A/N: I would like to state now, that international flights are in no way a simple task, and this 'plan' to bypass security and regulations is purely fantasy, just a work of fiction – there is no way in hell this would ever work, but for the sake of the story it somehow does work. Thank you and goodnight!

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After what was a miraculous and successful plan to board an international flight that would take them to Ireland – without any casualties or being caught and arrested by government or Hydra forces alike – the Soldier and the doctor found themselves relaxing into their uncomfortable coach class accommodations.

They had remained stateside for a month, meticulously planning how they could cross the Atlantic without triggering a blip on anyone's radar. Bucky didn't feel at all comfortable with the so-called plan and had stated as such and as often to Allston at any chance he could get before and during the execution of said 'plan'.

"That shouldn't have…" Bucky grumbled, "Why was that as easy as it was…?" he was baffled.

"Never underestimate the patience of humanity," Allston gave in answer, still bedecked in green scrub pants that doubled as loose-fitting old woman trousers. The entire plan had hedged on sloppy disguises, superb acting, and as Allston had said the hope that they were together enough of a hassle that airport staff would just hurry them along to get them out of their hair. They started as a nurse (Allston) who was in way over her head with the simple task of accompanying her doctor's elderly patient (Bucky) on a transatlantic flight for a very time sensitive experimental type of skull plate replacement and brain surgery. They got through TSA frisking and avoided the full body x-ray with Bucky being a very loud, angry, mostly deaf and half-crazed old man with a serious case of incontinence which was made even worse as he was without his catheter since they were running late for their flight. In the TSA's haste to get Bucky and Allston through to their gate and close to a restroom they hadn't stopped them even when Allston's bag full of medical gear (scalpel blades, scissors, sutures with needles, syringes and local anesthetic, and of course her power tools that were specifically for upkeep of Bucky's left arm) caused the sensors to go off.

Now in their seats, Bucky glanced to Allston when he heard her quietly snort and muffle her chuckle under the guise of a small coughing fit. "You play a great old man because you are in fact 97 years old." She broke into quiet laughter again recalling Bucky shouting out a hoarse 'WHAT?!' several times during the security check process, jarring the staff around them enough that they actually jumped and took a few steps away from him.

After surviving security, they had to work double time to get settled into their next characters, which were an old blind woman and her son. In the men's restroom Bucky passed his grey wig and enormous old folks sunglasses under the stall divider to Allston, she passed back a pair of thick framed purple tinted glasses and a brunet moustache to him. He shed a few layers that had been placed just so to bulk him up into a degree of overweight – Allston had coined the phrase that his next get-up would be hipster-y. Long sleeve green plaid button up with a white v neck t-shirt beneath, skinny jeans and boots. The last thing he had to do was tie up his hair into a 'man bun'. Allston was done before he was, slipping her foot beneath the stall divider she dragged over his previously used cane and made her way out of the stall – hobbling out like an old blind woman without a clue in the world that she had wandered into the wrong restroom as men stared at her in blatant confusion.

It had taken two weeks to hack into JFK's server and find the perfect flight – there were four passengers that had cancelled their flights; one was a couple who had cancelled their honeymoon due to calling off their marriage entirely, that wouldn't work for them. The next was an old woman returning to Spain, she had a connecting flight in Ireland – unfortunately, but quite fortunate for them – she had died several weeks ago, her flight was cancelled but was easily reinstated as a 'oh my poor mother has a hard time remembering things, she is quite alive and will be taking this trip'. The last was a man who had simply changed his mind about which country he wanted to visit, he had changed his destination to Brazil, but it was again an easy fix when in Allston's hands.

Over the past month Bucky had grown slightly more comfortable with Allston, in his head he had given her the title of caregiver, rather than the Soldier's doctor. They hadn't done much in that passing month that was focused solely on memory retrieval, too occupied with escaping America and getting to Europe undetected. The Winter Soldier's exterior was chipped away bit by bit each day he remained awake and in the company of his caregiver. Without doing anything at all, just her presence alone, a non-hostile accomplice… his mind tentatively offered even the implication of friend concerning his relationship with Allston. She worked at him with a chisel to an ice sculpture, carving away the Soldier to find Bucky beneath. She had encouraged him to listen to the radio, saying they both needed to familiarize themselves with the year's Top 40. She had said she knew it would be a culture shock kind of thing, but she had ideas of using music from the past that would help with retrieving memories later on, for now they needed to 'find their new favorite song'.

