Bucky's POV this time. It'll become clearer once you read, but this is not set in the present. Enjoy!


How happy is the blameless vestal's lot

The world forgetting, by the world forgot

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd.

- Alexander Pope, Eloisa to Abelard.

They're standing on a dark and silent rooftop, shoulders hunched over rifle scopes.

"Take a deep breath. Let your mind go empty," he tells her. "Pulling the trigger should be as easy as exhaling."

He watches as she lines up the target. Her hair hangs around her face, and he can make out the colour even on this moonless night. Fire.

"That's it," he says once her aim is perfect. "Let it go."

"Let it go," she echoes.

She takes a breath. He's intensely aware of her every little movement, graceful and precise. Her feet shuffling on the concrete as she widens her stance. Chest rising up and down as she breathes in again. Fingers tightening on the trigger.

She still doesn't take the shot.

"We don't have all night, you know," he teases, a little concerned.

"Let it go," she says again. "Let me go."

"What?"

And her face, when she looks up, is utterly blank.

"Let me go, James."

He screams.

.

.

Bright lights. Clinking glasses. Soft music.

He's wearing a dark suit that hides his arm and blends in with the surroundings. She's wearing a sparkling red dress that catches every eye in the vicinity.

He watches her flirt with the mark. Light touches and suggestive glances. The man leans in to whisper something and she gives a tinkling laugh. "Oh, Sergei? Don't mind him, Daddy hired him to keep me safe. Don't worry, he's not as menacing as he looks." And she turns around to place a warm hand on his arm. "Aren't you, Sergei?"

He nods curtly and resumes staring at nothing in particular.

"Not much of a talker, is he?" leers the minister who's about to die soon.

"He doesn't need to be. Come, you were about to show me the painting?"

He follows at a distance, shrouded in the shadows. If the man notices, he doesn't say anything. He's too distracted by the beautiful woman by his side. And then by the knife to his throat.

She's going through the pockets of the dead man when she lets out a gasp and tilts her head to the side. "Did you hear that?"

He's instantly on alert. "Hear what?"

She points towards the rapidly darkening hallway. "Someone's coming."

His senses are far better than most, but even he fails to notice anything. The corridor is absolutely dark, as if all the light has been sucked out.

She clutches his arm. "They're coming for me, James."

And when he turns to look at her, she's already gone.

.

.

She's dancing with the rest on the stage. The lights are off but she shines brightly.

"Redheads stand out in a crowd," she says, matter-of-fact.

"You stand out in a crowd."

She's up there on the stage, and she's right here next to him. She watches him watch her.

"This is wrong," he murmurs as she executes a perfect pirouette. "You never did ballet."

Her hand reaches out to intertwine with his metal fingers. "You're dreaming, James."

"That makes more sense."

"No." And suddenly her fingers are tight enough to dent metal. "They're taking away your dreams too."

His mind is sluggish, still transfixed on the ballerinas.

"Fight! Don't let them-"

The stage lights flare up, and he's blinded. When he opens his eyes again, the auditorium is empty.

.

.

He finds himself lying in bed next to her. He feels warm and safe. Their clothes are strewn all across the hotel room. There's a broken lamp on the floor.

"Mmm," she murmurs, snuggling in closer. "I could stay here forever."

He finds his eyes drifting close. No. No, wait-

"Wake up!" He sits bolt upright. "No, wake up! We need to leave, they're coming!"

"Extraction's not due for another three hours," she mutters drowsily. "Come back under the sheets."

He should. She's right. He sinks back into the bed, happy. Comfortable. No, don't-

Suddenly she gives a scream. "James, help me!"

Invisible hands are all over her. They're dragging her away. He tries to help her, to bring her back, but he can't- he doesn't- he can't move.

She's thrashing and struggling and the sheets are binding him and tears are streaming down his face and he knows he's lost when his hands go through her body.

All he can do is watch her being dragged away into the deep, dark abyss.

.

.

She twists to face him and his fingers reach out to touch her hair.

"What do you dream of now?"

There's something he has to tell her. Something urgent. But he can't- he doesn't- he can't explain. It's like sand slipping through his fingers. It's like trying to remember something you never knew. It's like-

"They're erasing you!" he yells.

