Note: To my despair, I own nothing from Marvel. All characters from their works belong to them.

BUCKY

It had been three months since I first showed up in Steve's apartment. Technically it had been 95 days, but Steve keeps telling me that I don't have to be so precise about measurements of time unless I am specifically told to do so. This is the longest I've gone without being frozen since I was first taken. According to what we can read in my file, the second longest time was when I was on a mission for two weeks solid. The file reported that at the end of those two weeks I was "exhibiting behavioral irregularities and had memories resurfacing." The report had suggested that for future missions I not be allowed to go without a memory wipe and cryogenic sweep for any time longer than a week.

I was never allowed to live my life for longer spans than a week at a time, and now I'd been living it for three months.

The first month was the hardest. I didn't understand things like sleeping, eating, and speaking. Before, if I ever ingested food it was for purely nutritional value. Speaking was simply for responding to commands, not expressing myself. As for sleep, well, according to my file I hadn't slept outside of cryogenic freezing in over twenty years. Sleeping was still one of the hardest parts.

Steve and I had left the city about 2 months ago. The loud and crowded city made me jumpy, so Steve hoped that moving to a quieter area would help me calm down. We didn't go far, only living a few hours outside of New York City, but we chose a relatively small and quiet town with a college not far away. And yeah, I do mean we, Steve didn't like to make decisions for me or give me orders. When it came time to choose a new place to live, he looked up a list of possibilities and had me pick one. I'd really just pointed to a random city, but it was nice to have free-will.

It had been hard at first to make my own decisions, even when it came to simple things like what I wanted for lunch. It got easier as time passed, but it's still automatic for me to look for permission or guidance. At least Steve's always there to laugh at me and tell me that I don't need permission to brush my hair.

Steve's been there for me every step of the way, almost too close at times. As I started to actually think for myself and remember things about my own personality, Steve started to frustrate me with his constant hovering. I'd ended up almost breaking his hand once in frustration, so he started giving me my own space, but I felt guilty.

Guilt was a difficult emotion, and despite Steve's constant reminders that I had no control over my actions, I was still plagued with it. It took me a few weeks to realize that I was supposed to feel guilty over all the people I started to remember killing, but once I felt the guilt it was like opening Pandora's Box. I could remember the deaths I inflicted so much easier than my old life.

Steve and I started marking down the memories that resurfaced, hoping to find some sort of pattern. For the most part I remembered the more recent things first, but occasionally older things would resurface. The triggers were all over the map: hair colors I saw on girls in the street, getting hit somewhere while sparring with Steve, reading a news article, etc. The memories of my life before Hydra were the hardest. Those had been buried the deepest.

I remembered very little of my old life. I remembered enough of Steve to trust him completely, but he was my strongest memory. Over the last few months I started to remember little things about myself such as foods I liked, music I enjoyed, and books I appreciated. With Steve's help I was starting to get at least a slim grasp on the kind of man I was, I just wasn't sure that I still was that man.

It was helpful to have a routine, so I developed one. I ran five miles every morning, got coffee, went back home and sparred with Steve, had lunch, went for another run, sparred some more, took a shower, had dinner, read a book, watched the news with Steve, listened to some music, and went to sleep. It was a shell of a life, but it was what I could handle at the moment.

Interacting with people other than Steve was the hardest part. It typically avoided people, but Steve told me I needed at least some human contact. That's why I started to go to the coffee shop down the road. I could buy my coffee and breakfast, sit, read a book, and barely talk to anyone. Well, that's what I'd hoped I could do.

Instead, I met Arabella. That's where I was headed now.

I walked into the small coffee shop and sat down at my usual table. I tucked my hands in my pockets uncomfortably and waited for her to walk over with my usual order. I wasn't wearing my gloves today. After yesterday I didn't want to hide it anymore, but I was still wary of letting too many people see my metal appendage.

"Good morning, James," she smiled, setting my order down on the table. Once again, I was glad I hadn't told her to call me Bucky. It was nice to just be James here, with no pressure of being Bucky, no one to force me to be The Asset, I could just be.

