a single word. Without him even admitting anything, the connection made by touching his hand was enough for me to look into his memories and witness the Winter Soldier paying him for a plane ride somewhere.

"Where was he trying to fly to?" I demanded answers, holding onto the handle of the blade with one hand, and maintaining skin-to-skin contact with Mr. Petrov with my other hand.

He flinched, "I don't kn-" I began to twist the blade in the palm of his hand. He squirmed like a freshly decapitated worm. Hollering in pain, he kicked the table in sheer reaction. "Russia! RUSSIA!"

Seeing further into his memories, I could hear Mr. Petrov saying, 'from there you can take the train'. "TRAIN, PETROV, WHERE WAS HE GOING?" Pulling the blade from his palm, I swiftly grabbed onto the other unharmed hand. I drove my knife into the palm of that one, also pinning it to the table.

His body shook violently as he shrieked and cussed in Russian. "ESTONIA!" He cried out, "He was going to Estonia!" Petrov breathed a sigh of relief as I pulled the knife from his other hand. He looked up at me, helpless and broken, holding out both of his crucified hands, bloody and wounded. He had been defeated.


"Bullets are useless, here." My voice echoed from the enclosed space I was in. The closet? Nope. The bathroom. Of all places I could have put myself, I was confined within the four walls of the tiny room you called a bathroom. Opening the door, I swung it further open with my foot to reveal myself. Staring at the mirror, I held the ready lipstick in my hands and rolled another layer onto my plump lips. Looking over my shoulder briefly, my cat-like amber eyes caught sight of you for the first time. "Your arm, though..." I looked you up and down, focusing my attention on your gloved hands which serve to shield your bionic identity. "... That might be a challenge." I spoke English fluently, but with a light Indo-European accent. I was known for being a ghost; impossible to track, to pin down and to locate.

I had been a master of disguise for decades and mostly in part due to my ability to perfectly mimic accents, and cater my appearance to further my goals. Usually, it was easiest to maintain an American accent while mostly situated in New York, but in this moment I felt a sense of relief upon seeing you for the first time. And for whatever reason, as my lips parted to speak, I spoke naturally - with the rightful accent I had acquired as a child, and mostly maintained throughout my life. Because it had faded some over the years, it was difficult to tell if the origin of my tongue was Slavic, or Italic-Latin.

Before you could react, I turned around from the mirror and raised my hand as if to gesture you to stop. "I'm not here to fight you. I'm not HYDRA." Leaning my back against the sink, I kept a confident and sturdy demeanor as I casually placed the cap on my red liptstick and slipped the cosmetic into the pocket of my black-wool coat. "I am simply a woman who has been urged to find you. For my own curiosity, and to prove to myself that I could, I did." Pausing momentarily, I continued, "You've really taken to great lengths to disappear... Estonia. Never would have guessed you'd run off to Northern Europe." Smirking lightly, I pushed myself from the sink and walked towards you. Each step I took was followed by the clap of my heeled boots, which were barely appropriate neither for the harsh Estonian winters, nor did they match the current time period. They had a certain vintage flare to them, despite it currently being the 21st century.

As I walked towards you, I raised both hands to the walls and dragged my fingers delicately across the short hallway as I moved towards the kitchen. I wasn't purposely being strange and somewhat creepy - I was picking up the memories experienced from within these walls. Dropping my hands from the Gyprock, "I can still hear the cries of the newborn from the previous tenants." Closing my eyes, "The baby; he's hungry, and alone."

Hearing a woman's voice would have surprised most, but he'd known women to be more dangerous than men when it came to the spy game. Or the game of assassins. His guard didn't lower, even when he saw her. She was beautiful. Her body perfect. Her clothing impeccable. She drew the colour across her lips and spoke of his arm. That didn't surprise him either. She'd broken into his apartment and was smart enough not to attack him face on. Smart on her part. Of course she knew who he was.

“It would depend on what you're bringing to the ring,” he pointed out. Of course his arm caused a problem for many adversaries but if she was here alone and said bullets were useless, he'd take her for her word. This world wasn't what it was before he'd gone off to war. Superheroes and aliens and people with unexplainable skills and talents were growing in population. Not much surprised him. He flicked the safety on the gun and tossed it onto the table. “If you say bullets are useless,” he pulled off his gloves and shoved each into the pocket of his jacket.

He was popping the buttons of jacket open when she continued. “Good. I've had enough of violence but not enough to go down without a fight,” he informed her and slid the thick jacket from his shoulders and tossed it onto the back of a dining room chair before letting his gaze drift back to the mystery woman. “Captain America,” he said and toed off his boots, usually he left them by the doorway but he didn't know what he'd be facing when he came face to face with who'd snuck into his apartment. “Why doesn't that surprise me,” he mumbled and knocked the boots against the wall and out of the way.

“Close to Russia, where it all started. Figured nobody would be bothered to look this close,” he shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly as he watched her walking towards him. Part of him, the trained assassin part of him, was screaming at him to grab the gun and just fire a few shots and put an end to whatever this was. But he restrained. He didn't want violence anymore. It was inevitable to make an appearance again, but for now. He just wanted to figure out who he was and he needed time for that.

As she spoke of a baby he narrowed his eyes, his brows furring in confusion and he looked around, almost comically. Then he figured this was part of her special abilities which made her not fear bullets and think it was fine to come into the apartment of the Winter Soldier alone.

“Did he die?” Bucky asked, his expression becoming neutral as he watched her then stepped away from the wall and over to the fridge. He grabbed a carton of orange juice and then a glass from the cupboard. “I don't have alcohol or anything too fancy, your choice are actually this and water,” he said and poured himself a glass then lifted it to his lips and took a few mouthfuls.

“So, you used that to find me?” He asked, motioning towards his own head as a reference. “That... whatever you're using to hear a baby crying? You used it to find me? What is it exactly?” he asked, moving his hand in a circular motion around his skull, assuming her ability was more on the mental or telepathic side rather than actually physical.

"I figured by this day and age you are aware that humans no longer suffice in this world, and that there are powers much greater than the normality of humanity. The world wanted better, and slowly after the Second World War, a wave of evolution surfaced. Mutants of all walks of life began to publicize their newfound genetic modifications and soon, there was controversy. Now what the military longed for decades had become a reality... And a fear. A threat." Pausing as I watched you undress, I was not shy to feast my eyes on the arm that had gained such a shattered reputation. "Like you, I am modified. While you were enhanced physically by HYDRA, I was tortured by my own body; my genetics." I have a shallow, broken smile as I looked down slightly, coming to remember how difficult it was for me when my mutation emerged at a young age. And how alone I felt.

"The child is alive." I assured without hesitation. Still able to access a fragment of its life, I could feel its presence in this city still survived. "But his parents aren't." I winced as I tried to further telepathically bond to the baby. It was easier than Adams adult, because the baby did not yet have a defined will or identity. Seeming slightly disturbed, "He is confused, and afraid. His mother was murdered in front of him. His father never returned for him. He's already dead." Although I was soft-spoken, I didn't show much sign of emotion, despite the horrific scene I was describing. Taking a breath, "I guess some would call it a gift." Talking about my mutation, "I on the other hand, feel it will always be a curse."

