The small, rural town in upstate New York was just what he needed. There weren't too many people; he would be left alone. It was quiet, the buzzing streets and blaring horns left far behind him. He needed the quiet. The bustling city of New York was too much for him to handle; this isolation was a balm on his worn nerves. He still didn't know who he was. He didn't know much of anything, really, and he needed to decompress. Here, he could wander for days and not be found. There were few prying eyes.
Steve Rogers. The name meant something to him, he thought, but he didn't feel anything when he thought about the name aside from an uncomfortable lurch in his gut. He hadn't spent long at the Smithsonian; just long enough to read up on the exhibit, which had only made things more jumbled in his head, so he had left it far behind. He just needed to get oriented; he needed time, but he didn't know what to do. He had never been awake this long. He had never been on his own this long, without someone watching over him, giving him orders.
Before, every aspect of his life had been mapped out; he had lived on a strict schedule whenever he was awake. That structure was gone, now, and he wasn't quite sure what, exactly, to do. He knew that he was hungry, but before he had only ever been fed through tubes and occasional MREs when out on a mission, and he didn't have any of those now. His body was growing fatigued, and he wasn't used to it; he had never felt this before, never felt weak or tired. This was something new to him.
He had wandered into a park and sat on a bench. There were a few people around, more than he had seen since coming here. Some walked their dogs, others walked with children, some were lovers who strolled past him. All of them ignored him, like he made them uncomfortable; they avoided eye contact, which was just fine by him. He was confused, then, when one couple came by and offered him some loose change; he had just stared up at them, without speaking, until they left it on the bench beside him and hurried away. He had picked the change up and pocketed it a while later.
Presently, he sat in that same spot; he hadn't moved all day, and it was getting later. The air was growing cool and crisp, tangling in his greasy, unwashed hair, mostly stuffed up in a ball cap. His beard itched; he couldn't remember it having ever gotten this long, but that wasn't saying much. He couldn't remember much of anything past a few weeks ago.
He noticed the little girl as soon as she entered his field of vision, so her presence itself didn't startle him. What caught him off guard, however, was the child's watchful eyes, the way she tilted her head at him a little as she came closer, watching his face; were children normally so observant? He wasn't worried; his metal hand was stuffed in his pocket, as it was a pretty big indicator of who he was—not that he knew, himself, but he felt it best to hide that. The girl came closer, and he expected her to walk past him the same way everyone else had, but she didn't.
It was the first time she had surprised him.
She came right up and sat on the bench beside him, pulling her backpack onto her lap, swinging her legs. He avoided looking at her—she was really of no interest to him—but he felt her eyes on him. Still, he ignored her.
"Hi," she finally said. He didn't respond. He didn't move an inch. She kept watching him, and after a few moments, she said: "I'm Daisy." She seemed to wait expectantly for him to respond, but he didn't. He wouldn't. He wasn't even sure if he could. Finally, she sighed, still kicking her legs.
"That's okay," she said. "You don't have to tell me your name. I already know who you are." At this, he finally looked at her, and when she looked at his face she giggled. He didn't know what was funny, but she was still giggling. It made him uncomfortable. His eyebrows drew down and she smiled sweetly at him.
"It's okay," she said, lowering her voice to a conspirator's whisper. "I won't tell anyone."
"You—know me?" His voice came out a croak from lack of use. He was confused. Did he know her? How did he know her? Who was she?
"Of course," she said brightly. But then she tilted her head slightly, a slight pout taking over her lips. "You're Bucky Barnes, right?"
He flinched. There it was again, that name. It made his head hurt. Who was Bucky?
"I—I don't know," he said lowly, and she giggled again.
"That's silly," she said. She scooted closer, peering into his face, and he drew back. "Yep, it's you," she said. "You have a beard now, but I know it's you." She seemed proud. "You were always my favorite."
Her favorite? Her favorite what?
"How—how do you know me?"