"Morning," I responded.

I reached out to grab my coffee with my left hand. She smiled a little when she noticed that I hadn't worn my gloves, but I could see her trying to be casual about it. I was glad I'd left them off.

"What are you reading today?" she asked in her normally sweet voice.

"I got a collection of Oscar Wilde's poem from a bookstore last night, I was about to start it."

"Well, it's a bit busier than normal so I can't stay and talk, but I hope you enjoy them." She looked sincerely apologetic, so much so that it was almost silly. I understood that she had a job.

"Will you sit with me while you take your break later?" I knew the answer already, but I liked asking the question.

"If I get a break," she sighed. "One of the guys called in sick today. I may not be able to take my break for a while, if I even get one at all."

"You need a break," I said, perhaps a bit too forcefully. I looked over at the staff and tried to figure out which face was missing but couldn't. I'd never paid that much attention to the other employees. I would now.

"Oh, it's okay. Mehmet sounded really sick on the phone, he needed to stay in bed," she answered politely. "But, if I get a break before you leave then of course I'll sit with you."

I pulled out my book and tried to at least look like I was reading while she worked. It was hard to focus on anything but her though. She smiled at the customers and knew most of their names, always smiling and laughing. Sometimes she would look tired or upset, but never for more than a few moments. I didn't understand her, but I wanted to.

She was small in stature, probably no more than 5'2" and had a short, curly, light brown hair with blonde parts streaking though unevenly in a way that could only be natural. She was quite pretty, or so I had I begun to realize over the past month. It was hard to look at someone and not start calculating their weaknesses and strengths. For so long, people had been targets and threats. It was hard enough at first to see Arabella as just a person, let alone as a woman. But now, I definitely saw that she was a woman, and an attractive one at that.

A woman that I knew almost nothing about, as Steve has been pointing out to me all week since I finally told him about her. He asked me all these questions, how old she was, what types of things did she like, did she have a family, and I couldn't answer any of them. I could tell him all about what kinds of books she likes, but that was about it.

I'd caught tid-bits about her life here and there, things she let slip. I knew she was in school, I knew she had a sister, and I knew she was kind. Those few times she had let things slip she looked worried. Maybe she didn't want some stranger knowing about her life. I told Steve that, but he didn't look bothered. He simply told me that I needed to act like a friend then, not a stranger. That meant telling her about my life too.

She was looking at me, I could feel her gaze. She did that a lot, gazed at me when she thought I wasn't looking. I never called her out on it and always acted like I'd never seen, but today I decided to look up at her and catch her. She froze for a second and blushed, something she did easily and frequently. It looked nice against her porcelain skin, maybe I'd have to do it more often. I smiled at her, hoping that she wouldn't let this stop her from stealing glances at me. I liked knowing that she was thinking about me while she worked.

An hour passed and she still hadn't been given her break. It was actually starting to frustrate me. Wasn't that illegal or something?

Last night I'd asked Steve to skip the news and go with me to the bookstore so I could buy the Oscar Wilde book. I wanted to keep reading more of his work since I knew she enjoyed it. I asked Steve for some advice and after talking to him and drawing on what little I could remember about talking to women, I' made a rough plan for how I wanted today to go. I wasn't patient enough to just wait until tomorrow. I had specific questions and I wanted them answered today.

Another half-hour passed and I ordered another cup of coffee. I started actually getting through some of the poems and not just watching her, the boredom getting the better of me. I pulled out the phone that Steve had bought me and taught me how to use, which was humorous since he barely understood it himself. I sent him a quick message so he wouldn't worry when I arrived home late.

I sat there for a few hours, drinking coffee and reading while she worked. She stopped by the table once at a slow moment to tell me that I didn't have to stay if I didn't want to, but I told her that I would wait.

At 2:30pm she finally hung up her apron and sat down in front of me.

"Are you finished working for the day, or are you just on break?" I asked. I'd never stayed this long. I didn't know how late she usually worked.

"I'm finished for the day," she smiled.

"Do you need to go home?" I hoped she would say no, but wouldn't be angry with her if she said yes. This was beyond our normal routine.

