Thanks so much for the 7 reviews, 20 favorites and 47 followers. I'm glad so many are enjoying my story.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters belonging to the Captain America franchise. If I did Bucky would not be such a lonely man because my OC Nadene would be keeping him company.

Without further ado, I present to you Chapter 4: Not Thelma.

I sat in the middle of the attic with a hundred or more photos littered around me. This was how my grandmother used to show me her life when I was younger. She'd pull me up the rickety steep steps and sit me on the floor while she rummaged through her photos, showing me every one. There was always a story to every photo-a reason why she was wearing that dress, where she was going, where she was coming from- there was always a reason. I remember one photo had slipped from the bunch in her hand and I had picked it up for her.

It was of her and a white man in a uniform smiling in front of her house. I remember asking her about it and was shocked that she had snatched it away from me. She had ended our session hours early and we left the attic and never came back up. I was twelve then. She got sick later in that year and stayed sick until the day she died when I was fifteen.

I sighed, I was never going to find this picture. My stomach growled and I realized I hadn't eaten anything all day. The sun was high in the sky when I glanced out the window. It must be noon, I thought standing up on sore legs. The last box was now empty and I stared at the pale yellow paper and fading pink flowers.

I scooped a few of the photos off the floor and into the box and headed downstairs. I need a reset if I was to come back up and continue my search. The potato salad I made last night was calling to me. Two pieces of bread were tossed into the toaster and I had poured some apple juice when my phone rang.

"Hello?" I answered balancing my cell between my cheek and shoulder as I pulled the toast out and set them on my plate.

"Nadene,"

"Oh, Richard! Hi, what uh, shit," As I was piling a scoop of potato salad onto the bread my spoon slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, I dropped my spoon. What's up?" I asked fetching a new spoon and finishing my task.

"You're coming in tomorrow, right?"

Frowning, I glanced at my calendar on the fridge,"Uh, yeah. I work tomorrow, why?"

"Bethany told me you were acting funny the other day. Are you alright?" he asked.

"Oh, uh-,"

"Then a cop had stopped by asking if anyone was seen following you or if you were worried someone was following you,"

"What?"

"He came by today and asked us all these questions. Even asked if you were known to have one night stands. Why is there a cop investigating you, Nadene? Did something happen?"

I grimaced and slid into my seat with my juice and plate,"It was that sexist cop wasn't it, Officer David?," I didn't wait for him to respond,"Look, someone broke into my house, but didn't take anything. I'm fine. I'm going to get new locks and better security so don't freak out, Richard," I explained between bites of my sandwich. It's kind of scary how easily I can lie, but I felt like I could figure out this man and who he was to my grandmother.

"We all know you're not that type of woman, but Amelia made me call. I guess we'll see you tomorrow,"

"Yeah, oh could you come by later on?" I asked.

"Finally inviting me over?" His voice had dropped a bit and I realized he was trying to flirt.

"My tank is on empty. I just need more gas, Richard," I deadpanned.

I heard his sigh on the other end,"Fine, I'll be over after my shift,"

"Thanks. See ya tomorrow," I hung up cutting off what was sure to be him asking me out.

I slid my phone across the table and finished my sandwich. That man hadn't been back since I told him what happened to Thelma and its been a few days. I had managed to keep the swelling of my lip down with ice and had sprayed Neosporin on my cut and slapped a bandaid on my forehead. After I watched a bit of TV I ventured back up to the attic. OK, this photo is in here, I know it is. I lingered in the door way my eyes drifting to every photo on the ground. Wait, there it was! I rushed over to the foot of the old formal chair, keeping my eyes plastered to the photo afraid that if I looked away it'd disappear. I snatched up the photo and looked it over. Yep, this was the one. He looked the same now as he did then minus the shoulder length hair and the scowl. In this photo, in 1942, he was happy. I flipped it over and saw my grandmothers elegant handwriting in black ink.

'James and I enjoying lunch'.

