The smell of gardenias

PROLOGUE

AN: Soo, Hiya there! This is my very first fanfiction and I'm very excited to be sharing it with you. By the way, FYI English is not my first language alas if you discover any mistakes I would really appreciate it if you pointed them out to me.

Well… R&R and constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. Sorry for any possible butchering of your language but like I said, not English soooo bear with me!

See the end of the work for ANs bye bye

Disclaimer: really people? You think if I owned them I would be here writing. No, no fellas, Thiswould be on the damn feels-killer movies. But yeah anyway, you want me to say it fine I don't own anything you might recognize and any resemblance to events from real life or other stories is unintentional.

On with the story, now. Enjoy

The cold wind was the only thing he was aware of, he couldn't even bring himself to care about the fall, all he could think about was the icy sharp wind that was howling all around him hitting him with no mercy, turning him numb. He stopped screaming a while ago desperately trying to block the air from freezing him from inside too. He has been falling for a while now. When they went over the sematics for the mission it said they would be high but this was ridiculous. Just for how long would he be falling?

And then he hit the ground and suddenly oh how he wished for the wind instead of this. He broke his fall with his left side and he was certain that he would die then, if not anything else the pain would kill him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and braved a look down his arm. Immediately he wished he hadn't. His left arm was gone a little up above his elbow. Well that settled it. Cause of death: blood loss. There was just no way he wasn't dying from that even if somehow the fall hadn't managed it. He turned to look down at his arm again. See how much blood he had lost. How long till he died. But his arm wasn't there anymore, a metal monstrosity with a blood red star having taken its place and he wasn't lying in the icy snow but instead strapped to an equally cold metal table and all he could think about was not again and pain and toadlike faces and baby blue eyes with halolike golden hair and then it was all gone and there was nothing but harsh sounding commands and soldat! And mission report. And electricity and forgetting again and the man on the bridge but I knew him, I knew him and forgetting and till the end of the line and then gone and NoNoNoNoNo!

He snapped awake, the covers thrown of the bed, cold sweat beading his forehead and running down his spine, tears falling down his face, breathing labored, short gasps instead of breaths coming out of his mouth, his chest contracting and then he couldn't breathe and he shot out of bed almost tripping over the covers but still not, because years of falling is punishment won't let him.He hits then small window frantically opening it pushing out and before he realizes he's on the fire escape doubled over the railing trying to inhale air but instead his nostrils are filled with the metallic scent of blood making his throat close down. He shuts his eyes and then suddenly there is a voice, his voice inside his head holding a small back against his own bigger chest hands over fragile ribs and Com'n Stevie match my breathing, and then the little boy could breathe again and he finds that so can he. He's breathing hard still but years of conditioning and snipping will let his body take care of itself but also years of brainwashing have left his mind scrambled and he needs to write because that was another memory and it was of his little brother, Stevie and not torture so he needs to keep this one. After he has calmed down he straightens up, turning to go back inside. He really needs to do something about these nightmares because even if his years of imprisonment have beat screaming out of him, he is still being careless running out where everyone can see the arm.

After he had written down his latest memory he sets about completing his routing. Collecting the bedsits putting them in the washing machine to wash off the sweat from the previous night's terrors, exercising in the small apartment, making breakfast, eating washing up and getting ready to head out to the public library where he has been spending most of his days these past months, catching up with any history he missed or, well any parts of it he affected. Surprisingly he finds he is not missing much not in the historical or the technological department. Apparently the asset needed technological knowledge to complete its missions. On good days he discovers that all the scientific, technological and engineering facts in his head are subjects he seems to enjoy. On a particularly good day about six months in his hiding after the first time that he slept through the whole night, he changes his routine, going to a local engineering museum. He remembers that day with a newly rediscovered fondness. It was a really good day he even got a memory back. His last night as James Buchannan Barnes of Brooklyn. Before Sergeant Barnes of the 107th, before Barnes the rescued POW, and Captain America's sniper. Before the Winter Soldier, Red Room's most feared agent and before Hydra's Asset. With so many different personas his head is a mess most of the time but that day it all seemed to sort out and as he was walking around the exhibition he remembered another one with big bright lights and a pretty dame hanging of his arm another following and Stevie behind him, watching Howard's flying car with fascination.

Memories of Steve have been coming back more and more lately so much so that he even considered giving in and going back, putting both Steve and himself out of their misery. Steve from looking for him with no success and himself from having to follow Steve wherever he thought he might be next, watching over his little brother's reckless ass like he always has been. Killing whoever threatens his family before they even get a chance to do so. The willingness to kill for his own haven't gone anywhere either. He doesn't know whether he should be concerned or not. Being an assassin for over six decades tends to bury any empathy left for even potential threats. Although there was always the dark shadow larking behind his icy blue eyes even back then. He was just able to hide it behind a cocky smirk, charm and dancing moves. In the war he didn't have to anymore. Steve had seen it a couple of times, Becca too.

This last recon mission Steve has gone to was the last straw. Steve had started getting desperate, getting careless. It was getting harder and harder for him to protect the punk.

So, guess, it was time to turn himself in. Steve would be happy, the optimistic bastard. Well that was all it ever was about though. Making sure his family was happy and safe. Steve would soon find out that his older brother wasn't a ball of sunshine anymore but at least this way he could prevent him from going on suicide missions without cover. Who knows he might even get a second chance at happiness or well just being content would do since he very much doubts he can ever be happy with all that baggage he now carries. He might even find out what that emptiness and heartache he feels from time to time is. That thing had started getting bothersome. He couldn't pinpoint exactly where it was coming from, get even a thread of what it might be about and it was starting to seriously concern him. He found himself doing random things at random places, like passing a florists shop, catching a whiff of gardenias and almost doubling over from the pain the memory caused him. It wasn't a flashback, not a memory and all he knew was that the pain wasn't like pain from Hydra or Red Room treatments. It was something a lot more…. Heartbreaking rather than… well bone breaking. Sometimes he wondered if he had someone other than family waiting back home for him. There wasn't anything about a girlfriend or fiancée or anything of the short at the museum. He would just have to ask Steve then and hope that he had an answer

So it seemed like Bucky Barnes was going home after all. Not like it would be difficult. Steve lived at the Stark/Avengers tower nowadays. That wouldn't prove to be a problem; he had broken in more secure buildings before. Stark may be deluding himself that his tower was the most secure in the planet but guess, he has never had the Winter Soldier breaking in before.

To the Stark Tower it was then. He got up from his spot in the corner in the library looked around the place for a last time and set course for the apartment. He had some packing to do.

AN/

So I know this isn't very action filled or dark and generally doesn't have much of anything happening but it's the prologue. I promise it gets better. Please come back and read more.

This is my very first fanfiction so constructive criticism is always welcomed.

Thank you for reading