As I stepped closer, my body moved in strides - like a model on a runway. "Orange juice." I chose proudly. "Water is boring." I was trying to be cheeky, despite the weird situation. I looked at the orange juice but before you could pour be a glass, I interrupted you. "No." I denied, "I want yours." Grinning, almost with the same expression as a smart ass, I motioned to the glass you had just put to your lips. "You think a trained intelligence like me would take anything less than the juice you drank?" I was referring to the fact that the drink with the least chance of poison was one you would drink yourself. "Unless you're on a suicide mission, I'm assuming it's not poisoned." Smiling, I gracefully, almost seductively, pulled the glass from your hand. As I did so, I brushed my fingers delicates on your hand. Tapping into your psyche the moment I took the glass, the expression on my face changed some playful to disturbed. Within a second, I became weak. The glass slipped from my hands as I unconsciously released it from my grasp.

I could see nothing but a foggy haze; all at the same time feeling a sense of commotion and chaos. The sensation was indescribable, almost nauseating as I felt my head spin. The sound of gunfire echoed through my head. 'Kill. Kill. Kill.' Whisper after whisper, I could see the commands pouring in. And then the pain. The screams. Surges of electricity sweeping over me like a violent seizure.

But this was all in my head. In reality, I wasn't swaying in agony. I wasnt screaming like I wanted to. I stood still in front of you, my eyes fixated on the glass of orange as it dislodged from my trembling hands and began its slow-motion descent towards the ground. As it fell, I saw you. In the cold winter of 1945, as you fell from the grip of the train rail and the presence of Captain America and fell towards the icy Soviet river. To the end of the line.

Snapping out of the cluster of distorted memories, my eyes returned to you. The colour in my face had drained. It was as if I had seen a ghost.

He was slightly amused with how she asked for the glass he'd drank from, he couldn't blame her though. He was sure most of the world had an idea of what type of human he was. But he didn't want to be that. Not anymore. His hands were stained with the blood of the innocent people he'd murdered. The people who'd fought for good and had gotten on Hydra's radar in a bad way. He'd thought drenching himself in the blood of Hydra would erase the guilt but it didn't. It didn't do anything.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he assured, handing her the glass. “And if I wanted to, I don't think poison has ever been my forte,” he pointed out and was about to turn from her to grab himself a new glass but paused when he saw the change in her facial features.

Metal fingers clinked against the glass as he caught it when it slid from her fingers and he set it on the counter by his right side. His blue eyes never left her face as he tried to get a read on what was going on. Her fingers touching his, her running her hands along the wall to get a feel for the people who'd lived there before, years ago. He'd figured she was seeing something from his past. And considering the way she's been when tapping into the child, and figuring out what had happened in his life, her demeanour hadn't changed then, but now. Now she looked as though she was seeing the part of his life which had come after the fall.

When her eyes met his he searched her gaze. “A gift and a curse, there's a very thin line between the two,” he said quietly and reached out to touch her shoulder then hesitated. He didn't want to make her see something from his past again and cause her more distress. “Why don't you sit?” he motioned towards the chair by the table. He would offer a seat on the sofa but he didn't have one. Never bothered with it. There wasn't a TV or anything else to make the place really feel like a home.

He picked up the glass of orange juice and set it on the table, the one already filled with juice which he'd taken a drink of and caught when she dropped it. He grabbed another glass from the cupboard and filled it with juice as well then took a seat at the table and looked to her. “What'd you see?” He asked, raising the fresh glass to his lips and took a few sips before setting it on the table and let the fingers of his flesh hand run of the simple design. The glass was now cool from the juice.

He was curious to what she saw. So much of what he could remember, the flashes he saw and the random memories were depressing and most made no sense yet. But sometimes he woke from a nightmare, he'd walk through a mission. See the people he'd killed and hear his handler's voice in his head, whispering and instructing. But they were never good. He wasn't at the point where he could remember anything before the train. Even though he used the computer to try and read up on James Buchanan Barnes. Nothing jogged his memory, no clear memories anyway. He just wanted something happy to remember.

When he dreamt of the train, it was the hardest. He knew what was coming and he could feel the cold air ripping breath from his lungs as his fingers, numb, reached for Captain America. Desperate, he was so desperate and scared. And then he was falling and he just wanted to feel the grip of Captain America, keeping him from plummeting to the ground but it never came. Instead ice and cold and metal and fear became his life. If he'd only reached a little further... but it was never enough. And he knew what his future held when he had the dream. But he could never change it.

Ignoring most of what you said about the gift vs. curse, I followed you as you sat at the small kitchen table. I wasn't ready to answer that just yet, so I simply moved on to other subjects. Sinking into the chair, I began to pull my coat off of my shoulders. "Do you mind?" Although I asked the question, I didn't exactly wait for a response before completely making myself comfortable and removing the coat. I let it fall behind me, so that it draped naturally on the back of the chair. Like a true lady, I crossed my right leg over my left, revealing my feminine mannerism and mostly, my feminine physique. Behind the thick wool of that jacket was a petite frame, hugged by the wonders of a little black dress. The dress too, was rather vintage. Very 40s-esque, although recently; that was making a heavy fashion comeback.

"You were subjected to electric convulsion therapy (ECT)." I cringed, running my thumbs over the tips of my fingers. I could still feel the sparks of electricity trickling through my veins. Bringing my hand to my head, I rubbed my temples briefly and closed my eyes. I wasn't actually reading anything currently, I was still trying to overcome the sensation, even after break of contact. "It's a type of treatment normally used for major depression, but if used in excess and in extreme, it can cause brain damage." Taking a slow breath, my eyes searched to meet yours as you poured another glass.

Amidst my vulnerability, the state of weakness in the moment I'm reading, you still just stood there. Surprised, I wondered why you didn't take the opportunity to kill me; or at least disarm me enough to allow time to escape and run off again. Yet here I stood. Staring at the blue eyes that carried so much more depth than just the colour of the iris. They were a window to the world; a window to the soul. And as I looked at them, I could see you - all of you. Even the emotional parts that most people believe is nonexistent. This wasn't a psychopath - someone without empathy. You were just a man, lost somewhere between two centuries.

Briefly looking down, I tried to string together the words for the answer to that question carefully. Quickly coming to a response best suited, I replied. "I saw a state of limbo." My demeanour returned to normal as the sensation passed from my mind. Regained a confident posture, I continued. "Whatever HYDRA did to you, they did it to ruin you. Ruin your mind. The ECT torture, where combined with hypnotism can turn into brainwashing. It has erased a chunk of your past, though I'm sure I don't need to tell you that." Pausing, I took the glass of orange juice from your hand again and brought it to my red lips. My eyes still fixated on you, I kept a solid stare as I took a gulp. Swallowing the juice, I added afterwards, "Because you are missing fragments of your mind, it's difficult for me to see clear memories. What I do see transmits like more of a bombardment of voices, noises, scattered scenes and emotions, feelings, and sensations. I can feel pain just as intensely as when it was experienced. Emotional and physical." I gave a weak and unjustified smile. "It's how I know you underwent intense ECT. I could feel in it my skin, in my head. I could even feel your body convulse as your brain reactively begins a seizure in attempt to protect itself from such horrific harm."

"It really is a curse, but rarely, it is also a gift." I rolled my Rs intricately with my words. Unashamed of the language I was born and the accent I carried, I made no efforts to conceal my cultural identity. "It can be used to cause people great agony, including myself." I smirked, but the gesture soon transformed into a smile. "But it can also be used to see wonderful memories." For the first time all night, I beamed a radiance I lacked previously. "The mind is a beautiful disaster. It latches onto memories that are cemented through meaning and emotion. But what's most remarkable, it not what it stores, but what it chooses to store... What the mind finds meaning in. For some, it's the moment they held their child for the first time in their arms. For others, something as simple as taking in the morning sun." Pausing, I gave a sincere smile. "Happiness is objective. It's what makes each individual's mind and memories unique."