"Not for a while, but I do need to eat some lunch," she laughed. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes," I answered. "We can go get lunch together, if you want."

"Sounds like a plan to me; I'll just go grab my purse."

This was unexpected, but I liked the change in plans. This would allow me more time to talk to her than normal.

She came back with her purse in her hand and I followed her out the coffee shop.

"Where would you like to eat?" she asked.

"How about that place?" I pointed to a small little diner across the street. I'd eaten dinner with Steve there a few weeks ago and had liked it.

"Okay," she smiled.

I liked how often she smiled. At first I thought it was fake, that she just smiled all the time to hide something else. But after a week or two I realized that it was just part of her personality. She laughed and smiled easily. It made me feel more comfortable smiling in return.

"So, did you like the short stories I recommended?" she asked as we crossed the street.

"The Canterville Ghost actually made me laugh. I didn't like 'The Sphinx Without a Secret.'" I tell her. I don't really want to talk about books today, but it's a nice place to start.

"Why didn't you like it?" she sounds a bit disappointed, and I instantly regret my hasty summary.

"It just seemed a bit pointless."

"Oh, did you read any of his other short stories?"

"I read 'Lord Arthur Savile's Crime', but it just made me angry. The man pointlessly murdered someone, claimed it was for love, and then never even told his wife."

"It was trying to show the power of suggestion," she argued.

"It used a bad example," I ended the conversation. I disliked talking about murder and death, even if it was just in a book. "I don't want to talk about Oscar Wilde anymore."

"Okay," she said quietly. I realized belatedly that I had been harsh. This wasn't going how I'd planned.

We ordered our food and sat quietly or a moment. She looked uncomfortable.

"How old are you?" I asked suddenly, breaking the silence. She looked up at me and blinked her blue-green eyes a few times like she was surprised.

"What?" she asked in confusion.

"I want to talk about you today," I tried to explain. Why couldn't this go smoothly? I had to have been good at this once, right?

"I'm twenty-one," she answered easily. "How old are you?"

I thought about her question for a moment before answering. Steve and I had thought about this one night, trying to figure out which of us was older, but we'd never come to a conclusive answer. I gave her the best answer I could. "I'm twenty-seven."

"What do you study? I remember you mentioning that you had class once," I changed the subject. I didn't like hiding part of the truth from her. I was physically about twenty-seven, but that wasn't how old I really was. I didn't lie to her though, I wouldn't do that. It felt wrong.

"I'm earning a master's degree in school counseling. I only have one year left. I love college and all, but I really want to start actually using my knowledge." My other questions could wait, because I wanted to know more about this.

"Why do you want to be a school counselor?"

"I don't think I could imagine doing anything else," she mused. "I want to work in a high school or middle school and help students. Whether they need someone to talk to, or someone to hand them college pamphlets, or just help deciding which classes to take, I want to be there. Sometimes kids have no one else but themselves, it's not right. You hear all the time about schools failing kids, and I'd rather help than just complain."

"Those kids will be lucky to have you," I told her earnestly.

"What kind of work do you do?" she asked me, once again picking a question that was difficult for me to answer.

"Odds and ends for now, I'm trying to figure out what I want to do." It was the truth, even if it wasn't very descriptive. "I used to be a soldier, but I'm not sure I want to be that anymore. I'm just not sure I know how to be anything else."

Steve wanted help rebuild and fix S.H.I.E.L.D., but I wasn't so sure. I'd been a soldier when I was Bucky, but I'd been a weapon with Hydra. The thought of being a soldier again wasn't all that appalling, but I refused to ever be a weapon again. I wanted to protect people, not be a killer. Maybe I could do that with S.H.I.E.L.D., but I didn't trust the broken organization that too closely mimicked the secrecy and distrust of Hydra.

"How long have you been out of the military?" she asked gently.

"Three months, I guess." That's how long it had been since I'd been under Hydra's control, but it had been so much longer since I'd been a real soldier.

