Outside of her apartment, there were still people about, taxis driving amongst other cars. Briefly, she considered stopping one but had no idea where she'd go. By a streetlamp directly in front of her sat a bench, and she wiped her eyes roughly before walking over and sitting down and pulling out her phone to call a number she hadn't called in years.

"Hello?" Her breath caught in her throat for a minute.

"Mom?"

"Bellamy?" Her mother was stunned. "Are you alright? It's late—not that I mind at all." Bellamy didn't answer right away.

"I'm okay." Her mother now took some time too.

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" The subtle tone of hurt and accusation couldn't be ignored, nor the feeling of everything crashing down in her chest, like a house toppling over.

"I'm sorry. I know you try to call, but I've been busy all the time…up until this point."

"Yes, I know. How are you really doing?" Through the torrid of emotions she was struggling between, anger was the most prominent.

"I don't really know what the right word is to describe the…wrath of finding out my brother and father both sacrificed their lives for me."

"Bellamy…" Her mother murmured. Bellamy paused, shaking her head as the tears she'd been fighting the entire phone call built up. "I—I meant to tell you, sooner or later, but the time never seemed right."

"Yes, the time never seemed right to tell me I had an assassin after me who could—and would—potentially kill my family!"

"Nick Fury promised to me on his life that he would never allow anything to happen to you. I wanted to believe him, and I foolishly did, but maybe I did because I knew you were so very capable, my angel. You're just like your father." Her voice was growing weaker, before it broke completely and she had to pause. A knot had formed in Bellamy's own throat, caused by the sound of brokenness from her mother. "I wanted to tell you, but I never see you anymore anyways." Bellamy paused long enough to make sure her voice was strong.

"What happened to dad?"

"It was the night of your graduation." Immediately tears spilled down her cheeks. "He wanted to be there, honey, I promise he did. He saw your speech and everything; the last thing his eyes saw of this world...was you." Bellamy broke completely and cried, clutching the phone before it slipped from her ear and into her lap where she could hear her mother quietly weeping as well. Pierce's words were still there, more haunting than ever.

When are you going to let yourself break? More tears fell and she felt a horrible sensation of guilt, of foolish naivety of her to forget her own mother.

"Mom," she mumbled as she quickly picked the phone up again and pressed it to her ear.

"Yes Bella?" The simple nickname she hadn't heard in years caused stray tears, but she quickly wiped them away.

"How did you cope? How are you okay with this, knowing the Winter Soldier did this?" She was silent once more and she feared she had made her cry more, until her voice came through, steady and strong.

"I forgave."

"How?"

"I realized after a long, long time that my anger was only hurting me. And what would it do? It would destroy me, it wouldn't bring your father back, it wouldn't bring my son back. It wouldn't fix anything, it was only hurting me. And I needed closure. Forgiving is a lot harder than hating, but that's because we are too hard on ourselves, Bella. The only way out of my, and your own, labyrinth of suffering is forgiveness. That's the only way to make yourself lighter."

She spent more time on the bench than she liked, but she disliked more how emotional she was. There was a possibility Bucky was still there, and she couldn't go back just yet. So she stayed on the bench without anything else to do, and without any will to think of anything else.

There was no way for her to know how much time had passed by the time she went back up, but the sky almost looked lighter. The apartment was the same as she had left it. Quietly, she walked to the study, to find Bucky sitting at her desk, sitting with clenched fists, the files pushed away from him.

"You're still here." He looked over at her.

"Are you back to kill me." He ducked his head lower. "After reading that…" He raised his head. "You knew all of that, but you're still just standing there?"

"What am I supposed to do, shoot you in the head?" She asked numbly.

"I thought you would. I was ready."

"You are not dying today." She approached him and sat in the chair across from him.

"You got what you wanted. Why am I still alive? I don't have any reason to be here anymore. If I get captured, I'm either dead, locked away, or going to be wishing I were dead. Why—"

"You need to stop." He looked at her, puzzled. "You're here for a reason." He chuckled darkly.

"Maybe you should stop too." She raised an eyebrow. "Lying to yourself." His words hit her hard and she realized maybe she came back a bit too soon. Bucky's eyes softened, and he opened his mouth but stuttered and came to the agreement of no words as he saw the moisture building in her eyes. "…I know you hate me…" She shook her head.

"I let my anger control my logic. I let HYDRA get into my head and manipulate me like everyone else. I forgot the real enemy. They ruined so much for everyone. For me."

"So did I." She grimaced but looked down and said nothing, before she took a steadying breath.

"Did he suffer." Her tone was so controlled she impressed herself with the amount of composure she was displaying.

"It was quick. Painless." He told her, but the words gave him no apparent relief. Her eyes focused on the file.

"I didn't give it to you sooner because…" She trailed off, her mind suddenly bombarded with the colorful imagery of his life details. "The things in it. How does that help you to begin with?"

"Helps me know I'm right. I am a monster."

"I'll stop you there and correct you. A puppet. Did you read how they called you the asset?"

"Yes, and I assisted in killing over a dozen innocent people." They stared at each other. He leaned his elbows on the table, his gaze fleeting from her and to the file. "It jogs the memories. Clears them. The nightmares were actually, real."

"I was afraid you would leave." She spoke up after a moment. "If I gave you the file you'd have no reason to stay. And I would never know." She leaned back in the chair with a hard sigh, her eyes glossing around the room to the picture still on the floor.

"I guess it would have been easier if we'd helped each other out in the beginning." She looked back to him. They weren't the collective picture of people helped and healed. More like broken. Maybe that part came later.

"I wouldn't call knowing this helping yourself." She disagreed.

"Do you feel helped knowing about your father now." His words finally made her understand, maybe they were in more similar positions than she realized. He surprised her again when he spoke. "I don't have your file. Or your fathers. I swear on my life." He stared at her. "I can tell you anything you want to know, that I remember."

"I think you've done enough." His gaze dropped and she knew she'd have to remind herself not to be so harsh, to try and find some kind of strength her mother had mustered, but, she was tired. She stood. "I know it's not safe for you out there. Like I said, you're here for a reason. You can stay here until its safe again." And then what, she wondered and she could see it in his eyes too. But it was something he had to figure out, free again, and she realized she had to do the same. Silently, she walked out of the room to the kitchen.

There was a cabinet she kept wine in, something she rarely drank with company she rarely had. She'd never gotten drunk before, the closest was her first time drinking, out with her brother.

"I'm going to force you to act 21 for once." He had told her warmly and handed her a drink he refused to name. She had appeared to be a lightweight, they had both agreed to cut her off at two drinks.

She grabbed the three bottles of red wine and stared at them and decided to hell with glasses. As she turned, she noticed Bucky, standing silently. Admittedly, if it were anyone else, she would've felt immensely embarrassed and ashamed…instead she watched him cross the room to her.

"What are you doing," an innocently curious question, lacking any judgement whatsoever, only wanting understanding.

"I'm…going to the roof. I need a drink." He stared silently, before he began nodding.

"Me too." Without really thinking, she handed him one of the bottles and turned, not waiting to see if he followed. He did.