Remember, Remember, a captain america fanfic

*** Guys, I'm not gonna lie, this was very nearly titled, "Mr. Barnes Goes To Washington"… but then it didn't stay in Washington and then I realized I was letting my geek show again. How embarrassing. Anyways, these two have taken up residence in my brain and this one-shot had to happen, had to get out of my brain. I'm hoping more of these will happen as time rolls on, until I have a firm grasp on my Ultron story (got to see it first, come on May 1st, where the hell are you?). Let me know what you think guys, as a writer on this site, I think it goes without saying that reviews are just the loveliest, and I love love love hearing from you. Anyways, anything Marvel is not mine at all – Enjoy! ***

"I'm not going in there," she said adamantly, her arms crossing over her chest, "The last time didn't end well." Winnie shivered slightly in the winter air, tugging the collar of her thick coat up around her exposed neck. Bucky rolled his eyes. "Why did we make the trip here?" He asked her bluntly and she looked away. His gloved hand reached for her face, turning it back to him.

His eyes roamed over her features, taking in her pink cheeks and slightly reddened nose, brought on by the freezing, though clear and sunny day. "We came so you could see everything, because Steve thinks it would be a great 'immersion' into possible memory triggers," she replied in the dry sing-song voice of someone being forced to repeat something they didn't want to. He knew she wasn't onboard with this, just as she hadn't been onboard with most of his "memory" work over the past few months.

After her declaration that day, the day she saw his scars, saying she didn't want him to remember, to save him potential pain from the bad memories, he had slowly come to realize that he needed to at least try to remember. He wasn't certain if he could potentially lose himself to the old Bucky, that if the memories came back the man he'd become since escaping Hydra would suddenly be gone, but he found that he wanted to know, despite the risk; there was a large portion of his mind that wasn't his own any longer, and while he couldn't remember, he could feel the loss of identity. It was unpleasant and he wanted it to stop. The risk was worth it.

His gloved hand left Winnie's chin and she promptly tucked it back down beneath the scarf peeping up through the front of her coat.

"I melted down last time, Bucky," she said softly, "It was really terrible." He look down at her, bundled into layers of winter clothing, huddled inside them against the strong wind that was blowing despite the clear blue sky. He was not cold. He only wore a jacket and gloves because Winnie had insisted that he at least try and look like he was a normal person.

"It's winter Bucky, if you don't look like you're freezing, people are definitely going to notice us, and we really don't want that," she had explained in exasperation, holding out a coat to him, her face tight and determined. He'd done as she said, understanding why she thought it was important, but thinking it was really just a hindrance.

Now, watching her shiver in her heavy black coat, white knit cap pulled down over her ears, white scarf wrapped over and around her neck and chest, small hands gloved and tucked into her coat pockets for warmth, and denim-clad legs ending mid-calf, where huge winter boots took over, he wished, for the hundredth time, that her exposure to the serums that had so changed Steve and himself, had offered her a little more durability and strength. She wouldn't be cold ever again, he thought.

"But I am here this time," he answered her, "You have no one to 'melt down' over." She watched him for a moment and then stepped closer to him, leaning in for a hug, which he was more than happy to pull her into. He opened the front of his jacket and wrapped the ends around her, hoping his 'furnace-style' (Winnie's words, not his) body heat would blast some warmth into her. At least until I convince her to go inside, he told himself.

"There's one other thing," she mumbled against his shirt, before pulling away slightly to look up at him, "I may be banned from ever going inside again, after the damage last time."

"I thought you were someone special to these people," he replied rationally enough, trying to get her walking towards the front doors of the Smithsonian, where he knew she could warm up, and he could visit the exhibit Steve had been so adamant he go to. She shrugged under his arm, only putting up token resistance as they moved towards the entrance.

"I think they'd like it better if I was locked in a case inside the exhibit," she said ruefully, puffs of her breath clouding the air in front of herself. She stopped and twisted in his arms, making him stop so he could look down at her again. "Bucky, that's the other thing… there's a ton of pictures of us in there. More of Steve than anything, but you and I were the ones that died, and then I came back to life…" her words trailed off for a moment as she gazed up at him, "They'll recognize us."

He shook his head and watched as her brow drew together, preparing to argue. He held a hand over her mouth, making her glare deepen. "Calm down," he told her softly, watching her expressive eyes roll, "I look nothing like the Bucky Barnes you've shown me so far." He pulled out a strand of his long hair, which neither of them had wanted to cut. "This," he said, indicating the hair, before running a hand over his scruffy face, "And this, mean no one will recognize me."

"And me? The adorable Winnie Johnson?" She said, her voice twisting on her title, "People will know me, not just because of what's in there, but after I was found, after New York, and now that I'm 'presumed dead'; you've seen it yourself! My face is everywhere!" He shook his head and then patted hers.