“Not at all,” he responded when she asked if he minded if she took off her jacket. The jacket was hiding what he'd expected. Her body was perfect. Any part of her could draw a weaker man to do whatever she wanted. He wasn't a weak man but he was a man and though he hadn't outright dropped his gaze to get a decent look at her chest or hips he did catch a glimpse. And her confidence, the way she moved with seductive confidence... she knew she could pull it off because she could. She could probably even get a high ranking Hydra agent to do what she wanted with only a hint of sexual innuendo.

When she went on to talk about the ECT he didn't say anything, he allowed her to speak but let out a scoff at brain damage. “Or it'll completely wipe away memories and how to be a human when used correctly,” he offered, his voice bitter with a hint of maliciousness in his tone. He dropped his gaze from hers and let out a breath then picked up his juice and drank down another mouthful.

“I remember that part,” he said with a slow nod of his head. “I remember everything about it. Well, the first parts. Eventually everything just goes to black but the chair, the straps, the sounds...” he trailed off and flicked his gaze to her. “I'm sorry you had to feel it. Even if it was through my memory,” he spoke honestly. It was truly something he'd feel pity for even a Hydra agent having to go through... unless it was one who'd strapped in down of course.

“It's strange, isn't it? The way you can just open up to stranger. I have no idea why you're here, or who actually sent you since you haven't confirmed if it was the good ol'Star Spangled hero for the US of A or not but here we are,” he shook his head almost with an amused smirk on his face and the index finger of his right hand on the lip of his glass and started to spin it slowly.

The sound the glass made as it moved over the wood was almost loud amongst the silence in the room and cold stillness outside. He flicked his gaze back towards her face when she began speaking once more. He listened intently, trying to get a grasp on what she was actually doing here. He winced when she talked again about the ECT, he hated that thing. It was his biggest fear. Anything else he could handle. Torture? Bring it on. Fight to the death? Alright. But that chair? A shiver ran down his spine and he sat up a little straighter in his chair as he looked at her. “It was the worst,” he admitted quietly and licked over his lower lip. A habit he was beginning to show randomly, one he may have had from before the war.

As she spoke about happiness and her ability he again listened silently. Allowing her to speak her peace without interruption. “You're special. Not many people in this world can do what you can, no matter how many advanced humans are out there,” he pointed out. “Can you control what you see?” He wondered, his gaze focused intently on her face now. “Or is it completely out of your control what you see when you touch someone?” He asked, curious about this stranger in the place he'd hoped would someday become a home.

“You haven't told me your name yet,” he realized and voiced the revelation at the same time. “I'm going to assume you do know mine though. Since you've sought me out,” he rested both arms on the table, she'd seen his arm and spoken of it. He was just used to trying to make sure it was out sight. Part of him hated it, part of him loved it. It made him stronger than he would be with just the experiments they'd done to him but it was also given to him to make him a better weapon to further Hydra's agenda.

Hearing you mention Captain American once again, I scoffed, "Hero? Is that what they're calling them now?" I muttered under my breath, realizing I was both politically incorrect and being rude. Instantly reacting, I corrected myself. "I'm sorry." I closed my eyes briefly and shook my head. Raising my hands before you as a gesture of apology. "Americans love their war veterans." Condescendingly spewing nonsense, I tried to regain control, "I have trouble understanding- ..." Hesitating as I only dug my grave deeper, I tried to damage control but evidently, was failing. "I mean- Nevermind." For the first time, my composed, articulate demeanour had failed me.

Completely reverting the conversation to a different route, "Steve Rogers came to me asking me to find you. I guess he knew if I wouldn't find you, no one could." Smiling proudly, "SHIELD hates me. I am always 10 steps in front of them. I have never failed at finding someone, even when I find them dead." I bit my lip lightly, almost like a nervous tick of some sort. "I denied the Captain's request, but uhm..." I rose from my chair and abandoned it. Walking out of the kitchen, I disappeared into your bedroom, and came back with a thick file folder in hand. Moving towards you, I held the folder with one hand, and with the other, pulled my chair closer to you. Rather than sitting across the table, I was sitting on the corner, right next to you. Taking a seat again, I continued, "When I touched a picture of you..." Sighing lightly, I pulled out the picture Steve had given me. The one where you were frozen. I placed my hand gently on yours, and slipped the glass from out of your light grip. Pushing it aside, I replaced it with the photo. "... I felt someone who was lost, and alone." Retracting my hand slowly, I got lost in a gaze fixated on your blue eyes. "Someone like me."

I tried to push back the memories of World War II to the back of my mind. It had been some of the worst memories of my life. Giving a weak smile, one that revealed hurt and scarring - one that revelled in the pain of the past - I cleared my thoughts.

"It is both controllable and uncontrollable." If there was anyone who could confuse, it was me. "I can search for something specific, so in that sense I can control it. But if I bond with someone, especially emotionally, it becomes harder to separate my mind from their own." I was riddled with that aspect of my ability. It has served as a main reason I distanced myself from people, and lived my life alone. "Its kind of a double-edged sword. The stronger the connection I have with someone, the clearer the memories are." Thinking about you, I added, "Memories are never truly gone. They can get lost within the mind, but they are never erased."

Turning my focus to a more casual discussion, I responded softly, "My name is Penelope." My smile this time was more confident and brighter. But that smile only lasted a couple of seconds before it washed right off my face. "I didnt find you for Rogers. I did it for myself." Sliding the folder towards you, I cleared my throat. "I wanted you to have this. It's everything I could find on you. From HYDRA records, to newspaper clippings. It's all in here. As far as America knows, not even The Phoenix could find you."

The hesitation in my voice could be sensed. "My mission is complete. Case closed." Standing up suddenly, I snatched my coat off of the chair and headed for the door.

While she seemed genuinely unable to control her words he couldn't help the amused smile that slipped onto his face. She seemed easy to be around. And he was enjoying it. Even though the conversation was kind of heavy at times. “I don't have any ties to them. Well... I have ties but I don't remember him. Or them. Or anybody but so you don't have to worry about me becoming offended,” he said, unable to keep his chuckle quiet.

The conversation change didn't go unnoticed since he'd been enjoying watching her fumble but he was happy to hear she was here more because of Rogers than anything else. Rogers he knew was at least looking for him to bring him back alive, so it wasn't much of a threat. But when she walked out of the room after saying she'd denied him, he peaked up. He was curious as to what information was coming now. He watched her return as well and move the chair. His eyes dropped down to the picture and he inhaled sharply seeing himself frozen. He'd never seen it before.

Plus the feeling of her skin against his drew his attention to their hands... and then she was retracting her hand and part of Bucky wanted to ask her to leave it. The most skin to skin contact he's had was getting beat by Hydra agents or poked and prodded by Hydra agents. He was starved of touch. And her hand on his was the first time he'd felt human touch without malice. It kept him distracted for a moment, but he heard the words she spoke and his gaze flicked from hands to her eyes.

He saw the hurt and scarring in her eyes but she began to speak before he could say anything and what could he say? He wasn't exactly an expert on pep talks. Or talking at all really. A lot of what he was right now was because of watching other people interact and TV and the internet.

“That's reassuring, I wouldn't mind remembering some happy things about my life,” he said with a light smile and lifted the glass to his lips to finish off his orange juice. “So if you bond with someone you can basically hear what they think whenever they think it?” he asked, tilting his head curiously. “I can understand how that would suck,” he offered, nodding slowly. He wouldn't want to have to hear what was in his own brain if he could help it.

Her confidence brought the smile to his face again and he was surprised to hear she'd found him for herself rather than for Rogers, but it was comforting. He didn't need to pack up and leave. He was starting to feel familiar with this place. For now. Bucky's eyes gazed down at the folder and he nodded as she spoke.