This must be the lunch she had with her parents that she never spoke about. I never got a sure answer out of her before she died. There were other photos of that day-I could tell by the dates and her dress, but in those photos this 'James' was cut from the photo. I stepped over the photos and hurried back downstairs to my laptop in my room. I set the photo face down and stared at her writing at the bottom.

'March 6th, 1942 Sunday lunch with the parents'

Why was he cut from the photos? This puzzled me for a few moments until it dawned on me. It was 1942. Interracial anything was frowned upon and for my grandmother to be in a relationship with this white man would have caused an uproar in the community and the family.

I turned my attention back to the laptop and typed in his name. All I had was Bucky and that he was a soldier in 1942. The information that had popped up was astounding. He was a war hero-helped Captain America, who was his best friend since childhood, defeat the Nazis in WW2. It said that he was thought KIA until Captain America had found him in Germany where he later was killed. He had a memorial erect at The Smithsonian. His full name was James Buchanan Barnes. I chewed on my pen cap as my hand scribbled down the information. I could go to the police with this information, I'm sure they're looking for him. S.H.I.E.L.D probably is as well.

Whatever he's gone through to keep him alive this long-I bet it was what did the trick for Steve-has really done a number on his mind. Cryogenics most likely. He seems to trust me at least when he thinks I'm Thelma. Maybe I can help him? No, Nadene, don't be stupid. He's an unstable super soldier with a fucked up head that causes his memories to scramble. I sighed and leaned back in my chair running my hands over my face.

"Nadene?" My name sounded funny on his lips and I swiveled around to see him sitting on my bed.

"Your name is Nadene?" He asked looking up at me, his brow creased in concentration. I nodded.

"Yes,"

"You're not Thelma,"

"No, I'm not," I answered hesitantly. His hands unclenched and clenched as his mind mulled over my answer. I was rigid with anticipation of an attack. Every little movement caught my eye, his lips pulling in between his teeth, the slight shake of his head, his eyes moving under his closed lids.

"You're James Buchanan Barnes, right?" I asked.

His eyes met mine. They were dark and distant,"I don't know,"

"How, uh, how do you not know your own name, but remember Thelma?" I worried I may have been asking way past the line, but all this man, James, has been doing since we met was scream at me. And now that he's actually a bit calm and started a 'civil' conversation with me I was going to take advantage of it.

"I don't know," He was trembling now and I didn't want him to flip out again.

"I can get you some water?" I asked standing up quickly. At my sudden movement he sprung to his feet his head ducking as he realized I wasn't a threat.

"Come on," I slipped past him and quickly headed downstairs to my kitchen. His feet were heavy behind me and he stood awkwardly by the island while I poured him a glass.

"Here," he took the cup that I slid across to him and gulped the water quickly. My hands held the pitcher and refilled his glass three times before he sat down. He seemed to relax and so did I. I stayed on the other side of the island of course, studying the man before me. His hair was slightly damp and his boots were covered in mud. Where did he go and how did her in here? All my doors are locked.

"How'd you get in here?" I blurted.

He peered up at me his lips pulled into a small smirk,"How I always do,"

"I climbed into your room," he told me standing up.

I tensed as he rounded the corner of the island walking closer to me, closing the gap between us. His hands, one still gloved, took the pitcher from my grasp and set it on the counter. I looked up at him. His face was unshielded-no frown. He was relaxed and his eyes were glassed over as he smirked down at me.

"I leave on Sunday," his voice was low in my ear and I shuddered when his hands rested on my hips.

His body leaned against mine and his knee shifted between my legs-he moved closer to me and my breath hitched in my throat when his lips touched my neck. Why-why was he doing this? I gasped when his lips kissed at the sweet spot below my ear. My body reacted to it, my back arched and I hadn't realized my fingers had slid up his arms until they gripped the fabric of his hoodie.