He realized that this was just her ploy to get herself back into current time as well; he realized that although he was the Asset, she was the Asset's doctor, she was kept away from the outside world just as if not more than he was. How much had she missed since Hydra obtained her? Obtained. That was the important word. After Natasha Romanoff aka Black Widow had released all of SHIELD/Hydra intel onto the world Bucky and Allston were both surprised and unsurprised to see news articles on the internet and actual news stories reported about Lieutenant Melaina Allston, formerly assumed killed in action, was obtained by Hydra in 2010 when her squadron was attacked in Afghanistan. These stories had a lamenting tone to them, assuming she had been killed once again, mourning the loss of a fine soldier and doctor who had been forced to work against her will after witnessing her squad die. She had sensed the unease in Bucky after they had watched the first news story on television on her. "You were obtained too, Bucky. Don't forget that, nothing until now has been of your own volition. You were found, taken, and engineered into the Winter Soldier, you did not freely submit to Hydra's treatment and brainwashing."

Obtained. He was obtained. He was not a volunteer; he was a victim. Certain people understood that. But while the world heralded Allston as a fallen hero, the rest of the world only saw Bucky as a murderer, a monster. It would take time for even Bucky to forgive himself for his misdoings, regardless of if he was not himself in those instances.

The plane lurched from its parked position to back up and start taxiing down the runway, Bucky flinched defensively. Allston placed her hand over Bucky's gloved left hand, he could register the weight of her hand, but not the warmth and the feeling of assurance it was meant to give him. He appreciated the gesture, but it was going to be a long flight. Allston offered him the crummy MP3 she had purchased from a second hand store during their stay in a musty New York City motel, it was filled with the newest hits and all the songs Allston had missed while underground and had yet to listen to and decide if she liked them or not, in addition to some of Allston's all-time favorites.

When he asked her how and where she was getting money, she had explained it as simply draining a few Hydra employees checking and savings accounts. She further explained that she had done her research and knew that these men had no families to speak of so she was not taking from others who might have needed it more than them, and conveniently these employees were likely now incarcerated or deceased, so they wouldn't be needing their dirty Hydra money anyway.

The music worked well enough to distract him, lyrics blatant and more often than not sexual, and the music was harsher, confusing and far different than what he remembered and was used to back in the 30's and 40's. He almost found himself laughing under his breath and glancing to Allston with something of fondness when a classical piece would pour into his ears after some severe rap song. That voice in his head that had told him to trust Allston was becoming more prevalent and now muttered something along the lines of, 'Dame's a total square, she and Stevie would get along just fine'.

But with the familiar classical music he was able to concentrate again, just the sound of that voice in his head reminding him that he wasn't himself again, not yet, and likely not ever. He would never be able to separate himself from the Soldier, nor the Soldier's actions and the consequences from those actions. The Soldier was a part of his life, a part of his history now.

Driving to the airport Allston had spoken candidly, "Without constant shock treatment before unlocking the Soldier, reentry and defrosting from cryo, your old memories will have an easier time presenting themselves in your mind." Allston did well in prefacing her explanation with a disclaimer that she was not trained in psychology she was trained in orthopedics, wound care, and emergency surgery for the battlefield. "The bad news is the Winter Soldier's memories will also present themselves to you. We're going to rely on triggers, as much as possible I will avoid triggers that will bring forth the Soldier's memories, but I can't make any promises that even the smallest insignificant thing might set you off." He understood that, this was going to be a hard process, for the both of them. "You will have panic attacks, you might relapse into Soldier mode, but know that I will always, always be here to collect you back from the darkness. And as sweet as that sounds," she paused, the sincerity in her voice had yet to waver into her normally sarcastic, jokey tone. "Know that I will take precautions to preserve my own life. I don't want to hurt you but if I looks like I can't gather you back and you're going to hurt or kill me I will drop you." Again he understood, and he did not need or want to know what methods she would employ to keep him in check if he went back to the Soldier. "Most of the time it's going to seem like one step forward and ten steps back, but regaining your memory of yourself from 70 years ago and rehabilitating from brainwashing is a process, a very tricky and harsh process."