When she said the case was closed he frowned and lifted his gaze then stood and walked after her towards the door. “Penelope, you don't have to be lost and alone. I mean, we could just be lost together. For a bit,” he said and bit his bottom lip and let it scrap free from between his teeth. “I just... I haven't had a lot of chances to talk to people. People who understand what it's like... to be different. Stay? For another glass of juice at least?” He asked and stared at her. Hoping she would stay.

He was lonely. And scared. And lost. And alone. But he didn't want to be any of those, not anymore. And the way she spoke with him, Bucky had a feeling she was experiencing the same emotions.

Happiness was not a topic I liked to talk about. In fact, your comment had made me so profoundly saddened, that I didn't even have words to respond to it. Instead, I ignored it, because it was the only thing I could do. Skipping straight to the next subject, I spoke more thoroughly about my powers. “If I wanted to, yes, I could. And in recent years, I've been able to keep my mind linked to bonded people at great distances – even miles, if not countries away from me.” Smiling lightly, “Some people call it romantic –“ I chuckled lightly, evidently finding myself more amusing than I probably should. “But with a lot of years experience and will-power, I have trained myself to turn off connections. So rather than being overwhelmed with memories, thoughts, and emotions of a bonded individual, I'm capable of controlling what information gets filtered through.” Shaking my head lightly, I started to realized this was becoming difficult to explain. “It's complicated...” I smiled lightly, looking down as I brought my hand to my head. “My telepathy and clairvoyance still manages to surprise me to this day.”

Despite conversing for far too long than I should have – in the short time I had found you in your small dingy apartment, I had revealed to you more information than I had ever revealed to anyone before. Being in your presence suddenly meant that I would lose all of my formal training – the gutt-instinct that allowed me the ability to stay so cold, so distant, and so disconnected from all of my targets, and just generally anyone around me. But the relation I felt to you was indescribable. And it had all started the moment Steve Rogers handed me that picture.

I had said too much. I had stayed too long.

Standing in front of the door, I felt your body move to chase me. My head down, I stared at the chipped paint that split across the entire frame of the doorway. For a second, I considered staying; even never leaving. It was a profound sensation within me; one that I craved recently more than anything in the world. Companionship. Maybe that was what brought me here all along.

'We could just be lost together'. Those words stung more than you knew. Instinctively, I reach behind me to stop you from pursuing me. Accidentally, or maybe subconsciously purposely, I grabbed your wrist. Seeing an ocean of empty memories, I felt a piece of my heart break at that moment. My eyes began to water, but I closed them to ensure I wouldn't share a single tear.

My back still towards you, my hand still gripping your wrist, I took a deep breath. “Sometimes...” I was slow with forming this sentence, as I was trying to be delicate with the situation. “Sometimes, in life, when there's nothing happy to remember, you have to create your own happiness.” I slowly turned around, allowing my hand to slip down from your wrist to your hand; gently running my fingers over it before moving it to grip the doorknob behind me. “Make your own memories, just so that the next day, you have something to smile about when you wake up in the morning.” I gave a sad, but genuine smile. These were the words of my father; a man who lost everything, and still had the energy to wake up every morning, and love life.

Click. The door made a prominent sound as the latch unlocked itself to the turning of the knob.

Bucky felt an odd sense of nervousness as she stood in front of the door. So much time alone and then to have her show up and it had only been minutes they'd spent talking, half hour maybe. But he felt a connection with her, a connection he'd not experienced yet with anyone before. He wasn't outright seeking friendship, but this had just happened and he wanted her to stay.

As he stood behind her, preparing to open his mouth to plead his case but then her hand was around his wrist and he froze, his eyes glued to the back of her head. He wondered if she was seeing something. And if she seeing something what it was she was seeing.

Her words made sense, they did. Until she smiled at him. “You're not happy,” he said, his gaze intense as his eyes bore into her. “You keep yourself closed off so you don't have to feel bonded but a life of being alone and sad isn't... it's not a good one,” he said quietly, he wasn't great with words or being delicate. He wasn't sure about the words he was speaking because he was alone too. And not happy. But he wanted to try.

He just didn't feel ready to get himself thrown into the world yet. Dealing with the aftermath of what he'd done as the Winter Soldier. And people finding out Bucky Barnes, Captain America's side-kick was still alive. He was hiding, he could admit it. But he was sick and tired of being alone.

“I spent the last 70 years having every possible choice taken from me. I can't stand here and tell you not to go. I don't want you too. But just so you know, if you wanna come find me again. I wouldn't mind some company,” he offered and gave her a light smile.

The latch clicked and his gaze was drawn to it and he leaned his shoulder against the wall, his face shifting into a frown. “Are you going to tell anyone where I am?” He asked, drawing a blank on how to get her to stay. And he didn't want to force her. If she wanted leave then it should be her choice.

"There's something you have to understand about me, James, I'll never be happy. It's just not in God's plan for me." I said in a distressed but rushed manner as I exhaled, just wanting to escape this conversation and situation. The truth was, I didn't want to hear the truth. You weren't wrong in anything you said about me. I knew I tortured myself through isolation, but it was for the best. Even if the best was at the expense of my own happiness, and maybe partially my sanity.

I listened to your words closely and carefully. I empathized with you immensely, and had no excuses left to give you for my runaway. I was in the same mindset as you were when you left New York, except I've been trapped in this hellhole of a life cycle for my whole life. My eyes fell to the ground as i processed the thought of you spending the last 70 years as a virtually zombie killing machine. "Me too..." I whispered to myself as my hands came over my eyes to shield my face. Head down, I tried not to remember the death toll that plague my existence, but it was undeniable.

Removing my hand from my eyes and taking a deep breath, "No." I said firmly. "I'm not here right now. I never found you. I was lead in circles and eventually hit multiple dead ends. As far as Rogers is concerned, you're long gone. Too far for anyone to find. I said this once to him and ill tell him again, let him come to you." Pausing, I smiled lightly. "You should... when you're ready-" I stopped dead in my sentence, my eyes instantly leaving yours to stare at the door. Jaw half open, it was as if suddenly I was out of breath.

My eyes darted back to you. "Someone is here." I whispered, instantly hushing my voice as if something dangerous was on the horizon. "Someone from my past." I could feel their presence, and it wasn't welcoming. I could hear their thoughts faintly, in disorganized chunks. It was an enemy, and they certainly weren't coming to say hello "Trust me." I whispered ever so silently, practically mouthing the words without even emitting a sound. Just at that moment, there was a knock on the door. I put my index finger over my mouth to signal for you to be quiet. I pushed you against the wall you were already leaning on, which so happened to be behind the door. Softly letting go of the doorknob, as to not let the door move not to make a sound, I leaned the backside of my body against yours. As if to shield you, or hide you, despite your evidently larger frame, I lightly pinned your bionic arm against the wall as to tell you not to attack; to stay calm and to stay quiet.

Knock, knock, knock. A man's voice called out. "Mr. Barnes?"

I squeezed your arm a little tighter, terrified that my quest here had lead an enemy right to your door. My eyes narrowed in as the door began to slowly creek open. As half of a body slowly inched through the door and into the apartment, I saw a gun. I instantly reacted. Not even giving you a chance to make a move, I slammed the door repeatedly on the man, the sound of his body cracking among the crushing force of each blow. He dropped the pistol, and then to the floor, his body transforming with deep blue spikes all throughout the body. This was no man. This was Mystique.

I was fast, but she was faster. Healing quickly from the fractures, she darted for the gun and pointed it straight at my chest. She stared at me with a smirk on her fast. "I always was faster than you. But I'm not here for you, I'm not even here for him. But he is."