My eyes fluttered shut when he moved his body against mine. I shouldn't be enjoying this, but it was like my body was in a trance. I couldn't help that I was aroused. His touch, his lips, his breath was all my mind could comprehend until he whispered my name, breathy and low. James' gloved hand slid up my stomach ghosting over my breast to grip my jaw lightly. He turned my head to him whispering,"I've been waiting so long for this, love,"

His lips pressed against mine. Sparks fluttered throughout me and my mouth tingled with every kiss. I've been without intimacy for so long that my body was-oh, God, he was a good kisser. James' knee parted my legs and his thigh settled against me moving slightly causing a moan to escape me.

His hands gripped the back of my knees and picked me up placing me on the counter. His breath was heavy and labored as he kissed me with such a ferocity that I was loosing all senses to pure pleasure. Everything was moving so fast that I was lost in it until he spoke again between kisses that trailed to my collar bone.

"Are you sure you're ready, Thelma?"

"Thelma?" I whispered, my mind starting to make sense of things,"Thelma? Oh, no," I gasped my hands stilling on his shoulders. I pushed him away tugging at my t-shirt. I looked at him and his eyes were still glassed over, his cheeks flushed and he leaned in again his mind still stuck in the memory.

"Wait,"

"We can't wait. I leave Sunday. We've talked about this," he responded trying again, but I placed a hand on his chest,"James." I stated and that seemed to break the spell because he blinked and his face contorted back into the frown I've been accustomed to. His eyebrows knitted together and his eyes took in the scene before him. In the heat of it all James had pulled at my shirt. It was already loose, but now it sagged against my shoulder my bra strap tugged down. To watch his mind catch up and speed past the memory to the present was unsettling. His face was so hurt that he choked out my name.

"Nadene?" It was like it was poison and he stepped back,"Not Thelma. Not Thelma," his eyes squeezed shut and I slid off the counter.

"James? Calm down," I reached for him.

"It's not Thelma. Nadene. Her name is Nadene," his shoulders shook and I watched his hands clench before he opened his eyes to look at me.

They weren't sweet and calm anymore. His chilling blues were stormy and raging with anger now. And glassed over. He was still in his mind. Another memory. A darker memory. Instead of engaging me like I thought he backed up into the island pulling himself up and over swiftly putting distance between us. I watched him roll off of it landing on his feet.

"The cellar in the basement. It's still there?" He ordered.

I could only nod and watch him tug open the basement door disappearing into the dark as he descended. I rushed ahead slamming the door shut. There was only one way out-my grandfather had to seal in the back door after it kept flooding decades and decades ago- he would have to come up here to leave. I only used the basement to do laundry and hold my canned goods. I used to play down there as a kid. It was perfect for hiding during hide-and-go-seek. No one would find me down there because they said it was creepy and they were right. The cellar was dark and had one light switch and a full shelfing system of canned goods. Mostly canned fruit. There was an old couch with an even older throw blanket. At least he would be somewhat comfortable. Was this considered holding someone prisoner? He did go down there willingly-he did a lot of things willingly. The memory of his lips on me slithered back and I pressed my fingers to my lips.

They weren't for me. The kisses and the moans and the want and the need were all for Thelma. She, a twenty three year old African American woman was having an affair with a white American soldier, in 1942. It couldn't have been just a couple of months fling, not with the way he looked at me. No, this had to of happened over the span of years-had to. My brow creased and I leaned against the door, my arms crossed in concentration.

What did they do to him?

And there you have it. I told you it was going to pick up! I'm having so much fun writing this. I can't wait to read the reviews on this chapter. I know the 'make out' seemed to spring up fast, but there's a reason for it, trust me. But how about that? If you're looking for a story that has a Sexy-in-need-of-touching-mentally-distraught-god-of-a-man-playing-out-heated-memories-of-sexy-times-with-your-grandma-who-he-seems-to-think-you-are-because-his-memories-were-erased-for-him-to-become-the-Winter-Soldier-and-now-his-past-and-present-memories-are-jumbled then you've come to the right place!

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