Coda.

Set five years after the events of 'There's Nobody Praying For Me', Bucky is back in Washington and someone is on his mind. This is something i've been toying with since finishing the previous fic. It's AU, non IW compliant, post CA:CW, just an idea i'm exploring. All errors are my own and unintentional, i'm just here to tell a story. All Marvel Characters belong to the relevant people. The OC's are my own. Would love to hear your thoughts.

Coda: A conclusion, an ending to a story.

Chapter One:

He's quiet as the jet makes a text book landing. Doesn't say a word as eventually they're cleared to disembark. They leave the warm interior, emerging into the cooler night air and head down the steps onto the deserted landing strip. They're all tired; needing to sleep and recuperate and they have the use of the Avengers complex in Washington to do so. Barring a catastrophe, they have a seven day furlough owed to them and they intend to collect.

Sam and Steve exchange a single look at Bucky's silence. They should be used to it, he isn't the most talkative of souls these days. Steve remembers a different story before the super serum, before the Winter Soldier. Back then James Buchanan Barnes could charm the birds from the trees with just a few honey sweet words, an easy smile and a twinkle in those blue grey eyes of his. Girls adored him in those days and he adored them right back, constantly falling in love, always convinced that this girl was 'the one' for him. Then the Second World War happened and that easy going Romeo was replaced with the man he now knows; hollowed out and haunted. These days the smile doesn't come as easily and the charm is sparse. So much has been stolen from him in the intervening years so they should be used to this, this monosyllabic existence but this deep silence is unusual, even for Bucky.

Right now he's staring out of the rear passenger seat window of the SUV, looking out at the passing navy blue silhouetted cityscape on their way to the Washington complex but not really taking any of it in. Steve wishes he knew what was going through his friend's mind right now.

"You okay Buck?" he asks anyway.

Bucky turns his head and looks at him, smiles faintly.

"Fine." His voice is quiet. He turns his head back to look out of the window again and he's lost him once more.

Then Steve remembers, it's the first time he's been back in Washington since the events of Project Insight, since Pierce died, since Alex Wells offered him a place of safety. Maybe it's bringing back unhappy memories.

Or maybe he's just tired.

It's late when the complex comes into view, a building similar in design to the one in upstate New York, built on the same specs, just a little bit smaller in size. They've been informed that they have free run of the place for the next week, no one else is expected and they won't be disturbed unless they're called in. The atmosphere is heavy as the vehicle pulls up outside of the main door and one by one they disembark. Bucky stands still in the driveway, adjusting the weight of his backpack slung over one shoulder, his left hand gripping the handle of his overnight bag a little tighter and he looks up at the building. It'll have all of the mod cons of this century, all kinds of technology, top of the range gym and pool, luxurious rooms. Nothing will have been overlooked or forgotten about. He has a room at the New York complex so if this one is just the same as he's been told, he'll be familiar with the layout.

They gain access, stepping into the airy lobby area and for a few moments the three of them stare about themselves, taking in their surroundings. The property is subtly lit, warm and welcoming. The kitchen will be fully stocked, the pool heated to the optimum temperature for when they want, Netflix cued up and ready alongside an infinite movie library and sports channels available at their fingertips. They should be used to the luxury, that being a Stark property it will be top of the range but given that two of them are chronologically over a century old, it still has the ability to dumbfound.

"I don't know about you guys but I'm beat, gonna hit the sack," Sam tells them. Bucky remains in the foyer with Steve and looks up at the impossibly high ceilings, the glass and concrete walls, the sparse decoration and he then glances at his best friend.

"Night," Steve calls after Sam and receives a wave as the other man heads away.

"I'm gonna try and get some sleep too," Bucky adds and watches as Steve looks at him.

"It's been a long day, you sure you don't want to grab something to eat first?" Steve enquires and Bucky shakes his head, weariness pressing down on him. He wants to shower, decompress and hopefully sleep. The thought of food doesn't appeal right now.

Steve tilts his head to one side as he regards him.

"You sure you're okay pal? I know Washington brings back a few not so good memories for you…"

Bucky's answering smile is faint.

"I'm fine, really and to be honest, while it wasn't a walk in the park, not all of it was bad."

Steve's expression lightens slightly in understanding.

"You mean Alex? The doctor?"