Bucky had nodded, without hesitation, his voice much the same as the voice that spoke in his head, "I trust you."

And now here they were, on a plane, some thousands of feet in the air in a pressurized tin can headed to Europe to hide themselves away and make him better… before… eventually presenting - no surrendering himself to Steve Rogers.

It was hour three in the flight when Bucky started to shift in an attempt to quell the itch caused by the stitches prickling at the back of his neck just beneath his hair line. There were two other spots where trackers were implanted just beneath his skin but it was the one behind his neck that was starting to tickle… actually now that he thought about the other stitches they were beginning to itch too. Allston had excised the trackers a week ago. She had administered local anesthetic even though they both knew his super soldier serum accelerated bodily processes would just work it out as fast as the numb feeling set in. "Just do it, I've dealt with worse," he'd said.

"I know," she mumbled back, "That's why I wanted to show some mercy, or at least attempt at it." She sighed and picked up her blade with gloved hands, she murmured, "I'm sorry." Before she made the first cut. And it wasn't the cutting and digging around for the trackers that was the worst of it, rather it was the stitching. The dissolving stitches and then the stitches she would have to remove later on. "Listen, I know you heal fast, but do not scratch these out. We'll keep them in for at least a week before I even consider removing them."

It was a week ago now. And Bucky had removed her tracker then too. Allston had one, just in the back of the neck. He'd only ever haphazardly patched himself up as the Soldier before returning to Allston for proper care, so it took all of his concentration and then some to make a clean row of stitches on her. He wondered how she felt with her stitches now, were they itchy too, would it be wrong to ask her to take his stitches out now because he was going to go nuts if he had to wait two or three more hours.

"What's wrong?" Her voice removed him from his crazed thoughts, concern in her eyes even through the dark of the plane. It had to be the dead of night, he hadn't even realized the planes lights had been turned off and people were sleeping or remaining awake and watching movies on the tiny headrest screens.

He pulled the buds from his ears and murmured, "Stitches," and raised his hand to the back of his neck.

Allston nodded, "Right," and grabbed her carryon bag from under her feet to shuffle through it and produced two tools, and tucked them into her cardigan's pocket, "We're about to create a whole different category for the Mile High Club, let's go," she nodded her head towards the back of the plane where two bathrooms were.

She was apparently quite serious as she headed down the dark walkway with careful steps, Bucky rushed to follow. It was cramped beyond belief for one person alone, but with a massive man and a woman above average height, it was a wonder how the mood wasn't killed for people who did manage to have sex in these compartments; and Allston grumbled as such as she arranged herself behind Bucky digging into her pocket while Bucky lifted up his bun further out of the way and removed the bandage there for easier access.

"You're lucky this looks perfectly healed," Allston murmured and with as much steadiness she could muster given the small air pockets the plane bumped over she removed the four sutures without mishap. "There," she said once she was finished.

Bucky shuffled around, which in hindsight was a mistake, he was chest to chest with Allston now and some ancient boyish bashfulness was about to make him look a fool. He couldn't deny that Allston was attractive. Living in close quarters allowed him to observe her, she was full figured, probably what was considered the proper weight for her height, but he thought she must have lost some muscle weight after she was captured by Hydra, feed just enough to continue to provide reliable care to the Asset, but otherwise just a prisoner not allowed any recreation or exercise. That voice in his head wanted to wine and dine her, wanted to see her duly fed and fawned over… But he carried on as if unaffected, clearing his throat before he asked, "What about yours? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she answered, stowing the tools away in her pocket again, "Thanks for asking." She gave him a grin that meant he was doing well in breaking away from the cold Soldier persona. "Now if you'll excuse me, I really do need to take a piss."