Right on cue, Magneto walked in to the apartment, completely helmeted and in full gear. He was ready to mingle. "Now remember, darling." He spoke to Mystique, "Whatever you do, don't let her touch you." His eyes panned over to you before falling to me.

Bucky was planning on leaving the apartment behind even though she said she wasn't going to tell anyone. He didn't want to risk someone having followed her or a source she'd used to find him spilling the beans and leading another closer onto the right trail.

When she said someone was there he frowned and was opening his mouth to speak when she mouthed the words 'trust me'. He didn't know what made him decide to trust her in that moment but he did and he kept his mouth shut. And he was glad since the knock sounded just moments later. He let her move him, figuring she had an idea on what was about to happen.

As she leaned back against him his flesh hand went to her hip, just resting as a sort of anchor. He felt her hand against his bionic arm and took the hint. His eyes were glued to the door and his jaw clenched when he heard a man's name calling his.

He saw the gun and the metal fingers curled into a fist but she was moving before he could decide which route to take and he stepped to the side, he was going to tell her to come on and they could take the fire escape but then the man was... shrinking. And turning blue. His brows furrowed as he stared at him.

Then they were moving and the blue guy, who was standing and obviously female, now had a gun. Bucky glanced from the back of Penelope's head to Mystique's face then to the man who was walking in, he stared at the man. His get up was kind of ridiculous even by his standards.

“Whoever you people are, I'd advise you to both get out. While you can,” he stated, his voice and face completely different than how he'd looked when it had only been he and Penelope. He took a step forward then he was thrown back. He grunted and began to step forward once more but his arm was pinned to the wall. His brows furrowed in confusion as he yanked on it once more but the bionic arm wouldn't move.

“I've heard a lot about this piece of machinery, but when it comes down to it. It's still only metal,” Magneto spoke as he walked forward, elegant in how he carried himself. He dragged his fingers along the forearm of the Hydra tech. Bucky narrowed his eyes, glaring at the man. His gaze shifted to the blue woman. “What do you want?” He asked, but before either could answer, Mystique's gaze left Penelope's face and she met his eyes.

He stared into her yellow eyes for a moment then his left foot shot out and he kicked Penelope at the top of her ass. The force propelled her forward and the angle of the kick pushed her down just a bit so if Mystique did fire the gun, she would hopefully go down just enough to not catch a bullet. But she did say bullets were useless against her.

As soon as he'd kicked her his leg rebounded and he caught the man just under the knee. He dropped and when he was on his knee Bucky's leg lifted and he hooked his leg around his throat and pulled him back. He applied a pressure to his throat but the helmet combined with the angle kept him from applying enough to knock him out.

Suddenly his arm was moving and pressing against his own throat. Bucky turned his head to the side, to take some of the pressure off and help keep the airflow going. Buck reached down with his flesh hand and yanked the man's helmet off and went to bring it down on the guy's skull but it hovered and his fingers slipped from the metal edged.

Instead he brought his elbow down on the top of his skull and then another to put him out. The force controlling his arm let go and he could breath and with the arm no longer holding him up and the man between his legs unconscious they both dropped rather ungraciously to the ground.

Mystique had prepared herself for my presence. It was evident through her attire, that she was confident she wouldn't fall vulnerable to my powers. Completely covered from the neck down, Mystique showed no signs of skin except for her face. Her hands as much as her body, gloved by material. As she pointed the gun as me, I looked over to Magneto, with the least impressed expression on my face. “Guns? What are you, gonna shoot me?” My eyes returned back to Mystique. So far, the infamous blue-skinned mutant was not living up to her reputation. “Darling, bullets won't work on me.” My plain expression drooped into a sadistic grin.

Mystique kept her gaze locked on mine, but the comment evidently concerned her, as she shifted her eyes quickly to Magneto. She was dead-pan, but I could sense the confusion in her eyes. Like her, I had regenerative healing, and nothing such as bullets could stop me.

Just as I had broken eye contact with her, I felt a sudden sharp kick to my ass. Because I wasn't expecting it, I was thrown forward full throttle. In a quick act of self defence, Mystique began to open fire. Shooting me thrice in the chest, I hunched over, but didn't go down without a fight. Before I could hit the ground from the fall, I reached out towards her and latched onto her wrist. Unwilling to let go, I dragged her forward down with my fall. She pulled back and hard, trying to free herself, but it was too late. As she fell before me, I launched my right hand and pushed it right into her face. Fingers extended, I fulled cupped her face in the palm of my hand; slamming her to the ground. Certain areas of the body transmitted more information, and formed more bonds than others. The head – the eyes in particular – was among the strongest connection factor – providing a direct link from my mind, to hers. Upon instant contact, I immediately sunk my conscious deep into her mind.

Releasing my hand from her visage, Mystique's yellow eyes widened. She seemed stunned momentarily, struggling to roll over and pull herself onto her feet. She stumbled as she stood, in an apparent daze. Taking a step back, the most evil of grins plastered across my face. This was only the beginning.

“You're going to wish you had covered your face.” Extending my hands out in the air towards her, my eyes immediately transformed from a fire-like blast, to complete black. Mystique looked at me with the utmost regret. It was over.

Accessing all of her painful memories, I inflicted the most demonic form of mental torture I could conjure from her subconscious. She began to wail at the top of her lungs, dropping to her knees. Crunched over on the ground, Mystique grabbed her head and in complete anguish, her body began to mutate out of control. Her eyes crippled into a state of Nystagmus – moving rapidly from side to side as her mind had plummeted into complete emotional turmoil.

She cried out to her trusted leader, Magneto. “H-help... Help... m-me!” Tears steamed down her patterned cheeks as she curled over.

“Oh... darling. He can't help you. He doesn't love you.” Feeding into Mystique's most grave insecurity, my voice deepened, almost turning satanic as I spoke to her. “How could anybody love someone as monstrous-looking as you?” To the outside world, it was me speaking. But to her, she could hear the voice of a long-lost best friend, Charles Xavier.

Completely immobilizing her, I had had enough. Retracting my arms at once, Mystique rolled onto her side in relief. Still quivering, she was in a state of shock - completely mentally and physically disabled. My eyes returned to their normal, human amber color. It would take a mutant several minutes to regain the strength needed to move. But it would take weeks for her to recover from the flashbacks and nightmares that would continue to haunt her.

With sad eyes, I could barely look you in the eyes. Lowering my head in shame, I gestured to you, "Leave them. Let's go." Left with no other options, I snatched your file off of the table, and darted out the door.

He couldn't move when he saw what was happening between Penelope and Mystique. He'd never seen anything like it and when Mystique was attacked by her memories Bucky couldn't tear his gaze away from the sight. He nodded his head at her words and grabbed his boots and shoved his feet into them before he grabbed his gun. He grabbed a bag stuff under his bed before stepping over the two people and followed her out the door.

“Okay, remind me to never, ever piss you off,” he commented when he caught up with her. “I'm sorry I kicked you. I didn't think she'd shoot you. I figured they were actually there for you, not me,” he said and fell into step by her side then reached down and wrapped his metal fingers around her wrist and pulled her down a certain street. “This way,” he'd already prepared an escape route.

In this line of work it was deadly to be caught off guard. And he knew it was only a matter of time before someone caught up to him. An it just happened the person who caught up with him was during out to be more of an ally then an enemy.

He pulled her along quickly, his pace quickening when after hearing a whistle. “We need to hurry,” he glanced at her and gave her wrist a gentle squeeze. “You shouldn't be upset. Those people were going to kill us. Well, me. And probably take you and do who knows what with you,” he said moved his eyes ahead again to watch where they were going.