Bucky just shrugs. He knows Steve and Sam went to see her a month after he'd left.

"You ever wonder whether she's still there?"

"Sometimes," Bucky confesses.

He ignores the voice at the back of his mind that taunts 'How about pretty much all the damn time?'

A voice that has steadily got louder and more intrusive since returning to Washington.

"Maybe you should call by the bar and find out?" Steve suggests with a smile and Bucky rolls his eyes at the idea.

"Why? It's been five years, if she's still there then she probably won't even remember me," he replies with a shake of his head. Truth is, he doesn't know how he'd react if she isn't there anymore.

"You won't know unless you go," Steve tells him with a shrug.

"I dunno if I want to," he sighs. Liar, his annoying inner voice continues, "Right now I just want to take a shower and get some sleep."

Steve regards him knowingly before he quietly sighs.

"Okay Buck. Night."

"G'night."

The room that he's chosen is massive, all the rooms at this place are the size of a warehouse. Apparently being an Avenger means needing lots of space. He still isn't comfortable with that job description, he doesn't feel like an Avenger or even a hero, right now he just feels exhausted. He drops his overnight bag and the backpack on the bottom of his bed and unzips them, taking out clean clothes, toiletries, another pair of shoes. He then takes out his latest notebook, almost brand new. He has a dozen more like this one, locked away at the New York complex, returned to him after the events of Bucharest, Berlin, Leipzig, Siberia. Wakanda. He has no doubt that they will have been read, examined and analysed, hoping to find deep secrets and plans for world domination when in truth all they hold are fragments; memories, thoughts, impressions and feelings about himself, people and his past such as it is. He holds this one in his hand and unhooks the elastic band that keeps the pages together and he slowly opens it. His writing isn't so jagged in this book. The first two or three are chaotic, filled with his confusion, his disconnection and his fear. Trying to remember his life before Hydra, before the electro-shock, before the metal arm. It's been difficult but parts of it has been slowly filtering back.

Steve has helped sometimes when Bucky has felt comfortable enough sharing the pages with him, confirming snatches of memories as fact, talking him through each one with a patience and understanding that Bucky finds gratifying. It all began when Bucky told him his mother's name in that abandoned garage in Berlin.

'Which Bucky am I talkin' to?'

Ignores the throb of pain at his temple as through the familiar static he sees blonde hair and blue eyes the colour of cornflowers. The memory makes him slowly smile.

'Your mom's name was Sarah.' Another memory, of a small skinny kid, all cheekbones, washed out pale skin and a head too big for his scrawny neck. Glances up at him, recognises the same kid but somewhat taller and more filled out. 'You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.'

Remembers the look on Steve's face and feeling as if he'd passed an important test. He remembers Sarah Rogers' kind blue eyes, her somewhat tired smile and the fact that she loved her only child fiercely and absolutely. In return during their stay in Wakanda, Steve told him that his mom was called Katherine, that she was of tough Irish ancestry, headstrong and not afraid to stand her ground for something she believed in and when she loved, she loved with completion and conviction. If Katherine Barnes liked you then you knew about it, if she didn't, then you knew about that too. Steve also told him that she's who he gets his blue eyes from, that the kids on the street used to tease him about it, calling him Bucky Blue Eyes which he always hated. He still can't recall his mother's face readily to his fractured memory but sometimes he hears a woman's voice chastising him about feet on a couch and when he hears it he feels a flash of something akin to familiarity and affection but he wishes he could remember what she looked like more clearly. He wishes that he had a photograph or something to relate to. He huffs out a sigh and closes the book, looping back the elastic to keep it secure and drops it into his backpack. Maybe he'll find some time tomorrow to write something down.

His whole body is shrouded with exhaustion, all he wants to do right at this moment is shower and sleep the clock around. He can't remember the last time he did that, fall face down on the mattress and just fade away for that amount of time and wake up the next morning refreshed. He doesn't remember if he ever did, maybe once upon a time. Right now it doesn't feel like it.

Nightmares still have the tendency to plague his sleep. He's become used to the exhaustion that's taken up permanent residence behind his eyes.