"Your hair is still wrong," he told her, "And you are wearing a lot of winter apparel, with your hood beneath if you like. And these." He pulled the pair of fake glasses from her jacket pocket, pushing them into her hands. They were thick framed, black, and when she put them on, especially coupled with her shortened hair, she did look quite different. They had knocked the lenses out of the glasses and Bucky found it enough of a disguise for now.

Winnie sighed and took them, pushing them on. "Natasha would be disgusted with the quality of our 'disguises'," Winnie muttered, making air quotes around the last word. Bucky grunted in response and started to push her back towards the entrance. They joined the crowds of people moving through the doors, paying their fees to get in. They got through security and Bucky immediately took his jacket off, opting to leave his hat on. They paused for a moment outside the exhibit while Winnie divested herself of some of her gear.

He watched her stuff the gloves into the coat pocket, leaving her knit cap on, the ends of her not quite chin-length hair flipping up below it. She thrust the jacket at him once she had it off, leaving her in jeans and a thick black sweater. Winnie unwound her scarf and then stuffed it in the arms of the coat he still held. She looked up at him and pushed the unfamiliar glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"Fine," she managed to say, her tone irritated, "Let's go get this done." He smiled at her, keeping her coat slung over the hoodie-clad metal arm, thinking the added layers of her coat and his laying over it were a good thing. The shape of the metal arm could never exactly mimic the shape of his real arm, even beneath clothing, and the last thing they needed was an eagle-eyed tourist spotting him.

They walked through the entrance and Bucky truly felt like the air had been knocked out of him. Winnie had not been kidding. He, Steve, and Winnie were everywhere. He recognized the other faces plastered around from the unending history lessons that Steve and Winnie had been giving him: the other Howling Commandos, Peggy Carter, and Howard Stark.

But everywhere, everywhere, were he, Steve, and Winnie, at all stages of their lives.

One portion of the exhibit housed an ancient bike, a battered doll, a baseball glove – as children.

A couple pretty dresses were hung on Winnie-sized mannequins, movie tickets stubs, a pair of shoes that looked like they were his size, a few schoolbooks with Steve's name scrawled inside the covers, even a detention notice bearing Bucky's name – as teenagers.

Steve's college diploma was next, information about a job he'd held as manager at a cinema near their neighborhood in Brooklyn. Pictures of Bucky with men he now knew were his father and brothers, working at the place he felt certain was the metal yard Steve had told him that all the Barnes men worked at. Newspaper clippings about Winnie's father losing his fortune and then losing his life to his own hand – young adulthood.

Bucky did not feel his memory being jogged, but a glance over at Winnie told him she certainly was. Her face was very pale and she held her hand up to the display case, her fingers pressing against it over a picture of her father.

"It's like my brain is opened up and on display," she said quietly, not looking over, her eyes locked on her dead parent. Bucky wasn't certain what reaction this moment called for, so he simply wrapped his jacket free hand over hers and gave a light squeeze.

They moved away, onto the part of the exhibit that was really in-depth. Captain America. Bucky shook his head slightly as he looked around, really taking it all in. The mannequins in Commando clothing, the huge mural he was a part of. "This," Winnie murmured, pointing at a display that was apparently all about him. He walked closer, seeing the pleasant, cocky, face of the old Bucky looking back out at him. The description of his rise as a Howling Commando, and subsequent fall was all laid out in matter-of-fact detail.

"It's a history lesson, you know," Winnie had told him once, many months ago. He hadn't been very surprised, given everything that she and Steve had told him and shown him so far. "Little kids learn pretty early on in school that even a hero can die, because of you," she had further explained, "Not even being the Cap's closest friend could save you."

"Hydra did," he had replied flatly, watching as her eyes widened and then narrowed furiously. The book he had been looking at was ripped from his hands and flung across the room violently, smashing through a painting on the wall, all while Winnie's hands sat clenched into fists in her lap.

"They didn't save you," she had snarled, "They put you on that train. They put me in that frozen tube. They put Steve on that airplane. They didn't save you." He had opened his mouth to refute her, knowing that even if Hydra had the worst of intentions, their actions had indeed saved his physical life, no matter what they did otherwise to his mind and proper place in time.

"They didn't save you," she had repeated again, getting to her feet and glaring at him, "Don't ever say anything like that again."

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

She knew without being told that being here, though fully reaffirming everything he had learned from her, Steve, and countless materials over the past few months, was not jogging any long term memories for Bucky. He was diligent though, as he was in so many new situations. He spent hours in the exhibit, reading every placard, every display, and every pamphlet. He inspected each picture, each spread of goods behind shining glass. She kept close to him, trying to draw calm off his completely confident and nonchalant demeanor. He wasn't worried about being here at all, and seemed fairly confident that no matter what happened, he would get them out. She suspected that deep down inside what he meant was, no matter what happened he would make sure she got out, himself being of secondary concern.

