"One is never afraid of the unknown; one is afraid of the known coming to an end."

― Jiddu Krishnamurti

Much like the man he had encountered before, her face brought with it something that felt akin to familiarity, she was something. Right now that was better than nothing, the isolation he had confined himself to for the sake of self-discovery had brought with it more questions than answers. Within his mind he could feel the shock waves of revelation pull, rip and claw, tugging at every string of knowledge he possessed with a brute force that held no mercy. The fabric of what had once been his solid reality was now a violent war of contradictions, second guesses and hidden intel. Everything was not as it had once appeared. She and that man had become an integral part of that, a switch that had triggered a continuing implosion that seemed to cause an endless ongoing ream of repercussions.

The collapse of the organisation that had once been the main component of his being had left him freelance with an empty space where once before missions and assignments had belonged. His purpose was an unknown entity, an entire skill set abandoned within the mundane, whilst he was tormented by the shards of a fractured identity. Every slice he had uncovered revealed so much but also so little, a simultaneous surge of answers and even more questions.

The man who had started it all, from the broken but gentle expression of recognition he had initially worn to the pleading words that had spilled with such desperation from his lips,

You know me

You've known me your whole life

I'm not gunna fight you.

You're my friend

I'm with you till the end of the line

The certainty that ran through each word had blunted every single assumption that it was all lies, all a ploy to try and weaken his resolve. It wasn't. This revelation had in itself opened his eyes to the possibility that he was so much more, much more than just a soldier and assassin; he was a man, a friend, a someone. The name given to him by this man echoed within his mind, its letters seemingly slotting perfectly into place:

James Buchanan Barnes

Further investigation found it to indeed be the truth, his friendship with the famed and idolised Captain America had been one known to the world over. Many pieces of footage and photographs picturing the relationship that once was adorned numerous history books and prominently occupied the core of the Smithsonian exhibit. Childhood friends Steve Rogers and James 'Bucky' Barnes had been inseparable an ever present constant and dependent throughout their lives until 1944. Until now.

Her face however had been decidedly missing, no photos and no words of decided fact categorising her part within this story, this life. She much like him had been an unknown, his avoidance of the latter had brought him to her, a bizarre twist of fate if it was to be believed. Simultaneously he was running from the truth whilst also earnestly trying to seek it, in what could only be described as a severely warped juxtaposition.

Walking along the street, yet another country he had decided to reside, the crisp wind whipped and whirled, snapping at the hem of his jacket in a desperate bid to be let in. The cold was something he could no longer feel but the constant barrage of bluster had become an irritable annoyance in itself. The greying clouds above seemed to recognise his aggravation and with much pleasure released a torrent of rain.

Deduction told him that coming around the corner was to be a woman of petite build, 5ft 2 inches in height to be precise, she held no threat in fact if her movements were anything to indicate she was flustered... exasperated. Moving to the outside of the pavement, he made a path of which he predicted the young woman would take, although her predictability came to an abrupt stop as she turned his way. In her hands she battled with an umbrella, it's crooked and fragile metal branches splayed out in the wind in a manner that was entirely unhelpful. Her dark tresses had mussed together as they ran wild within the vivacious bluster, flicking and jabbing at her features in a way that further spurned her words of fury. Amidst the breeze he could distinctly pick out her muttered remarks of resentment, directed solely towards an inanimate object that felt nothing for its useless occupation. As he continued to stride around her, in some sudden movement coaxed by her current fight, she managed to fall against his chest. Immediately a stream of apologies came forth, the clear inflection of her voice expressed a sincerity and politeness that seemed abundant in this country. Apparently here it was a custom to apologise for everything and anything, no matter the cause or purpose. However his notice for such observations was dispelled of the second his gaze sought her face, her dark and glistening eyes enraptured in a state of awe he was certain he had seen before. The crimson blush that embellished her cheeks in that instant brought back a flash of something; lips, touch, tears, words,

Keep safe

Come back

I promise

The nature of how her lips curved just so when she smiled was followed swiftly by two dimples that dented her cheeks in a manner that he recognised with an alarming clarity. He knew her.

He had nodded his head in acknowledgement before he continued to walk on, the image of her emblazoned within his mind; another piece of the puzzle that had at long last been released to him. Their encounter had much like Captain Rogers before, opened up a whole entire chapter that had once been so lost, now it bubbled and brewed tearing through the tangled mess of threads that he was fighting so hard to understand. The contrast of their significance and presence made for a rather interesting prose of analysis, Captain Rogers had been notable company, one of which had been accounted for by others in detail. She on the other hand seemed to be lost to obscurity, left in a moment that time forgot, isolated and alone she was seemingly unknown to all. Her seclusion and unique fashion immediately tied himself to her in a unity that brought with it some discomfort, although simultaneously he yearned for it too, yearned to belong to something, someone, somewhere. That was familiar.

This was not to say the connection between Captain Rogers and James Barnes was any less, no both were independently different, a fact that seemingly provided more confusion than conclusions. The information regarding him and Captain Rogers had been a large eye opener, one of which had sent him on this journey in the first place. On the discovery of her he had hoped that he would equally find out more about the man he had once been, the man she had known but there he had been left empty handed.

He could easily track her, discover what he could and fathom an image of the James Buchanan Barnes pre-1944, but he was starting to realise that the stark truth of the past weighed heavier when dealt into the present. Already he was laden down with so many questions and theories that seemed to be multiplying by the second. The weight of more, the load that she may pass to him was to be a hindrance that his current situation could not afford, to be further compromised was not an option. Already it had gone too far; no longer was he James Buchanan Barnes nor the Winter Soldier, now he was something entirely different. With every new piece of information, a rupture of broken memories would tear through his mind, prising apart his hold on to the certain reality that had been his. She had been something, he had been something but now they were nothing and that for now was a certainty he could keep. He needed that.