Our food came and we both started eating. She'd ordered a slice of lasagna and looked like she was enjoying it. She smiled up at me when she caught me watching her eat, so I started to dig into my own food. I'd ordered the first thing on the menu, some burger that the diner was known for.

"Do you have any family?" I asked her, wanting to get through the internal list of questions I had.

"I live with my sister and her son. It's the best little-family a girl could ask for." She smiled, but for the first time it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"What about your parents?"

"They passed away when I was a kid." In that moment she looked more numb than sad. I knew the feeling.

"My family's been gone for a long time too," I wanted to hold her hand or something, but I wasn't sure she would want me to, so I just kept eating.

"My nephew is the cutest little thing in the world though," she said happily, taking out her phone to show me a picture of them together. He didn't look a thing like her, but he was one cute kid.

"How old is he?"

"He just turned four," she answered with another smile.

We spent the rest of the meal talking about Luka, her nephew. I didn't get through my list of questions, but I learned all sorts of other things about her. I learned that she didn't like pickles. I learned that she enjoyed baking. It was nice.

I told her a few things about myself too, but realized that there was very little to tell without explaining my history to her. I wondered how she would take it if I were to actually tell her the truth about me. I made a mental note to talk it over with Steve. I couldn't think of a way to tell her anything without telling her everything.

"I'll pay," I told her. It was probably a bit old-fashioned, but even after all this time I still had at least some of my manners. They were resurfacing more and more when it came to her.

"No, that's okay, I can pay for my own food," she insisted, looking uncomfortable with the idea.

"Really, I insist," I tell her, handing the waitress the money.

"I should get home soon. I promised Luka that I would take him to the park today," she told me as we left the restaurant.

"Well then, I'll see you tomorrow. Where are you parked? I'll walk you to your car." She pointed to the lot behind the coffee shop.

I walked her over, sad that our time was ending when I still had a few questions left. I decided to save them for tomorrow, but wasn't happy about it. I opened the door of her car for her. It was an old green beetle, a bit scratched up but well-kept.

"Will it make you uncomfortable if I hug you?" she asked suddenly before getting in the car.

"Normally, yes, but I'll make an exception," I tease.

She wrapped her arms around me hesitantly. It was a familiar feeling that I hadn't quite placed until now: affection. I'd been trying to put a finger on it for a while now with both her and Steve, but I hadn't really remembered it until now. But now I could remember hugging Steve when we were kids, hugging family members at parties, hugging girls after dates. I wrapped my arms around her small frame and rested my nose in her unruly curls. She smelled like flowers.

"See you tomorrow, James," she smiled as she pulled out of the hug and climbed into her car.

"See you tomorrow," I say in return.


"You're back late," Steve accused when I walked into the apartment we were renting.

"Oh, put a sock in it," I tell him. Not wanting to him to hover again.

"Seriously?" he complained. I wasn't sure what he was complaining about though. Maybe I was being a bit rude; I do owe a lot to Steve.

"I've been showing you every picture I can find of us when we were younger and all I get are a few fuzzy memories and lots of brooding silence," he said indignantly. "Dangle a dame in front of you and you start to sound like the old Bucky again in no time flat. I should've known better."

"You're still jealous that I got more tail than you?" I questioned with humor.

"Did you actually get to know her a bit today, or did you just talk about books again?" he countered.

"We had lunch and yes, I actually asked her personal questions." Steve grinned, but I ignored him.

"I want to talk to you about something else though, are you serious about wanting to fix up S.H.I.E.L.D.?" I'd been thinking about it the whole walk to the apartment.

"Yes, I am," he answered honestly. I could see it in his eyes. He'd always been a soldier too, even more than I had.

"I need something to do Steve, a job or something. All I've ever been is a soldier, a weapon. I won't be a killer anymore. I just…can't," I struggled to explain it to him. "But, I can't just sit around and work out all day."

"I understand what you mean," Steve sighed. "Look, I'll call up Fury and talk to him. See what he thinks. Maybe I'll call up some of the other Avengers too, see what they do when they're not off saving the world."

"I won't be their weapon, Steve. I need to be something more."

"I won't let that happen," he assures me.