They were about to go into one of the darkened side rooms to watch a few of the little movies that they played in there, when Winnie balked at the door. Bucky was part way inside already, looking, for all outward intents and purposes, like a die-hard fan determined to suck up each and every bit of information available in this thoroughly comprehensive exhibit. "What are you doing?" He asked her, his brow flickering with something; impatience, concern, she wasn't certain.

"You go in, last time I, uhh…" her voice trailed off, her explanation sounding stupid even to her own ears. The reason for her upset last time was standing in front of her now, with their jackets laid over his arm and his dark hair swinging past his chin, looking at her like he was afraid she might do something crazy. Not this time, think I was crazy enough on my last visit.

"Winnie, come inside with me, now," he ordered her flatly. She pressed her lips together and was going to shake her head when he took the few steps over to her, stopping in front of her. The arm with the coats on it, his metal one, rested against her side, as his flesh hand grasped her chin firmly. "You will be fine," he murmured to her, his voice soft and firm all at once. She met his eyes and took a deep breath. He shook his head minutely at her. "This time I am here, to help you with being grieved," he told her, his tone somewhat formal, as it always was when they talked about the other Bucky.

She nodded slowly and let him lead her into the little darkened room, hoping he was right. They sat in the seats at the back of the room, and Winnie leaned against him, drawing comfort from his presence. The movies were much easier to watch this time. Bucky beside her was spellbound watching the Bucky and Steve on screen. Winnie felt the familiar pinpricks of grief inside her chest, the low, slow, burning of nostalgia that these glimpses into the past always gave her.

She cared deeply for the man beside her, was forging a new, albeit strange, life with him, but he wasn't the Bucky she grew up with and fell in love with. They both spoke about "the other Bucky" as if he were a completely separate person, not just something trapped inside the shadowy corners of this Bucky's head. She would be the first to admit that being able to see Bucky whenever she wanted was a comfort, but it didn't alter the implacable feeling of loss that sat like a lump inside of her.

And now he wants to remember, she thought in mild irritation. She had argued that she was worried the old Bucky would return, and the Bucky of today would be lost. This was a thought that troubled her constantly. She felt torn. She missed the man she was supposed to marry in another life, but so much time had gone past that she thought she was moving past it; like grieving any person who had died, she had resigned herself to his loss, adjusted to it, and begun the journey of moving on.

Winnie glanced over at Bucky, at the flickering of light playing across his features from the large screen in front of them, his blue eyes darkened, but moving back and forth with interest. This incredibly damaged man was not someone she was willing to lose, so she was secretly happy that his past remained firmly buried in his mind. He smiled at the screen and Winnie turned to see herself and Howard Stark on screen, her standing in a lab coat at his side, large goggles on her face while she clutched a notebook and pencil in her arms.

"We're doing everything can to solve the mysteries that Hydra leaves its wake," Howard was saying on screen, his cock-sure voice making Winnie smile on screen and off, "And we're always working on new ways to fight back – I devote myself to nothing else." Winnie on screen nodded when Howard turned to look at her, jumping a little when she realized she was supposed to say something.

Winnie remembered this, her smile growing larger now because she'd forgotten her lines over and over again that day, irritating the hell out of the camera crew and earning herself no-end of mockery from Howard. "Um, yes, and I'm sure we'll defeat them… um, someday?" Winnie on screen said, her tone turning up uncertainly at the end. Howard shook his head a little at her and she swallowed, pasting a large fake smile on her face.

"Nobody can beat Captain America!" She'd blurted out, before accidentally dropping her pencil and bending hastily to retrieve it. Howard kept talking, the camera following him, but out of the corner of the screen it was possible to still see Winnie, picking up the pencil and obviously chastising herself, her face a picture of frustration and embarrassment, as she mouthed, "Stupid, stupid, stupid." How I hated those cameras, she thought now, in amusement.

Bucky chuckled next to her and she looked up at him, smiling. She so loved it when he laughed, which wasn't often. "You are not an actress," he told her softly, and she shook her head, the smile on her face not leaving. "I was terrible," she replied quietly, "The day we 'toured' New York, I think the director was ready to kill me." She laughed silently at the memory, at how angry Bucky and Steve had been when the director, a little balding man, had finally just snapped at her, "God help me, sweetheart, just sit there and look pretty if you can't talk worth a damn."

They watched each film being offered, before Bucky climbed to his feet and reached for her hand. They left the exhibit slowly, pausing at the larger than life-sized picture of Winnie taken in early 1944, standing in-between Bucky and Steve, their arms slung around each other, as if they were children yet. She remembered that day also. A photographer with some random newspaper in California had been in London, to interview them, and had asked for a picture of the three of them, just as Steve and Bucky were about to get on the plane to go on yet another mission.