The shower is hot, welcoming and as he stands, hands braced on the tiled wall in front of him beneath the jets feeling the hot water pummel the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades, his mind goes back to another shower in another place. This one over a white tub, his brain still scrambled, still recovering from the events of Project Insight, coming down from the benzos Pierce and his crew liked to pump him full of prior to each mind wipe. Remembers a girl with blonde hair, a kind smile and big blue eyes. Can't and won't forget even then the tiny source of peace she offered him. At his worst times since then he's gone back in his mind to that, to that smile especially and taken a little bit of much needed comfort from it.

What he went through still gives him nightmares; he's lost count how many times he's woken up, sheets tangled around his legs, soaked with sweat, confused and terrified by the wraithlike images wrapped around his brain. How many times he's come to in the opposite corner to his bed, with Steve in front of him, watching him with wary worried eyes. How many times has he gone back to sleep with his best friend folded up on a chair by his bedside? Too many to count. He takes a breath and rinses off the soap that covers his body then switches off the jet, stepping out, reaching for a towel. He hates it when that happens, hates especially seeing the look in Steve's eyes; sympathy, understanding and maybe sometimes even pity. He can maybe understand most of it but he can't stomach the pity.

He sighs loudly, irritably. The more tired he is, the worse his introspection becomes. The more tired he is, the worse his damn nightmares become.

He wanders back into the bedroom, dries himself down, rubs a towel over his hair and contemplates cutting it again. He contemplates it often but so far has never carried it through. Pulls on a pair of shorts and climbs into bed, throwing all but one of the variety of pillows onto the floor, lies on his stomach and rests his head on just the one, curls his left arm around it and closes his eyes. He wills himself to relax, to soften his muscles, sigh out his tension and absorb the silence that slips over him and to allow himself drift off into slumber.

But sleep is frustratingly scarce despite his exhaustion; sometimes his brain just doesn't know when to switch off fully and as a result he's awake with the sunrise head foggy with half remembered dreams and pictures but at least he came to in his own bed and alone so that was a bonus. He washes, brushes his teeth and dresses in jeans and a t-shirt and heads to the kitchen and makes himself a simple solitary breakfast of tea, toast and eggs. He balances the plate on one hand as he eats standing beside the sink, staring blankly at the vista being slowly revealed to him by the encroaching dawn and he listens to the quiet.

When Sam and Steve come downstairs a few hours later, they see the upside down cup on the drainer, the cleaned plate and fork beside it. Of Bucky there's no sign.

"Where do you think he's gone?" Sam asks Steve who stares at the flatware pensively.

"I don't know for sure but I think I have an idea."

"You gonna chase him up?"

Steve looks at him and sees his curiosity. "And do what? He'll be fine, he'll have his cell if we need to contact him."

Sam rolls his eyes. "If he chooses to answer it maybe," he grumbles. Steve just shrugs. Bucky can be contrary at times, choosing to ignore his phone if the mood takes him. There have been times when they've been on the verge of sending out a search party for him only to have him to return calmly claiming he just needed some head space, completely unperturbed by the Defcon One level of worry he's caused them.

Steve also notices the tea cup on the drainer. This is a relatively new development with Bucky. In the old days, the blacker the coffee, the happier the man but now he's noticed that he tends to drink tea once in a while, won't really go into why, apart from telling him that he likes the taste. Perhaps it's an unconscious connection to his mother but somehow he doesn't think so. Since coming back into the fold he's seen him during down times with a tea cup resting beside him as he quietly flipped through the pages of a book or a newspaper. It's a rare moment of calm and contemplation for the Winter Soldier, a side to him that Steve rarely gets to see any more.

He flicks a look back at Sam.

"He's on furlough, if he wants to unplug, literally, then let him. I think I know where he's gone and if he's not there, he'll be back by night fall."

"Old habits?"

Once more Steve shrugs but this time his smile is more enigmatic.

Bucky is standing outside of the building, staring up at the sign. It still has the same name, CeeGee's after Callum Green, the guy who runs the place. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket and quietly sighs, rocking back on his heels a little, contemplating whether to go on inside, see if she's still there. Or has she moved on, it's what people do over time, God knows he has.

He's careful to stay out of the way, out of habit he stays out of sight. He's not quite ready to see her and he doesn't know how he'll react if she shows up here unannounced. He might very well just walk away. As it is, nerves are using his stomach as their very own trampoline and that annoys him on a whole different level because he doesn't get nervous, quiet maybe but never nervous.