"What are you talking about?"

"They're erasing you from my mind." His voice cracks.

She glances at him, afraid, and drops her gun on the ground. "What do we do?"

"I- I don't know." The initial triumph at finally remembering is fading. "I don't know how to save you." He looks around at the snow-covered clearing they're standing in. The trees sway ominously in the wind. Any minute now he's going to lose this, lose her.

"Okay." She takes a breath, rolls her shoulders back. And when she looks up, the expression on her face is fierce. "They want to erase me? Let them try."

He wants to kiss her.

"Take me to another memory, somewhere they won't look for me. Something deep and buried."

"Okay, alright, I'll-"

"No, don't say it loud. They might hear." She steps forward, a ghost of a smile on her face. "Let's play hide and seek."

.

.

They're walking down a painfully familiar street.

"I don't know how we came here. I don't remember this-"

"Don't you see, Mr. American, this is your old life. This is who you were before." She smiles brightly. "I like him."

He looks down. He's wearing a uniform. He's a soldier. Before he can figure out how the hell he ended up here, they round a corner. And there, at the end of the alley, near a dumpster, he sees a man beating the hell out of a scrawny kid.

His body springs into action. In the blink of an eye he's hauled the man off. "Hey, pick on someone your own size!" The words feel natural in his mouth.

A punch, a kick, it's like he's moving on pure instinct. And when he's sent the bully running, he turns to look at the blonde kid and his breath catches. This isn't just a kid- he's- he knows him.

"Bucky?" he says. His nose is bleeding.

There's a strange pause that shouldn't be there. He feels a hand on his back. "What is happening?" she asks. "Who is this?"

I don't know, his mind screams as it's been torn into two.

"No, no, no I shouldn't have come here. I made a huge mistake-" They both stare at him like he's gone mad, and maybe he has because all he wants to do is howl and claw his eyes out.

"James. I think we were too late." He turns to her, and her edges seem blurry. The darkness is slowly creeping on her.

"No, we have to fight! Stay with me, please-"

"Buck, what's going on?" His blonde hair is matted with blood and- no it's not blood. The darkness is eating him too.

He's numb with pain and shock and only has time to yell what have I done before the memory is wrenched away from him forever.

.

.

"Sir, the Asset is muttering something. There's movement behind his eyes. This shouldn't be possible but-"

"What is he saying?"

"He's calling out someone's name. Steve?"

"Pump him with more sedatives."

"This could be dangerous. Risk of permanent damage if we continue with the procedure."

"Keep going."

.

.

Paris is nowhere near as picturesque as her.

"We don't have long, you know," he whispers in her ear as they stroll down the cobbled streets. "This is your first mission. We're almost at the end."

She sighs and tucks her arm in his. "It's so nice pretending to be tourists. Do you think he suspects us?"

He takes a moment to look at the man they're following. "Not at all. He's grown foolish with age. Trustful."

"Must be such an easy life, no? Never having to look over your shoulders. And stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me like you're trying to memorise my face. You know it's not going to make a difference."

"I know." He's already forgotten what happened when he took her to his old life, but he can still feel the loss. It feels like a gaping void on his side. Like a missing limb.

"What do you think they'll do with me?"

"Probably the same."

They always knew there would be no happy endings. That there would be no escaping retribution. And he doesn't regret a single moment. He's fought, and he'll keep fighting till the end.

"Promise me something, James."

"Anything."

"The next time we meet, if we meet, will you at least try and recognise me?"

He kisses her hard. She tastes of salt and smoke, and for a moment there's nothing but her as the city collapses around them. She looks at him when they break away, eyes bright with unshed tears, fierce and determined, and he prays wildly, fervently to a god that isn't there.

They watch, hand-in-hand, as the Eiffel Tower crumbles into dust.

.

.

.

.

"Soldat. Welcome back."

"Ready to comply."

"Good. Now tell me, who is Natalia Alianovna Romanov?"

He stares with unseeing eyes.

"No one."


So. How was it? Be brutal.

This chapter is obviously inspired by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind aka my favourite movie ever.