Bucky shook his head at the image, at all three of them, looking so happy and comfortable. "I wonder what I was thinking," Bucky murmured, staring hard at all three of their laughing, grinning faces, "What must I have felt in that moment?" Winnie pulled her coat from his arm and gripped it in her arms moving to stand in front of the picture on the wall, making him focus on her. "You told me you were going to miss me, we were kissing, then Steve and the photographer interrupted our goodbye," she answered him matter-of-factly, as if reciting a lesson, "You made a joke about Steve getting in the way, everyone laughed, and then the man asked for our picture."

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes roving intently over her face. His expression was fairly blank and she stepped closer to him, putting a hand on his metal shoulder and leaning up. "Kiss me," she ordered him in a whisper when she was near his face. His expression brightened slightly and he said, "Alright," before tilting his face down to hers and kissing her.

A large fast food meal, and an hour later, and they were back on the road, in the car Natasha had obtained for them for this little 'fieldtrip' as she had called it. She and the others were involved in something, something that Winnie was glad to not be a part of now, though the notion of trouble that required the Avengers to deal with it was not comforting in the slightest. She, Steve, and even Bruce had come to visit them at their various safe houses, and while it was clear that Natasha neither liked nor trusted Bucky, Winnie thought it was a mark of how much Natasha like Winnie herself that she kept a lot of her remarks to herself.

Tony never came to visit. Ever. That hurt her, right down to the core. She valued and trusted him deeply, and to lose him because he hated Bucky was hard to swallow. "Tony, he didn't know," she had tried pleading on the phone, "He wasn't himself, he wasn't anybody, he was like a machine."

"No kid, I'm a machine, he's the fucker that killed my parents," Tony had responded in a voice hard with dislike. It was clear that an unspoken ultimatum was being laid before her, and though it pained her to no end to do so, she made the obvious decision. Bucky, always Bucky.

"You are very quiet," Bucky said in the car, as they left DC behind them. Winnie glanced over at him and smiled a little. "I know," she said regretfully, "We do these things to try and help you remember, and instead I'm the one tossed back into the past." He grunted and looked back out the window. "Nothing came back today," he told her. Winnie said nothing in response, only nodded and looked out the window at the dirty winter highway around them.

"I want to remember," he told her, a little more loudly. She turned to look at him and her eyebrows went up. "I know that, you've told me that," she said to him.

"You don't want me to," he said flatly. Winnie cleared her throat and didn't answer, not wishing to rehash this again. Bucky apparently wanted to though, so he made a swift exit off the highway and, while she watched him with concern, he pulled off into the first parking lot they saw.

"I need to know," he told her more earnestly, "It's crouched in my head, and he's crouched in my head, behind the wall, beneath the surface, always pushing. He wants me to remember, Winnie." Winnie clenched her jaw and tried to fight the look of anger on her face.

"He's dead," she replied, "You're here, that's enough for me." He gave her a highly skeptical look. "This is important, it is something," he spoke strongly, putting a hand on her arm, "It's something." Winnie sighed. Something. Bucky's term for thoughts, feelings, and memories that had deep meaning, both literally and figuratively, that he couldn't quite grasp. When he couldn't describe things properly, couldn't put words to the myriad of emotions he was experiencing, they were something.

"You would not be happy for him to return?" Bucky asked her, his dark eyebrows coming together. Winnie shrugged. "No? Yes? I don't know Bucky! How can I answer that? That's an impossible question! I love both sides of the same man! How do I possibly choose?" She snapped, overcome with feeling. He blinked and sat back in his seat. "You said it," he told her quietly, and she swallowed hard, looking away.

"Yeah, I heard it, just ignore it, we don't say that," she shot back immediately, terrified that her traitorous mouth had let 'love' out again – it was a toxic, hazardous word as far as she was concerned, and she refused to say it to him, stubbornly insistent that it would mark the beginning of their end. I lost you before; never again.

"You've said it four times now," he responded calmly. Winnie cleared her throat and waved a hand at the road. "Don't just sit here and pollute the air with the car running, let's go somewhere," she said, changing the subject. He mumbled something, possibly in Russian, and pulled the car out. Winnie drew her legs up onto the seat next to herself and leaned across the center console, resting against Bucky's arm.

The miles went on and she finally whispered to him, "Say it."

"You know I do," he replied softly, his tone reverent. Winnie smiled to herself and nodded off to sleep.

She only woke up when the car stopped. It was nightfall outside and Winnie sat up blearily, a crick in her neck that she rubbed at grumpily.

"Why'd you let me sleep so long? Ugh," she complained, barely glancing over at him. Bucky turned the car off and turned in his seat. "If you were asleep, you couldn't argue," he explained. She looked over at him then, her eyebrows drawn together in concern.