"School," she chirped matter-of-factly, going back to swinging her legs. "Everyone learns about you. You and Captain America, but I always liked you best. Jordan always wants to be Captain America on the playground, but not me. I'm always you." She smiled at him again. The name, Captain America, there it was again. He knew that he knew him. He knew they had been friends. He knew the facts, but anything deeper than that…
"And right now you're on TV," she blabbered on. "Everyone's looking for you. They say you're bad." She looked at him, her eyes darker now, and she looked mildly upset. He swallowed. Who was looking for him? Hydra, no doubt. "But it's not true, what they say," she said, looking at him intently. "You're Captain America's best friend, so you can't be bad. Right?"
"I—I don't know."
She just shrugged. Then she wrinkled her nose. "Why are you so smelly? Why is your face so hairy?" He didn't know how to answer her questions, so he just stared at her, trying to make some sense out of what she had been telling him. She had learned about him in school? What had she learned? She started giggling again, tilting her head back a little. "You have a funny face," she said. "You're weird."
"Why did you learn about me?"
"Because," she said, rolling her eyes. "You're a hero! Or you were, before."
"Before what?"
"Don't you know anything?" She asked, raising one eyebrow. He shook his head, wondering why he was even still talking to her. She heaved a great sigh. "I can bring you one of my books," she said eagerly. "I have a lot of them."
"Books?"
"Yeah," she said. "I love books. They're about you."
She had books about him? Part of him was eager, part of him craved the information he might find, and he found himself nodding.
"Are you okay?" Her voice was suspicious now. He wasn't sure if he was or not, so he didn't respond. "Are you lost?" Again, he didn't respond, and her chin jutted out and she looked frustrated. She crossed her arms. "It's rude to not answer, you know."
He gave her an odd look. She had no idea who she was speaking to. There she was, an innocent-looking little girl with big brown eyes and long brown hair, sitting next to Hydra's greatest weapon, chastising him for being rude.
"You should leave," he told her suddenly.
"Why?"
"Because," he said. "I—I'm bad."
"No you're not," she said lightly. She had dimples when she smiled. His stomach growled loudly and she looked startled, her brown eyes going wide, and then she burst into a fit of giggles. He didn't understand what was so funny, but when she looked at his face she laughed a little more. It took her a few minutes to calm down.
"Someone's hungry," she said. Then she was digging through her backpack. She pulled out a little baggie, and inside of it was half of a limp-looking blob of something. She handed it to him and he stared at it as she watched him intently. Finally, he just looked at her.
"It's peanut butter and jelly," she said. "It's my favorite. My sister, Pet, she makes the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I've ever had, and I've had a lot. I think it's because she makes them with grape jelly. Do you like grape jelly?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know anything," she mumbled. "It's okay, you can have it, I ate the other half at lunch. Try it! It's good, I promise."
His stomach growled again and he pulled the sticky sandwich out. He stared at it and sniffed it and she giggled. "It's not poison," she laughed, and finally he took a bite. It wasn't like anything he could remember having tried before. It was strange, sweet and sticky, and he found himself wrinkling his nose as she offered him an unopened bottle of water. He washed it down. It was good, he supposed.
"Go ahead and finish," she said, smiling widely. She jumped up from her spot beside him, slinging her sparkly backpack over her shoulder. "I should go," she said. "I'll bring you the books tomorrow, okay?"
He was shaking his head. "Don't come back."
"Why not?" she looked hurt.
"I'm bad," he said. "I don't remember, but I know I'm bad."
"You're not," she said. "I'll help you remember. I did two reports on you last year!" She looked so proud. "I'll come right back here tomorrow, okay? I'll give you the books."
"Don't—" he hesitated. He wanted that information so badly. "Don't—tell anyone," he amended.
"Are you hiding?" He nodded stiffly. "Secret spy stuff, right? Okay, I won't tell." She waved happily at him, then. "Bye, Bucky!" She sang, and he flinched at the name and she hurried off, leaving him behind with the meager sandwich and the water bottle.
It was the next morning, and Pet had overslept. She was darting frantically around the kitchen while Daisy sat at the table, waiting patiently, hands folded, her backpack strapped over the back of the chair. The toast was burning, she could smell it. She spun around and popped it out, slathering it with butter too roughly, so the bread bunched and rolled beneath the knife.