Bucky pulled her along with him until they were in sight of the train tracks. “It's an industrial line. They won't think to look for us this way. At least I hope not,” he said and nodded his head for her to hurry up as the train came into sight, it wasn't going full speed, not yet. And it would be easy for him to get on there, he figured she would be able to handle it as well.

He picked up to a jog as they got to the tracks and he jumped onto a car and pulled the door open. He reached back to grab her hand and give her a helping hand up and into the train car before he swing himself in. He laid there for a few minutes before he pushed the back from under his back and sat up. “Thank you. I probably wouldn't have made it out of there without your help,” he said and turned his gaze towards her.

“Who were they?”

As you came out of the bedroom with a bag, I was slick in slipping the folder into it. I had no bag on me, and no way to carry it if things went south. As much as I wondered what was in the bag, or why it was even ready and packed, I just kept my thoughts to myself.

I tried not to laugh at your comment on pissing me off, but I couldn't help but smile and chuckle slightly. It wasn't the first time someone had said that to me, but I had least expected it from the infamous Winter Soldier. “That's rich, coming from you.” I teased lightly, hoping you wouldn't get offended from my reference to your lengthy kill-list. Realistically, I probably wasn't even using that expression properly, but it made sense in my mind; being that English was not my first language.

Brushing off the comment of the shooting, I shrugged. “Save me your chivalry, Casanova. I think you were relying on her to react and shoot.” I looked over to you, my expression soft as I looked down at your bag. I didn't seem mad. “But I also think you trusted that I could handle it.” I showed a small hint of a smile. It was the smart thing to do. The push surprised the both of us, making it both believable and difficult control. Ultimately, it meant the end for Mystique in that battle.

I followed your lead with no questions. I had asked you to trust me, and you had. Now it was my turn to return the favor. Quickly grabbing my coat off of the ground, I swayed it around my shoulders and slipped into it in one movement. Right after, I felt your fingers grasp my wrist. As reminded me not to be upset, I could only look down in silence. I had no words for what I had done. I had no excuse. And worse, no remorse. I felt shame, but I would do it all again without even a blink.

As we exited the building, I pulled my wrist from your grip and entwined my fingers with yours. With my opposite hand, I caressed the same arm – complete a full embrace, as to resemble a couple. “Keep your head down,” I whispered right before we passed two men dressed in black. I threw my head back and started to laugh out loud. I smacked your chest playfully, pretending to be laughing at something you had said. The men didn't take a second a look. Discreetly looking over my shoulder, I checked for any potentially suspicious or threatening individuals. I saw no one. Despite the area being clear, I didn't release myself from your body.

As we approached train tracks, my body stiffened in your grasp. My eyes widened slightly. “Uh-” I hesitated as I watched the freight train chug down the line. A brief flashback from my past urged me to run the other direction, but it was in that moment that I thought of you. Gazing up to your stern expression, concentrating on the machinery in the distance, I realized something crucial. If you could get on a train, the very tool of transportation that sent you falling to the depths of hell in 1945, I could do it to.

Letting go of the embrace, I shouted over the sound of steel wheels rolling. “Ah, yes!” I nodded mockingly, “Train-jumping!” I exclaimed, “My favorite pass-time!” I was being heavily sarcastic. I watched as you made the first jump and opened up the side-panel. Mirroring your actions, I ran after the train and grabbed your hand. Once you swung me in the cart, I did my best to reciprocate by pulling you in.

As you lay there, I stayed standing, clasping onto the edge of the open-door as I looked out to the landscape. My long dark hair swayed in the wind. I was lost in thought. It was only when you sat back up and began to speak, did I break from my trance and turn away from the door. "Can't say this is where I saw myself two hours ago." I joked and walked over to you. I leaned my back against the wall before allowing my heels to drag forward. My body slid down until I was sitting on my behind right next to you. Looking over to you, I smiled, "But I'm glad it's with you."

"Only the two most famous mutant-villains of all time." I answered. "You've got a lot of catching up to do," I added, with a cheeky grin. My eyes fell onto you as I chuckled lightly. "They run the Brotherhood of Mutants - an organization made up solely on gifted humans - mutants - who pretty much share an anti-human philosophy. They believe mutants have evolved to be a superior race. You can imagine just how adored they are." More sarcasm. I shook my head lightly. "Magneto... his name is Max Eisenhardt. He was a Jew enslaved in Auschwitz in 1944..." Pausing for a second, I kept my eyes on the moving trees. "I helped him escape." I waited a moment for the idea of my age to sink in. Turning my head to you, I smirked, "I'm almost as old as you; old man." My quirky smile stretched across my face. It was blatantly obvious that I exerting much effort in holding back my laughter.

The wind rushing past the door was loud and created an odd sort of current. He listened to her speak, his heightened sense of hearing making it easier to hear within the car. His gaze was focused ahead of him, taking in what she said about the Brotherhood. When she told him she'd helped him escape he assumed from someplace within the last few years until she stated she was nearly as old as him. His head snapped in her direction and he regarded her closely. Suddenly her comment from earlier made sense.

He regarded her for another moment then he shook his head. Not knowing what to say at that moment. He hadn't been expecting that. "That place. Novody deserved to be in that place," he said and looked back to her. "Even someone like him," he shook his head once more. He'd read about those places and wondered who was actually more evil, Hilter or Hydra. Even with what Hydra had done to him he was surprised by what Hitler had been doing right under their noses and if they'd done the right thing going after Schmidt instead of Adolf.

But it was the past and things like that couldn't be changed. There was zero sense in dwelling on it. So he just let the train of thought slip from his mond and pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the door and pulled it shut. The car was suddenly black with zero light but much quieter. "Didn't think that one through," he muttered and walked back. He could still see a little even though it was pitch black and he crouched down and grabbed the bag and unzipped it then rooted around for a few moments before producing a flashlight. Once he'd turned it on the car wasn't as bright as it had been but they would both be able to see a little easier.

After closing the bag he returned to her side and sat, his shoulder brushing against hers. "You look really good for being in your 90's," he said after a few minutes and turned his head to look at her with his head resting against the wall of the car. "Or 80's," he said and a relaxed smile came to his face.

"And yes. I knew you could handle yourself. Or I hoped you could. I know my reputation as the Winter Soldier and if you were comfortable handling me alone then I figured a blue woman with a gun would be nothing for you," he admitted and glanced at her chest where she'd been shot. "Does it hurt you?" He asked, tapping his own chest so she knew what he was referring too.

Bucky set the flashlight between them and stretched his legs out and he rolled the metal shoulder, the gears nearly silent. He'd been a little worried something may have been compromised within the arm after Magneto had used his power against it.

"I'm glad it's with you too," he agreed and he meant it. It was hard to explain why he wasn't ready to go out into the public yet but he'd felt a connection with her and he'd wanted her to stay earlier. Now they were more or less stuck with each other but he wasn't complaining. It would be interesting to see where they'd end up.

"No." I agreed with you. "No one." Thinking back to Auschwitz, it hands down served as THE very definition of hell. I watched as you stood up, wondering what you were going to do. Wondering even, where we were going. I kept my thoughts to myself as you pulled the door of the crate closed. Now completely in darkness, this would be the optimal time to attack, and kill. But I had no desire to attack you. And I only hoped you felt the same. To my relief, you sat back down, right at my side, and rather than puling out a weapon, you pulled out a light. "It's okay." I gave a charming smile, "I'm not afraid of the dark."