"What?" She asked in a sharp voice, "Where are we?" He pointed out the window. "Home, I believe," he answered her. Winnie looked at the window, leaning towards her door to really look outside. With a somewhat sinking feeling, she realized they were in Brooklyn. "Jesus, Bucky, how long was I asleep for?" She said, without looking back at him.

"Almost 5 hours," he told her. Winnie reached for the handle on the door and pushed it open, stepping outside into the frigid night air. "Why?" She asked, her words mostly eaten by the heaviness of the winter night. The driver's door opened and shut and he walked around the car towards her.

"I wanted to see," he answered her, putting her hat on her head. She looked up at him, tilting her head to the side slightly. "See?" She asked curiously, taking her scarf from him, followed by her jacket. He shrugged, watching as she put all of her winter gear on again.

"We haven't been here yet," he replied, "After today, I wanted to see it." Winnie put her gloves on and nodded. She let her eyes rove around the street they were on and realized that he had quite literally driven them home. They were parked on the street outside of his old house, now a heritage site, as was Steve's old apartment and her family's old home, the one they had lived in when her father was still successful.

"Bucky, I don't know if we can go inside," she told him carefully, "This isn't like the Smithsonian, someone actually lives in this house." He made a face like that didn't matter and reached for her hand. She let him hold her hand and they walked a few steps down the sidewalk. Bucky paused to read the bronze placard outside the home, and Winnie watched him. She could see lights on in all the homes around them and knew it must be hours after dinner; everyone looked settled in on their couches behind the windows she was able to see inside. When Bucky stepped away from the placard, he looked over at her questioningly.

"This way," she mumbled, knowing he wanted to see more. Her heart thumped in her chest because she wasn't certain if she wanted to see more. Even seeing the Barnes' old home was a little much for her. Her booted feet clomped down the sidewalk, following a path that was second nature to her. The neighborhood may have modernized somewhat around them, but the streets were the same, and within minutes they were outside her own home. Bucky read the sign there and Winnie stared up at the third floor, to her bedroom window.

My bedspread was white with green stitching, my curtains matched, and I had Nana's old braided rug on the floor, her mind recalled for her. Fleeting images of sitting in front of her mirror, brushing her hair each morning and night, or curling up on her window seat to read a novel, raced through her head. Mother could call me from the third floor and I could always hear her from the window. Her eyes moved to the front porch, where the outside light was turned on. The home was obviously lovingly restored and looked nearly the very same as the day they had moved out in disgrace.

Our first kiss, she thought fondly, touching a gloved hand to her mouth in memory. She felt Bucky move closer to her side and she looked up at him, seeing the soft look on his face. "It's strange to be back," she said to him, her breath puffing out white in front of herself. Bucky nodded.

"Let's go to Steve's," she told him, turning away from home and heading down the street. Captain America's old home was kept as a museum, none of the units in the old building being apartments people lived in any longer. There was a Starbucks on the lower level, a gift shop, a tourist information center, and then the entrance to the museum where the gates that led to the stairwell used to be.

"I want to go up," Bucky told her, his voice carrying quietly in the night air. Winnie took a deep breath and opened her mouth to object, wanting to discuss the problems with alarms and security. "Stay here," he told her, and swiftly disappeared around the side of the building before she could protest. Winnie made a face and looked down at her hands, stretching her gloved fingers a little bit. She began to consider going inside the Starbucks and waiting where it was warm when Bucky finally reappeared.

"Let's go," he said firmly, grasping her arm lightly. She pulled back a little. "Wait, Bucky, we can't, they'll have camera's and alarms," she warned him. He glanced down at her, the slightest of smirks pulling at his mouth. "Not any more they don't," he said.

She took a deep breath and shook her head, following him around the back of the building. "What did you do?" She asked him quietly as he led her in through a back gate that should have been electronically locked. "I put their systems to sleep," he replied in a whisper. Winnie shook her head again, but didn't for a minute doubt his success. He didn't become the Winter Soldier because he had nice hair, she thought to herself.

They made their way around to the staircase at the front of the building, and in a few moments they were outside Steve's front door. Winnie froze outside the door, her insides swarming together unpleasantly. "It's the same," she breathed, touching a gloved hand to the door knocker and the doorknob. Bucky opened the door and they moved inside. There were lights on inside, not big ones, but small ones built into the ceiling corners and floorboards.

"Is it the same in here, too?" He asked her, as they moved into what had been the living room. Winnie looked around and shrugged. "Yes and no," she answered him, pointing at various things. There were display units and big placards on the wall detailing Steve's life and what various 'artifacts' were around them.

Some of the living room furniture was displayed behind a railing at one end of the living room, as if to demonstrate what Steve Rogers' living room had looked like once upon a time. "His living room never looked like this," she explained, "The couch was over here, and that table was against the far wall." Winnie turned around and squinted at a big display unit that contained Steve's old desk and all his 4Fs on its top.

