It had been a long day and she was so ready to be home. Although she never regretted her decision to move into her oldest brother's apartment, there were days when she missed her little loft right in the middle of D.C. and today was definitely one of them. Living across the river in Virginia had it's perks, but walking from the train to her apartment late at night tended to put her on high alert; which is why she noticed the slight reflection of the streetlights on something in the bushes.
Probably just garbage, she thought, but she kept straining her eyes to see more – was that an arm or just her imagination? her nerves winding into a tight ball in her ribcage. She gripped her keys tightly in her fist as she drew closer, unconsciously holding her breath.
A slight rustle, sound, or movement, and she was primed to run. Then she rounded the curb and her pent-up breath left her in a "whoosh". It had not been her imagination, and in front of her lay a man, terribly beaten and dirty. Glancing around for help, she rushed to his side to assess the damage. He was young, she noted, and oddly dressed. She brushed the dark hair from his face and called out to wake him up, but received nothing but a soft groan in reply.
"It's going to be ok, sir. I'm going to get you to a hospital". She reached for her phone and began dialing 9-1-1 when a hand shot out and grasped her wrist.
"No."
He thrust her hand away and staggered to his feet.
"But you need medical attention, the doctors can help you." She said placing a hand on his arm.
He shrugged away her hand "No hospitals" he said "they'll find me", and started to stumble away when he collapsed on the ground with a groan.
"Please," she said. "Let me help you."
He finally turned his face to her, and she was struck with the depth of despair in his eyes. His face was bloody, but young, his clothing tattered, but sturdy.
"You're a soldier, aren't you? I've grown up around military men my entire life, and I know one when I see one."
He flinched away from her compassion filled face, and tried to stand again.
"Listen," she said as she tried to help him to his feet, "I don't know what kind of trouble you're in, but something tells me that you won't hurt me, and it's not just the fact that I could knock you over with my pinkie finger." He glanced up at her words to see her standing with hands on hips and raised eyebrows. He grunted.
"Men." she shook her head. "Wounded and near death, but still defensive when it comes to being beaten by a girl."
He just glared.
"Ok, c'mon. I'm taking you home with me to get cleaned up. We can figure out what to do after you've been treated."
They staggered along the last hundred yards to her apartment, with him working hard just to move his feet, and her struggling to bear most of his weight - and kicking herself for letting him convince her not to call the cops. She had to lean him against the wall to get her door open, and once inside he collapsed on the couch with another agonized groan.
"Right. What now?" She stood staring at him, biting her cuticles and tapping one foot, then walked to the kitchen, bringing out a first aid kit, warm water, and towels.
"I've got to tell you soldier, the 'doctor' in my job title, doesn't really apply to this kind of thing, " she said as she pressed a towel to what looked like a bullet wound leaking blood down his leg. He hissed in pain, but didn't try to pull away, staring at her with quiet, measuring regard. The eyes she had originally thought were dark, glinted a light blue-grey.
"Oh that's right! I never introduced myself! My southern roots should be ashamed!"
She looked up to meet his gaze,
"My name is Norah, and it's lovely to meet you mr…?" she trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the blank. He furrowed his brow in confusion, his eyes growing dark once more.
"I don't… " he rasped. "There's nothing there." He said with slowly dawning horror.
"Oh.. that's ok sweetie. That happens sometimes when you've been through something terrible, and by the looks of it, you certainly have. Besides, I'm from the south, so we usually just call people sugar, sweetie, and honey anyway." She said with a wink.
The confusion and horror left his face with a sigh, to be replaced by one of weariness.
"Why don't you just rest while I get these injuries bandaged ok? We can deal with everything else in the morning."
He sighed again, and closed his eyes, sinking down into the couch. Within minutes, his ragged breathing had smoothed out into the deep, soft sounds of someone truly exhausted.
He stopped running and rested his hands on his knees, breathing deeply. It didn't matter how far he ran or how hard he pushed himself, he couldn't outrun the guilt that tightened like a band around his chest every time he thought about his friend. They had been searching for weeks and had been unable to find a single clue or lead. His phone rang in his pocket and he answered with a sigh.
"Yeah" he snapped into the phone.
"Oh.. hey Cap. Having a bad day?" Sam asked through the phone.
Steve let out another sigh. "Sorry Sam. Just a frustrating morning."
"Well I have something that might change that. Meet me at my place in 20." With that Sam ended the call.
That familiar tingle ran through Steve's mind, but he shook it out of his head. He had been disappointed too many times over the past few weeks to let himself get excited. He would just have to wait and see.
"Can I help you officer?" Norah asked as she swung open her door. "Good afternoon ma'am, we have received a report in this area of a dangerous looking man lurking around. Have you seen anything of that nature? He has been described as tall, athletic, long dark hair, and with some sort of metal on his arm."
"Well, no officer. I haven't seen any dangerous looking men around here, but I will be sure to call if I do. Do you have a number where I can reach you?"
She closed the door hoping she had played that off convincingly. That officer had kept trying to peek behind her as though he thought she was hiding something.
"Probably just my imagination" she mumbled to herself as she entered the living room and looked at the man still sleeping on her couch. Her imagination had been running wild for days after realizing that not only had the man been riddled with bullets, but also that what she had originally assumed to be some sort of body armor on his arm was actually a bio-mechanical prosthesis of some sort.
An hour later she walked into the room carrying a plate of warm blueberry muffins, only to find him struggling to sit up on her couch. She reached over to help him pull himself upright.
"Good morning. How are you feeling?" She asked with a smile.
He glanced up at the plate she was holding. "Hungry", he replied.
"Well that's a good start I think!" She replied with a laugh, holding out the muffins to him. "Help yourself".
She watched him eat in silence for a few minutes before asking "Do you remember anything about what happened to you? Do you remember your name?"
"It's…" He shook his head. "I'm a soldier." He grunted.
"Yes, I know that, but is there anyone you would like me to contact? Family? Someone who can help you with… whatever it is you need help with? I'm sorry to push you like this, but we need some answers. Think hard."
He seemed to think for a minute, "there's no one. They're all dead. Except…"
"Except? Except who? Is there someone out there who might know who you are?" She asked. "Your memories will probably come back over time, but if you have loved ones, I'm sure they're looking for you, you've been with me for days, and who knows how long you were out there before that. Maybe they could help you put the pieces back together."
He gazed at her for a long time, eyebrows lowered, thinking. "Bucky" he whispered. "He called me Bucky."
"Who did? Is... Bucky your name? Who called you that? The person that shot you?". Norah didn't want to push him, but she needed as much information as she could get if she was going to try to help him.
"Yes…Bucky. I went to the museum… I saw the pictures. I'm Bucky. He…shot me, but he didn't want to. I think… He's my friend."
"Ok. That's good! That's a good start! Do you remember your friend's name?" Norah decided not to push the whole "he didn't want to but he shot me anyway" line of thinking – at least not right now.
Bucky got a faraway look in his eye, then smiled slightly, looking up at her. "Steve".