Ah, and there was that too. Allston's humor. What they said about funny people being more appealing was right. Bucky snorted and with only minimal struggling opened the door, stumbled out and shut it after him. He made it back to his seat and after what seemed like only moments Allston was seated beside him again, only she had removed the baggy old lady/scrub pants to wear just the black leggings beneath. The wig and glasses were gone and the cardigan remained. She stuck her hand out to him and he removed the moustache but kept the glasses and hair tie in his hair.

Their next plan of action once they landed was to exit the airport as staff, therefore avoiding customs. They would remain in Ireland for a spell before hopping ship to whatever was the next port Europe side. Four hours later they were settled in at the cheapest hotel with Wi-Fi that Dublin had to offer. Allston propped open the window to get all the smoke smell out, she was using a throw pillow to fan the stagnant air, a comical frown on her lips. "Funny thing is I used to smoke for a time," she admitted and soon gave up on her efforts to push the air out faster.

Bucky watched her take a seat at the desk where the phone and a dirty electric kettle with two mismatching tea cups and saucers were settled. She opened the kettle to inspect it and recoiled, then after a few moments shrugged and took it to the bathroom to wash it out. The water was running and so was Bucky's mind. That small fact about her having used to smoke brought a realization to the forefront of his mind: she knew about his history, more than she outwardly shared, he was sure of it, but he didn't know much at all about her. Though he would call her friend, he didn't even know her middle name, or her favorite color. The more he learned about himself he felt it might be fair to learn about Allston… it could even be therapeutic in a way, maybe cause him to remember things about himself…

"Hey Allston!" he raised his voice to be heard over the running sink water.

"Yeah, Buck?" she answered.

"You know… stuff… about me, right? More than just the Soldier and what the museum had on me…?" he ended with a questioning lilt in his voice belatedly realizing he sounded a little too accusing. Allston stood in the doorway, the kettle left under the running tap. She leant her hip against the frame and crossed her arms.

"I knew who you were the instant they," she meant Hydra, "showed you frozen in your stasis chamber. I enjoyed history lessons, and American schools spend more than a healthy amount of time on World War II primarily because of Captain America and the Howling Commandos." She disappeared around the corner to turn off the tap and brought the cleaned and filled kettle back to its electric base and tapped the switch to start it boiling.

"My, uhh…" she took a seat at the desk again, leaning her elbows on her knees, her fingers lacing and unlacing as she seemed to search for the right words, "My granddad was a soldier. He used to tell me stories when I was little, but there were two specific stories I always asked him to tell me, no matter that they made me cry every time he did." She paused and glanced to Bucky who was sat against the headboard of the bed, looking intrigued even if what she had offered wasn't much. "Alright," she huffed, "Are you ready to have your mind blown? I doubt Hydra had any idea or had done any research regarding who I was related to when they took me, but uhh… The stories I asked my granddad to tell me, the ones that made me cry? One was 'The day we lost Captain Rogers' and the other was 'The day we lost Bucky'…" she let that sit and Bucky just stared blankly for a while.

He could put this together like a puzzle if he tried, a good test to recall his old memories. But he needed a bit more. "What's your full name?"

"Melaina Katherine Allston."

He couldn't remember an Allston. But the way the stories were titled almost intimately; the use of the word 'we'. In war everyone was close, but… this seemed a bit more than just another soldier. 'The day we lost Bucky'.

"He was there on the train the day you fell," Allston supplied, "Corporal Gabriel Jones."

"Holy shit," the words just spilled out, and Allston laughed.

"That's not the best part," she went on, "Guess who Grandad Gabe met through the French Resistance? Jacques Dernier, you remember him too?" she prompted and the image of his comrade was only fresh in his mind because of that trip to the Smithsonian. He nodded and she smiled, "Katherine Carter, French Resistance Intelligence agent. Peggy Carter's sister."