"The desk is right, but that's not his chair," she murmured, getting into it. They moved into the kitchen, which had a little pathway through the center of it, railings on either side of it. Beyond each railing was the kitchen, arranged just so, as if Steve Rogers might come through the door and make some dinner any minute. "Frozen in time," she mumbled, and then laughed a little.

She glanced over at Bucky and saw he was watching her with one eyebrow raised slightly. "Well, we all were, you know," she said defensively, watching the eyebrow go higher. Winnie rolled her eyes. "Frozen in time, Bucky, we were all literally frozen through time," she explained. He smiled slightly and continued through the kitchen after her. They toured the two bedrooms, and the bathroom, and Winnie explained the sights as they went, pointing out where things should have been as best as she could.

Bucky seemed deeply interested in everything, but there were no sudden sparks of recollection in his eyes. An hour after they arrived, they were creeping out through gates and Winnie waited patiently while Bucky turned everything back on again. She had insisted he do so because she didn't want the museum, or Steve's things, ruined or tampered with. When he was back at her side again, he looked at her, almost uncomfortably.

"My family," he finally managed, his voice low and halting, "Are they near here?" Winnie blinked at him until she realized he meant his actual family, from the 40s. "They're buried near here, yes," she responded quietly. She turned away from him and walked down the dark streets, heading towards the graveyard she knew would still be there. Bucky didn't walk at her side and she felt a little sad.

When they reached the wrought iron gates they paused and Winnie rested a hand on them. "They are in here," she said quietly, "So is Steve's family."

"And yours?" He asked her gently. Winnie nodded and pushed the gate open, heading on auto-pilot to the part of the cemetery where Steve's parents were buried. They stood before the two gravestones and Winnie knelt, putting a hand to Mrs. Rogers's stone. The air was silent around them. "She was a good woman," Winnie finally said, "She loved Steve so much."

"And his father?" Bucky spoke from behind her and Winnie shook her head. "I don't know, I didn't know him well, but he wasn't kind to Steve or his mother; he drank a lot and was abusive, I think," she informed Bucky soberly. He didn't reply and after she patted the stone one more time, Winnie said a silent goodbye to the bones of the kind woman lying beneath them and moved through the cemetery's winding pathways until she reached the Barnes' plots.

"Here," she said, pointing at the small series of gravestones, all small and tasteful, "Your mother and father are there, your two oldest brothers and their wives next to them." Bucky moved past her silently and paused in between the markers for his mother and father. He stood there, staring down at them for a long time. Winnie shivered a little, but refused to say anything to pull him away.

"Peggy Carter used to visit your parents every year, on the anniversary of your death," she told him, "Telling stories and talking with them. I think they liked it, especially your mother." Bucky nodded. Winnie continued, "She visited my mother often, many times a year because she was working in Manhattan." Bucky turned around then, regarding her from where he stood between his parents. She couldn't see his face, it was too dark.

"Peggy was there for my birthday, my mother's birthday, my… anniversary, Christmas, Thanksgiving, summer weekends," Winnie continued, "My mother was alone and Peggy visited her all the time to keep her from feeling it. They grew quite close. Peggy was even there when Mom… when she died." Winnie felt her throat thicken a little at the painful thought of her mother's sadness and loneliness.

"She was a wonderful woman," Winnie whispered. Bucky moved towards her then, his face solemn. He put a hand on the side of her face.

"You're cold," he said quietly, pulling her in towards himself, opening his jacket for her. Winnie nuzzled her freezing cheeks against his chest, which was radiating heat in a very pleasant way. "Do you miss her?" Bucky said, his voice rumbling through his chest against her face.

"Of course I do," she replied, "But, I'm happy she wasn't alone, that she had Peggy, and then later, Peggy's husband and children." Bucky didn't reply and Winnie pulled back, ready to leave. "Let's go see her," Bucky said suddenly, and Winnie turned alarmed eyes to him. "Her kids don't like us to visit often," she immediately said, and Bucky shook his head.

"No, your mother," he told her. Winnie pressed her lips together and looked away, but finally nodded. They trudged on, heading through some deeper snow in some of the unvisited portions of the cemetery before they arrived at her parents' familiar plot. The last time she had been here, only her father was buried beneath the ground. Winnie stepped away from Bucky and knelt between the stones.

Her mother's name was written in fading script on the stone and Winnie smothered a cry behind her hand reading the epitaph below it, 'Now We Are Together'. All her grief felt quite fresh suddenly, and Winnie closed her eyes against it.

"Get it all out now, darling," her mother said softly and kindly, "Steve needs you to be strong for him."

"It's not even the funeral yet," Winnie replied.

"You don't just mourn in the church or at the cemetery, dear," her mother explained.

"Oh Mother," she whispered, her other hand going out to touch the gravestone, "I'm so sorry I went away. Please forgive me." She thought about all the time she spent in Europe, never once going home to visit her mother, thinking, in the arrogance of youth, that she had all the time in the world after the war was over to see her mother and spend time with her.