He looks up at the sky, at the thick grey clouds that hover ominously. Looks like it's going to rain. It was raining the day he first laid eyes on Alex looking down at him lying in the alley, exhausted and confused. He looks back at the front of the building and he contemplates going around to the rear exit instead. He can see people moving around inside. He watches them for a long moment before he takes a slow deep breath. He's spent the morning just wandering around the city, pretending to be a tourist, trying to talk himself out of seeing her without success because while he's here, he really wants to see her again even if it's just once but he's a little bit scared.

It's close to noon, the lunch crowd will be appearing shortly. Perhaps he can wander in, take in the lie of the land and if she's not there then he can turn around and walk out again. No harm, no foul.

"Damn it," he whispers to himself and begins to head for the entrance, heart thumping in his chest so loudly that he's sure everyone can hear it.

Apprehension snakes down his spine as he goes inside. The first thing he hears is the sound of the jukebox, playing something he still doesn't recognise. He ignores it, feeling his heart still pulsing in his chest, eyes searching her out. What if she isn't here anymore? What if she's moved on and nobody knows where to? What will he do then?

He pulls off the ball cap he's been wearing and pulls the fingers of his right hand through his hair as his eyes take in his surroundings, shoving the cap into his jacket pocket.

The interior is still the same, the same oval shaped bar in the centre of the large space, the same set up of tables and chairs dotted around it like satellites, a few of them occupied by customers. He sees someone come around the bar, in his direction and recognises Callum. He feels a flicker of relief that he's still here at least, if she isn't here, surely Callum will know where she is. His resemblance to Steve, as he now realises, is marked. No wonder he'd mistaken him for his best friend five years ago only back then his glitch brain wasn't sure. He keeps his hands in his pockets and slowly approaches the bar as Callum sees him and more importantly, recognises him. He sees his eyes widen in surprise.

"Bucky?" he breathes in astonishment as he watches him move closer to the bar. He then slowly shakes his head as if in disbelief.

"Well you're a face I certainly didn't expect to see again any time soon," he comments once Bucky is within hearing range.

"Hey Callum," he replies in a low voice. The other man slowly takes him in.

"You look good, a lot better than the last time," he tells him. Bucky slowly shrugs.

"How are you doing? You wanna beer?"

Bucky's eyes scan the array of bottles behind him.

"Single bourbon. Neat. No ice," he replies and sees how Callum's eyebrows rise marginally at his request. He's learned a few things about himself in the intervening years. Namely that while he enjoys a beer or two when the mood suits him, his poison of choice is neat bourbon, the older the better. His eyes scan the faces as Callum gets him his drink and when he returns, he fishes a bill out of the front pocket of his jeans and passes it over to him.

"You're looking for Alex." It isn't even a question.

"Is she…is she here?" All of a sudden he feels like a callow youth with his first crush; his throat feels dry and he finds it hard to get his words out. Callum regards him for a moment as he hands him his change. Bucky doesn't even check it, just shoves it back into the front pocket of his jeans.

"Yeah, she's here," he answers. Bucky feels sweet relief flood through him.

"Is she busy?" It doesn't occur to him til then that she might be helping someone who needs it. Callum just shakes his head.

"No, not with that. She's around, probably in the kitchen if you want to head on through."

Bucky pauses. "You sure?"

Callum shrugs. "Yeah. She'll be glad to see you I think. Go on, you know the way." He watches as Bucky downs his bourbon in one swallow and places the glass on the bar surface. Sees how he takes a step back, unconsciously straightens his spine and heads to the kitchen.

Bucky's heart resumes its pounding as he heads into the kitchen area. Remembers sitting at the large table while she heated up some soup. He was so addled back then he barely remembered his name and in pain from a dislocated shoulder. Would she welcome seeing him again given how he left her?

She's at the sink. His step falters for a moment as he's presented with her back. She's washing dishes of some description. Don't they have a dishwasher here? They have machines for everything these days it seems.

"I know…I know… it's gettin' busy, just gimme another minute," she calls, obviously hearing his footsteps. For a moment he just drinks in the sight of her, unable to think coherently. He's thought about her for so long, so often that now he's actually here, he doesn't know what to say to her without sounding like a complete idiot.

"Hey Alex."