Switching back to the war, I gave light on my age. “1935.” I chimed proudly. That was my date of birth. “I was plunged right into the circumstances of war as soon as I left the womb.” I took a deep breath. It had been years since I had spoken about the true origins of my past.”I'm 80 years old.” I smiled brightly, just thinking about how ridiculous that sounded, especially when I only appeared to be in my 20s. I started to laugh, shaking my head softly at the topic. “Well, wait.” I said in between my laughs. Turning to gaze at you, my eyes shifted to look you up and down. I was blatantly checking you out. “Can't say I've ever seen a 98 year old with a body like yours.” With a toothy grin, I added, “For someone who's practically 100 years old, I would say you look better.”

As the conversation was redirected to my chest, I thought it was only fitting. Looking down at my chest, I hummed slightly, without saying any words. Without thinking twice, I shoved my fingers down the opening between my breasts; fishing for something. Slipping my hand out of my dress, I pulled out the three bullets that my body had rejected. I opened my palm to show you the remains before tossing them away. The bullets made sharp clink sounds as they hit the crate and rolled about. “At the beginning...” Staring ahead of me into darkness, “Like hell.” I pulled my body closer against the wall and readjusted myself. “Now though... I'm numb.” My eyes were lost in thought – I stared blankly, as if I had left this world and entered a different realm.

Snapping out of it, I shifted my body; turning it to better face you. I leaned my head up against the wall, relaxing my body - tired both physically and mentally from the adventures of the last few weeks. I closed my eyes for a moment to just focus on breathing and to relax my mind.

Opening my eyes only seconds later, I added, “I am machine...” Placing my hands slowly together comfortably, my head lowered to look down at my hands. I grazed the tips of my fingers with my thumbs. “A part of me wishes I could just feel something.” My head lifted to look at you; the little flash of light glimmering in my amber eyes. “But I can't.”

A quiet chuckled passed his lips at her comment of not being afraid of the dark. “I have a feeling there's not too much you're afraid of,” he replied and rested his metal hand just behind the flashlight, one finger on the back end and he let his finger move from side to side, letting the light roll and stared across the car at the odd silhouette the covering of the bulb created. Or maybe is was the bulb itself which create the not so perfect circle.

When she told him his age, a corner of his mouth quirked upwards and he glanced at her when she began to check him out and he let out a real laugh. The first one he could remember actually releasing. “I beg to differ but I'll let you keep that opinion for you without argument,” he smiled. “Cause seriously. You're body at 80, you're doing very good,” he smirked. He didn't know if she'd been frozen or perhaps it was just the way she aged but he wasn't about to ask her. Not yet. He didn't know how he would feel if someone asked him why he looked as he did when he was born in 1917.

When she shoved her fingers between her breasts his eyes couldn't help but follow the movement and arched a brow as he glanced back to her face then back to her hand when she showed him the bullets. “That's a good advantage to have,” he nodded his head, his eyes moving back to her face as she threw the bullets and watched her speak. “Numbness, it's the same as being different, or having gifts. Can be a blessing or a curse,” he reasoned. The idea of being numb was both appealing and not. He'd been numb to feelings and emotions for so long it was scary to be having them now. And being alone to deal with them, not remembering how. Was almost too much. And to be physically numb, he was trained to not show his pain but he felt it. And sometimes he still couldn't just grit his teeth and endure.

His eyes were still on her face when she closed her eyes and he adverted his gaze, his focus going back to the odd circle and his metal finger shifted to turn the light off but stopped when she spoke again. He looked at her, curious. He turned his body a bit to face her and reached down to take her hands in his and looked down at them.

“You do though. I saw it in your eyes earlier. You had regret for what you did to the... blue girl,” he said, not sure what he was supposed to call a blue person. “And before that there was sadness. If you can feel things like that, then you can feel the good too,” he said, eyes focused intently on hers. “I felt nothing for so long. No empathy, no happiness, I only knew fear of that chair. And even then, I can't say I felt it every time I was there. But now, being away from it all. And memories are coming back... I don't know what everything is that I feel but... it's different. And sometimes the emotions are so fast, so few and fleeting I don't even know if I felt it but I like to believe I did. I want them to be real,” he spoke quiet and slow. Trying to pick the words as he spoke them.

His thumbs moved across her knuckles and he looked down at their hands again. “You've done things. I get it. I've been there. Hell I am there now dealing with the shit I did but if you really want to change and be different... or be the same and be happy you can,” he said, licking his lips as he searched her eyes once more. “You can do anything you want. It's your life and your choice. Make it what you want it.”

These were more words I could have ever imagined hearing from you. From a once lifeless and mostly unresponsive missionary, now to a human unleashed. You weren't mindless, nor robotic. Bucky Barnes lived - he lived in you somewhere deep down, and you just needed the opportunity to find him. Still, with every passing moment I spent with you, you impressed me some way or another. Between asking me to stay and taking down Magneto... if only Captain America could hear your words now. So pure; so full of kindness.

I listened to you carefully and closely, taking in every single word. My eyes wide, full of life as I couldn't help but smile around you. As your hands met mine, I didn't retract my hands like I normally would. I stayed relaxed, placing my other hand over yours and squeezing gently. I looked down at our hands together, and then back up to you. My eyes became fixated on your blue eyes and your serious expression. Behind all the scruff and the metal, there was a man. And just like Steve Rogers pleaded, A good man.

As your speech concluded, the message was truly a positive one. "You inspire me." I said bluntly, with no shame, nor any embarrassment. "I thought I had everything figured out. My abilities, my life, my job. And I took this mission expecting to find you, not to find myself in this process." I chuckled lightly, still holding you hand, "I never imagined I would be taking therapy sessions from the Winter Soldier." Laughing lightly, I buried my forehead in your shoulder, playfully. Trying not to take away from the moment, my laugh faded. "You've been through hell and back, yet here you stand. With such positivity and wisdom." I grazed my fingers up your arm slowly, letting the feeling of my nails trickle back down. "Steve would be proud."

Taking a bigger breath than usual, I wondered if that statement was out of line. The more time I spent here, the more I wanted Steve to see this too. But I respected your decision to come to terms with this on your own, and so I didn't press the issue further. Instead, I decided to offer a different alternative. "I uhm..." I wondered how to put the words together. "I know you better than you think." Smiling softly, "I retained some of his memories during my interaction with him in New York... Memories of you. " I searched for a reason to stop myself, but looking in yours eyes only made me push forward. "I could show you..." The sound of hesitation riddled my voice, "... if you want me to."

“It's not really a therapy session. It's kind of what I tell myself everyday. When I feel like there's no hope for myself,” he admitted, his voice quiet. He was so far from being steady he didn't know his words were so spot on. But he was glad they worked for her. He repeated them, not like that, in his head when he wondered if life would just be easier if he did go back to Hydra. There would be punishment of course but things would be so easy. He'd just be a blank slate again. But that was just it, he wanted to be someone. And he had these urges and thoughts, bits of, what he assumed was, James Buchanan Barnes. And he was very thankful for that. It made him feel grounded.

But the Winter Soldier, he was strong. Hydra had spent a lot of time creating him to what they wanted and sometimes it was so hard to reign in that anger. But he just had to take it day by day and he knew if he could feel anger, then he could feel happiness. And being happy was worth all the shit and garbage he was going through on a day to day basis.

She kind of shocked him when her forehead was buried against his shoulder. He sat still for a moment before he rested his left hand against her back, not sure if this was how it was supposed to be. Human interaction. It was so confusing. But so craved. And as she kept her head against his shoulder and his hand rested on her back while her fingers grazed his arm. He knew it was something he was going to appreciate a lot. His contact was fairly limited to what had transpired between the two of them and he could already appreciate it.