Footsteps behind her startled her badly and she leapt to her feet to see Bucky take two stumbling steps away from the path, towards the large grave stone past her father's. Mine, she thought grimly, remembering the pictures that Tony had showed her of it, his face wary.

"It's rather large, isn't it?" She had said calmly, her eyes moving over the large picture in her hands, finding it beyond surreal to see her own burial place. "You don't just bury the 'adorable Winnie Johnson' in a cardboard box, kid," Tony had flippantly responded. They had both laughed.

She watched as Bucky staggered when he reached the front of the large stone. His back was to her, but she saw the shake in his hands as he reached for the stone, running his hands over her name. From behind, it looked like he was injured, like he could hardly stand. Winnie took two steps away from her mother's resting place, back to the path, and made her way down towards Bucky, pausing several feet away.

She almost gasped when she saw his face. He was absolutely riven with grief, his face twisting, and his eyes wide and watery as his metal hand clutched at the stone, crumbling off small bits of it. "No," he murmured, "Please no." Winnie wasn't sure what to do, he was reacting to something she hadn't expected. When he dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the cold stone, Winnie took an involuntary step forward.

"You said," Bucky moaned in heartbreak, "You told me she'd be safe, you said!" Winnie gaped at him, suddenly realizing with an icy rush that he was definitely not talking to her. "Please no, you said!" Bucky yelled angrily, his flesh hand wiping roughly at his face, while the metal one screeched as it clawed across the 'W' of her name. "She can't be dead! You said!" He cried furiously, before drooping limply, crying against the stone.

"Bucky?" She whispered, terrified of what she was seeing, but desperate to break the spell, to relieve him of his grief, "Bucky, I'm right here, please look at me." He halted, his entire frame freezing. He whirled around, shoving off of the ground and the gravestone, making it wobble slightly. He turned to stare at her, his face warring between shock, grief, and deep confusion. Winnie's stomach was twisting dangerously and she didn't know what the right thing to do was.

"Winnie?" He asked, his voice strangled and rasping, "Winnie?" She nodded and reached a hand out to him. "I'm right here, come here," she urged him. He rushed to her, faster than she would have thought possible. He nearly slammed into her, grabbing her up from the ground with an embrace that pushed the breath from her lungs in a huff. "Oh my god, Winnie, Winnie," he mumbled frantically, pressing his warm lips all over her face and head.

"You were gone, you were dead, I lost you, you left me," he babbled, as his tear-wet face rubbed against hers, feeling slick. She opened her mouth to respond but he clutched her face in both hands and pressed a fevered kiss to her mouth. She let him, confused and concerned. She squeaked against his lips when his grasp grew too tight and the metal hand actually began to hurt. She shoved against his chest and he stepped away, eyes wide and confused.

"Winnie? What –" He began, but Winnie rubbed her face. "It's ok, your hand, it was just a little tight," she explained, gesturing at the metal hand. Bucky looked down at the hand and flinched, his whole body jumping hard. His face twisted into something horrified and frightened. He turned wide, terrified eyes up to her, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to speak. Her own eyes widened in concern and she moved towards him. His face contorted tightly into an expression of excruciating pain and he brought both hands up to his head, clutching at his skull like it might explode.

He let out a brief scream of agony and collapsed to the ground, where he writhed in pain. Winnie dropped to her knees at his side and tried to grab him. "Bucky! What's happening? Bucky!" She screamed at him, panic suffusing her voice. He looked up at her, and she settled her hands on top of his own where they were grabbing at his head.

"Bucky, please!" She cried, helpless fear drowning her words and her mind. He went still as suddenly as he'd begun to lose it, and he lay back against the snowy, cold ground. He was entirely still for a long moment, and Winnie worked to pull him up, getting his head off the ground and into her lap. She stroked his forehead, unsurprised to find her own face growing cold as her frantic tears made their way down her face.

"Please be ok, please be ok," she murmured to him over and over again. She could feel his heart beating, a little faster than normal, but still in a non-life-threatening way, he was breathing, he was uninjured; she knew this was something in his mind, a horror and pain all in his head. She contemplated leaving him there, going back to the car to get her cell phone, to call Steve or Natasha or anyone for help, but she couldn't, she wouldn't. His breathing evened out after a moment and Winnie clutched at him a little tighter, bending her head down close to his.

"Bucky," she said softly and felt her entire body sag in relief when his eyes flickered open, looking around unsteadily for a moment before focusing on her. A glare flowed over his features before recognition kicked in and Winnie leaned up and away from him, feeling almost faint with relief.

"Why am I on the ground?" He asked carefully, his tone curious and slightly subdued. "You don't remember?" She asked him, dumbfounded. He shook his head and climbed to his feet. Winnie sat on the ground, stupefied, staring at him with huge, frightened eyes. He regarded her with concern and bent down, lifting her up off the ground under her arms, like a child. When she had her feet underneath herself, she stepped back.

