Steve always begins at the World War II memorial, when the sun is beginning to paint the sky pink and the traffic on 17th Street is starting to pick up. Sometimes he stands vigil by entrance, keeping an eye out for anyone lingering too long before the panels representing the Atlantic front. But on most days he chooses a spot underneath the bronze sculpture in the Atlantic Pavilion, in the shadow of the pillars, where the view allows him to survey the area for any sign of dark hair.
His next destination changes. Some days he strolls along the south side of the Reflecting Pool, searching through the trees for the steel figures on their never-ending patrol. Other times Steve heads north, to a wall of black granite sunk deep into the ground. He's been to these places, monuments to some of humanity's darkest days and brightest hopes, enough times that he's come to recognize a few faces (though not the one he truly wants to see).
The figure reflected on the polished black surface in front of him, however, is one that he hasn't expected to ever see here.
"Do you really think Barnes is just going to show up?" Natasha asks as she pauses beside him. Steve reads the name etched on the Wall one more time â so that he can find his place later â before answering.
"Maybe. If some of his memories come back, he might decide to come here." Steve lets out a deep sigh, shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I know what you're thinking. It's useless. A waste of my time. But I can'tâ"
He lowers his head. The bitter taste of grief and regret at the back of his throat threatens to choke him but he swallows it down. He can't afford the distraction, not when he still has one more mission to complete. Breathing in deeply, he turns his attention back to the names. "I'm not giving up on Bucky. I'm going to find him. No matter what it takes."
After several minutes of silence Natasha lays a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it. Staring ahead, Steve watches her reflection grow smaller as she walks away.
The next day finds him sitting on the bench by the Atlantic Pavilion, watching the sunlight turn the waters in the pool a shimmering blue. He's about to move on when he hears someone approaching. He lifts his eyes and finds Natasha standing in front of him, two steaming paper cups in her hands.
"Mind if I join you?"
He could turn her down. This isn't anyone else's burden but his. But her offer is sincere, and if he's honest with himself, too difficult to resist.
"I'm not going to say no to coffee," he says, indicating the place beside him with a short tilt of his head.
Her smile lighting up her face, Natasha hands him a cup before taking the spot next to him.