Like a slap to the back of the head Bucky recalled a woman much like Peggy in looks but a couple inches taller when they were in London for a while. She'd only spoken French, the majority of her conversations held with Dernier until Gabe butted in with his American high school caliber bilingual skills. Kathy was just as much a looker as Peggy but forwent makeup and regulation skirts, and she only had eyes for Gabe once they started talking and the rest was history, as they say.

"They were married in France after the war. Masalia, Almandine – my mother, Louis, Léo. They all stayed in France until Aunt Peggy became Director of SHIELD then moved to the States. When Granddad and Grandma retired they moved back to Europe and stayed in England. My mother was always changing location for SHIELD. She met her first husband when she was stationed in France, he was there for a college trip. They divorced within the same year they were married. Then my mother met my father, Robert, on a flight from Paris to London, I was born five months after they were married."

Bucky was astounded, to say the least. "So service runs in the family, huh?"

"Yes... Well," she amended, "My dad's an English professor. My mother worked for SHIELD and British Security Forces. Then we moved to Washington D.C. when I was 13, she was Head of Operations at The Hub for a few years. Then she was formerly asked to supervise the affairs of the World Security Council, coincidentally she worked closely with Alexander Pierce." She back pedaled as quick as she could when she saw Bucky's face pale with that name, "But then she left SHIELD when she was offered a significant position in the Uniformed Division of the United States Secret Service… She said she wouldn't retire until arthritis stopped her from pulling a trigger properly… And that's… That's all I know." She faltered and then hastily turned when the kettle switched itself off, the water was boiled and ready. She flipped the two cups to their upright sides and set them back on the saucers. She plopped whatever teabag was offered into one cup each and tore open two sugar packets and poured them into one cup. She inspected the powdered milk packet and apparently deemed it fine for consumption as she tore that one open too and poured it the cup with the sugar and then tore open another and poured it into the other cup. The water was steaming as it settled in the cups, the packed leaves already staining the water as it steeped.

She turned back to Bucky and sighed, apparently willing to divulge more about her life story even if it was getting a little harder to do so. "Uh, so… like the reports mentioned a few weeks ago. I was attacked with my squadron in 2010 in Afghanistan. We were keeping the peace in a small village that was constantly under terrorist attack. We were all shot down without any notice. I knew I had at least eight bullets in my body before I passed out. Hydra apparently sifted through the bodies and plucked out the ones of any worth… and evidently that was only me… All my comrades and the people of that village were left for dead. When I came to they explained who they were and what they wanted from me while I was put on a purposely slow recovery; taken off morphine when they saw fit so they would obtain my compliance." She scoffed out a laugh, a bitter smile on her mouth, "Needless to say I nearly died several times before they changed their tactics and made sure that I recovered to full health – and then threatened my family's lives. So then I complied. And then they introduced you to me, the Asset. Keep all your limbs attached and innards inside where they belong, be your general physician."

"And you knew who I was…"

"Grandad's brother in arms," she gave a tight smile that quivered at the edges, "And I was helpless to do anything to rescue you. They allowed me to read mission reports so as to better understand your function, and I just couldn't – there was nothing…" her head shook minutely and she inhaled sharply as she turned back to the tea, "Do you take sugar? I should've asked."

Bucky blinked, blindsided by the most emotion Allston has put on display that for once wasn't sarcasm, "Not sure. Lemme try without." He thanked her when she brought the cup to him, sipping hers as she did.

"It's alright," she stated even as her nose wrinkled, she continued to sip slowly, perching herself at the end of the bed. They both sipped their tea quietly. Bucky wasn't sure if he needed sugar or not, he assumed it was only because someone else had prepared it for him that it tasted fine as is. It was early in the morning but they were both exhausted from the flight. Allston drained the rest of the tea from her cup and stood up, grumbling about drawing the curtains and propping the desk chair against the door and putting the cups and saucers on the windowsill as safeguards as she went to the bathroom to rinse the cup.

There were dregs at the bottom of his teacup that he stared into as he called out somewhat cautious, "Hey… Melaina."

There was a notable pause before she answered, "Yeah, Bucky?"

"What's your favorite color?"

The water ceased and a grin could be heard in her response, "Lavender… And call me Nia."