"How do you not remember? What's the last thing you remember?" She asked him slowly, her eyes moving back and forth between his own. He blinked at her and pointed back at her parent's gravestones. "You were grieving, I stepped back to give you space," he told her. Winnie shuddered hard, and it wasn't just from the biting cold. He reached for her, taking her hand and pulling her close to himself.

"You need to get warm, now."

Bucky wasn't certain what to think. He knew she wouldn't be lying, and clearly something had happened, because one minute he was walking away from Winnie, and the next he was on the ground, his clothing damp, staring up into Winnie's grief-stricken face, upside down above him as she hung over him.

She was sitting curled up on the motel bed next to him now, picking anxiously at her nails as she watched him. Her eyes made it clear that she was hoping he would remember the episode after she told him about it. He didn't. He also didn't like that he didn't. She was right, he thought in slowly mounting worry, if the other Bucky remembers, I'm gone. He had given much thought to his identity, always assuming that it was intact now, but that there were simply some parts behind a curtain in his mind, off limits and out of sight.

"What does this mean?" She asked him plaintively, one of her hands clutching at the side of his neck, gripping him firmly.

"I think you know what this means," he told her carefully, "I think we both know what happened tonight, what will happen if I… if he… remembers everything." Winnie swallowed hard, her throat rolling with the movement. She released him and got to her feet, beginning to pace anxiously.

"That's it then," she said, pausing in her back and forth movement, "No more memory games, we're done, you're done." She stepped closer to him, and he could feel the head board rattling behind him, feel it shaking his torso slightly where he was laid against it.

"Winnie," he said quietly, "Calm down." She blinked and then took a few deep breaths, closing her eyes while her fingers opened and closed in tight, strained movements next to her hips. He watched her, distantly proud of her, proud of her growing control. When they had the time and space, they would train, not just fighting, but for her, control of her ability. It was obviously working.

"Sorry," she breathed out, her entire body relaxing. He nodded at her and offered her a small smile. She walked to him, sitting on the bed next to him. Winnie picked up his metal hand in both of hers and stroked her thumbs over the back of it. "I meant it though," she said, "No more, I won't have it, I won't lose you, or worse, have you trapped in your own mind."

"Is it my mind?" He asked quietly, watching her thumbs as they moved back and forth. She squeezed down on his hand and nodded at him. "Yes, of course it!" She insisted. She released his hand and reached for his face, laying a hand on the side of it. She looked him in the eyes, her brow knitted together with concern and worry. "Promise me," she said firmly, "Promise me you'll stop trying to remember, that you'll just live your life, with me, and stop trying."

He nodded. "I will, I promise," he replied. She swallowed again and nodded, before releasing his face and sliding closer to him, lifting a leg up and over where his were stretched out on the bed. She sat on his thighs, and put both hands on his shoulders. "Kiss me," she demanded softly. He brought his arms up, pressing them to her shoulder blades, drawing her towards him, and their lips met.

She was kissing him with an almost possessive quality, urgency and ownership in her every move. Her hands moved up from his shoulders, tracing up his neck into his hair, fisting gently at the back of his head. He felt her move closer, until she pressed flat against his chest, breathing heavily as she deepened the kiss. It had been a day of many feelings, many new sights, and apparently, memories he was to have no part of, but he felt like this was where he should be.

He hooked his hands over the bottom of the t-shirt she was wearing, pulling it up and over her head. She did the same for him, as he leaned away from the headboard to allow the movement. When she brought herself up against him again, pressing her breasts to his bare chest, he felt a shudder travel down his own spine at the sensation of her skin against his own. He turned her slowly, pressing her down to the bed next to him.

He paused when she lay beneath him, her eyes darkened as she reached for his hair, tucking it behind his ear. He wondered if he could go back to forgetting, without trying to reclaim his missing pieces, if that was the right thing. He knew that tomorrow morning, they would go back to their latest safe house, and he knew that not trying to remember was going to be something new for them; it filled so much of their time before.

"Bucky?" She whispered, her palm resting on his chest lightly, "Are you ok?" He knew she meant was he ok to do this now, with her; she always let him decide if he felt sure enough, in control enough to be with her. She didn't fear him, but he feared himself. He nodded at her, bending and kissing her neck, her throat, before moving lower. Her breaths grew shorter and he felt her arch against him.

"Say it," she demanded, her voice hitching slightly, "Say it, please."

So, he did.

"I love you."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

*** I've taken down the update chapter because I was recently informed it's not allowed on this site - so the update is here - there is more after this one-shot, in the form of a sort-of part 2, titled "It Takes Seconds to Break" - it will likely be a few chapters long, find it on my profile! Thanks for reading! ***