A Saturday afternoon always meant a busy day for the Smithsonian museum. The place was full of screaming children dragging their tired parents to the Captain America part where they could see the actual real life uniforms of the howling commandos and their leader. They would always gaze up in wonder at the mannequins looking proud and brave. It was so mobbed and noisy all day, that nobody noticed the tall, hunched over man at the other side of the room looking on to the memorial of the captain's best friend. Wearing clothes he found in a thrift store and a cap to hide his face, was James Buchanan Barnes looking at himself and his supposed 'death'. But he wasn't Bucky, he couldn't remember ever being anything but the winter soldier; an assassin. A killer whose job was to do Hydras bidding for the greater good. Or so he was conditioned to think. Ever since he saw the captain on the bridge, his mind had started to wonder. It scared him to think there was more to his life than killing. He still couldn't believe it was him on the wall, yet it was an exact replica of his face. He looked the same apart from the hair and expression. There he stayed for a solid half hour, visitors just passing by, not noticing Bucky's confused expression and slightly ajar mouth. That was, until a small group of girls started squealing behind him. Above all the noise of the centre, Bucky could just make out what the fuss was all about.
"Oh my god! It's her! It's really her!" "Girls please I'm just here to pay my respects, no comment!"
A noticeable groan came from the group as they dispersed and let the young girl through. Bucky tore his eyes away from his 'reflection' and saw something that made his mind go into overdrive. There standing by the Agent Carter part, gently pushing her fans away, was yet another familiar face, but he knew he couldn't have seen her before for sure. She was far too young for him to know her, she looked only twenty. However, as his eyes flickered between her and the Carter picture, he saw the resemblance; she must be her granddaughter. She looked tired. Her blue eyes were red and her body looked weak, as if she hadn't slept nor eaten for days. Her dark brown hair was caught up in a messy bun and her jeans and shirt looked way too big for her. As he pondered over what was the matter with her (and his mind) one of her supposed body guards shoved a photographer away, yelling, "for god's sake, her grandmother has just passed away, give a little respect!" The photographer didn't take the hint. He continued to try and bother her, shouting "Grace! The world wants to know! The world has a right to know…!" he was cut off as the guard lifted him and went to escort him out of the building. All the while a crowd had gathered. Grace was now completely centre stage, a rabbit in headlights. She stood there for about five seconds and bolted away from the memorial and through the doors to another room. Bucky only looked on, trying to pin point why he now recognised someone other than the captain. He still refused to believe it. Having been wiped many times, he didn't know what was true anymore. Sighing, he walked in the same direction Grace had gone, not wanting the crowd to turn their attention to another circus act. As he passed through the exit doors and into the sunlight, he saw to his right, sitting halfway down the long steps, sobbing, was Grace. Nobody was around, everybody was still inside, and her guard must still be fighting with the photographer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement from the left; another member of the paparazzi. Then something completely new to Bucky happened. He felt defensive over another human being. How dare a heartless stranger ignore somebody else's suffering just because she was well known? Could he not see that she was upset? He then did something even stranger; he acted on his new found feeling. Striding down the steps, past the weeping Grace, he stopped a few feet in front of her and only looked at the sleazy man. The photographer continued jogging towards them, shouting, "Don't think I won't punch you to get a picture." Bucky raised an eyebrow, internally sniggering at the man's ignorance. Oh this would be too easy. The photographer got to Bucky and said slyly, "Move out the way buddy, you know she can't hide f…" the guy didn't have any time to finish his sentence, for Bucky had lifted him by his neck with his left arm and chucked him ten feet away, causing him to splutter and scarper away in fear. Bucky's lip turned up slightly and turned his attention back to the girl. She was still sitting in a ball, but had stopped crying. She was staring at Bucky with a mixture of horror and amusement over her face. It was as if she didn't know whether to run screaming, or laugh. In the end, she went for, "you didn't have to do that, they'll be after you next now, and they never give up on people with a history like us." It was Bucky's turn to be confused now. Wait; did she know who he was? She started walking towards him down the stairs. "Don't worry, I recognised you by your memorial. Bucky Barnes, the great friend of Steve Rogers, or rather the winter soldier as you're better known now." She was now standing right in front of him without any fear in her eyes. Just curiosity and lifelessness. This caused Bucky to really freak out. Somebody knew exactly who he was and wasn't afraid nor begging to be friends again with him. He decided to talk back with, "And you are Grace Carter, daughter of my supposedly best friend's girlfriend who has recently passed away. I'm very sorry by the way." Grace sighed. "It's ok; I knew she wasn't going to last much longer, I'm just glad Steve went to see her before it happened. It's the heartless media that set me off. What I want to know is why you are here, though I have a rough idea why." Bucky closed his eyes, trying to take in the fact he was feeling almost human talking to Grace. "After I felt the need to save the man I was meant to kill, I felt old memories coming back to me in my sleep. I want to find triggers that could help me find my mind again. It's awful. I wish I had died when that memorial said I did. I feel as though I did and now I'm just a ghost, wandering about with no purpose in life. I would give anything to go back and be the guy I used to be." Grace pursed her lips and took a deep breath. "Well, if it helps, I no longer have anybody in this world since grandmamma left me; you still have Steve who is still looking for you." Bucky shook his head, "That man is the reason I am the man I am right now, I should be dead, or brain washed again. At least I would have a purpose. I don't want anything to do with him."
"In that case, we are both pretty much alone then" Grace replied. Turning her head, she saw a little quiet café across the street. Turning back to Bucky, she asked, "I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about, fancy talking over a coffee?" Bucky raised his brow, but nodded anyway. He knew the last thing to do was to endanger another innocent person, but Grace was the only one who wouldn't look at him in horror and alarm, even without his arm on show, and although he wouldn't admit it to himself, he felt his heart miss a beat or two when she smiled slightly at his silent reply. Walking towards the café, Bucky asked casually, "What does the world have a right to know about you by the way?" Grace suddenly smirked and without looking at him said," Oh, ever since Steve came back and the world found out he was my grandmothers boyfriend, they want to know if he's my grandfather, even though he's only 26 and I'm 23. Pretty funny huh if it were true?" Bucky suddenly spluttered with laughter at the thought. Then realised it may well could be true. This would be a very interesting conversation they were going to have indeed.