“I thought you didn't like Steve,” he said with a quiet chuckle, remembering the way she'd spoke of him in the kitchen not an hour ago. He needed to stay away from Steve because he was scared. Scared of cracking under the pressure of being around someone who'd known him. He didn't know if he could be that person now. He didn't know if he ever would be anything like him again. He had to come to terms with that before he even thought of trying to contact Steve Rogers.

When she spoke he tilted his head to glance down at her head, he couldn't see her face as she spoke but her words were clear. And sharp. And brought on a sense of panic, excitement and curiosity. “I uh... I think so. I think I'd like to see it. If it won't hurt you of course. I mean, if it's comfortable for you to show me then yes. I would like to see it,” he nodded slowly.

I fell silent as your words seemed more and more nervous. I was trying to analyze the expression in your face to garner whether you actually wanted to, or were just telling me you did. Were you ready? Could you handle the transfer of memories? Would they upset you, or benefit you? I felt like they would, and had we not had the last conversation, I would have never offered. But I felt it. I felt the need to know, and I wanted to give you that back; even if just in pieces.

Pulling myself from you, I straightened my back to look at you. I looked around the crate, mostly empty in order to clear my thoughts. My head started to bob slightly as I nodded - bracing myself for the next couple minutes. "Lie down." My eyes returned to you before tugging on your arm, prompting you to move onto your back. "Here." I helped you onto the floor, while folding my legs to the side. "Lie your head here." Cupping the back of your head gently, I motioned it onto my lap. Creating a somewhat romantic setting, I looked down at you and gave a warm smile. "Good. Now just relax." Reaching over, I grabbed onto the flashlight.

Click.
Black.
Darkness.

"Close your eyes. Listen only to the sound of my voice." I lightly combed my delicate fingers through your long hair. "Breathe in. Breathe out. Let your mind be still." I came to rest my fingers on either side of your head. "Breathe." I reminded.

Closing my own eyes, I took a deep breath. I established a connection instantly, where there was a sense of lingering calmness. It was a surreal place to be. Though there was no visual imagery just yet, there was the sound of a calm wind, running water like a waterfall, and the sound of children laughing gleefully.

"Be not afraid." My voice echoed, almost like a song. I spoke more spirtually, almost as if I was a spirit, not a human being. "For when I looked into the heart of Captain America, I saw not a monster, but a man."

Plunging deeper into my subconscious, visuals began to appear as my voice turned into a poem.

You were always proud with kind eyes.
Patient, even when you wanted to cry.

Always capable of making Steve smile.
You shared laughs; you always tried.

With your undying loyalty; by his side,
His best friend, to the end of the line.

You were determined; his number one fan.
Ready to fight, until your ultimate end.

From Bucky, to the Winter Soldier.
Your heart grew only colder.

Reprogrammed and stripped of your mind,
HYDRA transformed you into a crime.

From human to bionic.
From strong, to incredible.
From ordinary to extraordinary.

The pain grew only stronger.
The pain kept lasting longer.

There was a moment of silence - a moment that brought you out of the memories, and back into calmness. I took a second of stillness before opening my eyes. Slowly slipping my hands from your face... It was done, but this story wasn't over.

Bucky dropped his arm when she pulled from him and shifted to lay as she wanted him without question. When she gave him the warm smile he returned it, though he was slightly nervous about what he was about to see. He was still excited. This was a step in the direction he wanted to go and if she could offer him a hand, he'd be stupid not to take it. As she began to run her fingers through his hair he let out a content sigh and his head unconsciously nudged closer towards her fingers, looking for more.

He followed her instructions and breathed as she instructed, listening to her voice. He focused on the sound of his breathing when she stopped speaking and he began to hear what she'd heard. He resisted the urge to open his eyes to try and see if he could see anything for at that moment it was only black. He lost that urge when the visions began to swim through his mind.

It was like watching a movie. Seeing it from the way she showed him. Every scene they went through he felt a warmth inside of himself growing. Like seeing how he'd been was fuelling a fire inside of himself he'd been wilfully ignoring since he didn't know what it was or how to make it grow. The warmth simmered when they reached the Winter Soldier. The memories were cold and dark. But they were his.

When she finished he laid still for a few moments before opening his eyes and finding only darkness again. He felt different. Lighter but more burdened too. He knew he could be a good man. He knew it was possible but could he be such a good man as he had been after everything his hands had done. Most people had some sort of debt or blood on their hands. But Bucky, he was drenched in it. And when he remembered everything he'd done, he wanted to be him. The guy from the start of the memories. Smiles and laughs and handsome and just good. Just okay.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice rough with raw emotion as he sorted through how he was supposed to feel about these feelings. He didn't lift his head right away, he enjoyed the closeness. Her thighs were firm but comfortable under his skull. He realized his head may not be that comfortable though so he lifted his head and shifted back to sit how they'd been sitting before.

“Do you think it's possible? For me to become more like I was before they changed me?” He asked, his gaze staring at the silhouette of her from the dull light shining into the car from a few cracks and the thin door windows.

“I talk like I know what I'm doing but I really don't. I haven't even touched another human since you and now I just know I love how your skin feels. And I enjoy spending time with you. And it's only been a few hours since I've known you, if that. I have no idea how to control all these emotions,” he admitted.

The visions continued to pass by in his head, he wanted to be able to remember them and not miss a moment of a time when he'd been happen. He wanted to cling to it. To know what it felt like so when he was again he'd know. But even here and now, sitting in a boxcar with her, part of him felt content enough to let the possibility linger she was making him happy. The thought made him smile. “If you can do that for others, can you do it for yourself? Sort out specific memories to make you happy?” He asked. If he was on the road to being happy, he wanted her to be as well. “What makes you happy? Maybe we should start there.”

My heart filling with the utmost pain, I felt the need to return to old ways more than you knew. "Yes!" I spat out, practically hawking back the urge to cry as you expressed such concern for losing that side of you. "It's never too late!" I grabbed your hand back in mine, this time with more urgency, like I was trying to get a message across. "It's never too late for a second chance. Your time is now." As you continued to speak, on and on almost like a rampage, I realized you were becoming flustered and overwhelmed. "Stop, stop!" I hushed you, fitting the palm of my hand to the side of you face. I forced your head to the side, "Look at me." I demanded with sincerity. "Those emotions serve a purpose - as proof that you are not a monster, not a machine. That you are human. That you are still you."

I let my hand slip down from your cheek to your neck. I held it in the crook of your neck, this time more gently as I spoke to you. "The man you were back in 1945 is not lost. He's not gone. He's just outdated." Pausing, I gave a reassuring smile, rubbing my thumb over your lips momentarily. My voice falling almost to a whisper, "He's just... Evolved." There was a sense of warmth in my soft expression.

Fighting the urge to kiss you, I let my hand fall from your neck and took my attention away from your face. My eyes trailed down and I looked alway.

Listening to you rapidly change the subject from you back onto me, I became visibly upset. "What makes me happy?" I snapped, my head flinging from its previous downward position to an alert, propped and predatory stance. I suddenly slammed my hands into your chest, pushing you away from me. My smile quickly melted into a frown. "Don't you see!? See it in yourself? This. THIS!" I shouted, grabbing the rim of your coat and shaking you. "You are absolutely selfless! More concerned in the well being of others than you are in yourself!" I stopped shaking you, having only done it a couple of times, more for theatrical purposes. I was angry, not at you, but more at the fact you couldn't even see you. "You're searching for Bucky... This is him. Bucky is right here! And I'm looking right at him."