"Crap," she said.
"It's okay!" Daisy said. "I like it like that!"
"No, you don't," Pet muttered, throwing it away and trying again. Then she remembered the eggs. She seized them off the fire and hurried over to Daisy, dumping them on her plate.
"Don't you want any?"
"No, no, no," Pet said hurriedly. "All for you, princess."
This time, she snatched the toast before it burned and plopped it on Daisy's plate, but she didn't realize until Daisy had taken a bite that she had forgotten the butter, so she stole it back, buttered it, and handed it back to her sister, who was smiling.
"Lunch," Pet said, wiping her hands. She grabbed the turkey from the fridge and piled it on the bread, adding mayonnaise and mustard, cutting off the crusts and slicing it diagonally because Daisy would only eat it if it was cut diagonally.
"Pet?" Daisy called from the table.
"What's up?" she asked, trying her best not to seem distracted, but she was, oh, she was losing her mind this morning. She was already late for work. Daisy couldn't be late for school, not again, not twice in the same week. Pet couldn't do another talk with that awful teacher, she just couldn't.
"Do you think I could have two sandwiches today?"
Pet stopped. "Two?" she asked. "Ay, cariña, you never even finish one sandwich."
"I made a new friend," Daisy said, and this caught Pet's attention. This was news. Daisy had trouble making friends. She was smart, so smart, and she was sweet, and she had a good heart, but she just had trouble in the whole friend area.
"A new friend? Who?"
"Just a boy," Daisy said. "He doesn't have a lot—yesterday he was hungry and he didn't have lunch, so I thought I could bring extra today. Just in case."
Two it is, Pet thought. "What's his name?"
"James," Daisy said.
"Is he in your class?"
"No," Daisy replied as Pet finished the sandwich. She grabbed two separate brown bags, wrote Daisy on one and James on the other, then filled them and carried them over to Daisy's backpack.
"Listen to me, Daisy," Pet said. "This is very important. I made you two lunches, okay? Only give one to James if he doesn't have anything. Don't offer it to him. This is very important. You don't want to hurt his feelings."
"Okay," Daisy chirped, and Pet dropped to one knee and looked her in the eyes.
"Repeat what I said, Daisy, it's important."
"Only give James his lunch if he doesn't have one," she said. "Don't offer."
"Very good," Pet said, kissing her forehead. "You ready to go, princess?"
Daisy took a huge bite of her bread, filled her mouth with orange juice, and nodded, her cheeks bulging.
"Chew your food, please," Pet sighed, and Daisy swallowed and giggled. Now that Pet thought about it, Daisy did seem to be in a better mood than she normally was, going to school. "Grab your backpack. Got your homework? Got your key?"
"Yes and yes," Daisy sang.
"Alright, to the car!" Pet cried, pretending to race her squealing sister to the car. They piled in. Fifteen minutes late for work, Pet thought with a grimace as she backed out of the driveway. But there was still time to get Daisy to school, which, thankfully, was only just down the road. Daisy sang along to the radio as they drove, and Pet was still stressed, her mind rushing around.
Three years, she thought, and sometimes it seemed like she wasn't getting any better at this parenting thing. They made it to school just in time and Daisy went off, running to her class. Pet noticed one of the office aids, and they locked eyes before the older woman just shook her head. Apparently, she thought darkly, other people also had noticed she wasn't improving, much. But this was all they knew—they'd never even met their parents; they'd died when Daisy was four, just in time for kindergarten to start. They should have been used to this by now.
"Breathe, Pet, breathe," she urged herself. The veterinary clinic was only five minutes away, if she broke the speed limit, which she fully intended to do. It could be worse. Things would be okay—it was just a rough morning. But she had the distinct feeling that this was just a warning, and that the day would not be improving any time soon.
AN: Let me know what you think? Just so you know, cariña, in Spanish, means darling/dear/sweetheart, etc. I'm really excited about the amount of reviews chapter 1 got, so let's, keep that going! Looking forward to hearing from you!
