Author's note:

Wow sorry i haven't uploaded anything for a while, sometimes uploading my work is really daunting and it takes me a while to convince myself to do it. Also I've been busy (and blah blah blah excuses) I'm sorry. More chapters on the way. Please comment and stuff and remember that I write this in my spare time so plot issues, spelling issues, characterization etc i'm just gonna apologize for it now. Thank you!

3 months ago - The RER, Paris, France

Bucky keeps dozing off. His gloved hands are clasped together resting lightly on his stomach and his head is tucked into the folds of his woolly scarf. We're riding the metro and then the RER to the last stop in the outskirts of Paris. If he does fall asleep then I'll have to wake him and suffer the guilt of knowing that I disturbed his few stolen minutes of peace.

The lights flicker as the train slinks between stations, grinding to halt at each platform to pick up a few stray passengers. It's late in the evening, or rather it's early the morning and elsewhere in the train I can hear the doors clattering open and slamming shut again before we jolt off; onwards through the serpentine tunnels. As we careen through, the wheels spark on the tracks and the wind whips and whistles throughout the car. My attention is divided. Both between Bucky and a moth which dances in the very corner of my eye, its papery wings tap-tap-tapping on the scratched glass window.

The train takes a sharp turn too fast. The cart judders and Bucky is thrown back into consciousness. Now alert, he glances out the window. The train slows down as we approach the next platform station.

"Is this our stop?" he says.

I shake my head.

"Did I fall asleep?" he asks pushing the beanie hat up from his brow and rubbing his tired blue eyes.

"Nearly." I smile.

"How long do you think it'll take to get there?"

"Another ten minutes on the train at least."

He sits up straight. "I'd better try and stay awake then."

The moth's movements have slowed. It rests, two-three-four, then it batters the window with its fragile wings.

Bucky opens his mouth like he's about to say something, then closes it as he reconsiders his question. Finally he asks, "Why do they call him Glass Jaw?"

I shrug, "I don't know the truth. But there are lots of stories."

"Like what?"

"Someone who worked for him once told me that one day Glass was working in his lab at a secret Hydra base. But there was a snitch who sold them out or something like that, I can't really remember, I've heard so many different stories."

Bucky rolls his eyes.

I ignore it. "Anyway, SHIELD comes crashing in and Glass is captured by them. But he's loyal to Hydra so in the middle of an interrogation he pops a cyanide pill that he had hiding in his teeth instead of giving up any secrets." My voice is a low whisper like the voice of someone telling a ghost story, "Only the pill is a dud. It doesn't kill him, but it melts off half of his face."

Bucky seems unimpressed by the tale. He shakes his head, "But that doesn't explain why he's called Glass Jaw."

"Because he has a prosthetic jaw bone now." I say, "Or the cyanide pill hidden in his teeth was made of glass, I don't know."

He laughs, "Do you believe it?"

"Of course I don't believe it, but half his face is missing, people talk and they make up stories. Some stories are better than others."

"Does he have a real name?"

"Brian Bouchard."

The shadows flit across Bucky's face, as the train pulls up to another station with white tiled walls and an empty platform. He taps my shin with the toe of his boot to get my attention again, "How do you know him anyway?"

"He found me. I got away from Hydra and I realised that I didn't know anybody, he offered me a deal and I took it. He can be very persuasive."

"What did he want?"

"He wanted me to kill him." I say, eyeing the moth in the window that's ceased all frantic flapping. "And in return he killed me. He programmed my cloaking software in exchange for making him disappear."

"How did you do it? Kill him, I mean."

"I hacked the right files and forged the right documents, then Brian Bouchard was no more. Of course that's not a hundred percent guarantee that Hydra would never find him, but it's as good as." And after a moment's pause I add, "That's three things the three of us have in common."

Bucky cocks his head to one side.

"We're all supposed to be dead. We all belonged to Hydra and we're all not entirely ourselves." I say tapping my temple with my index finger.

We've almost reached our destination and despite the odds Bucky is still awake. We still have some time before we meet Bouchard or whoever it is he's sent to meet us there when we get off the train.

"Bucky," I begin, "You should know that Glass- that Brian, is not all there."

He looks up from the loose thread he was picking at on the fingertip of his left hand glove. His forehead creasing under the I-heart-Paris beanie we bought on route, Bucky asks "What do you mean?"

"I mean, he's seen things in his lifetime and, well, he's a little strange." I say, "He can be a little bit hard to handle."

Bucky leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Is he okay to operate on you?"

"He's fine, he's just a little bit eccentric, sometimes it puts people off."

He nods but the frown on his brow doesn't let up.

"He's going to want to see it, you know." I say gesturing to his metal arm. It's hidden by his gloves but he still looks down at it.

"Was that part of the deal?" He asks gruffly.

"I had to tell him that you'd be coming too, otherwise he wouldn't have agreed to fix me." I shake my head. "So no, it wasn't part of the deal. But I know Glass and he wouldn't let us visit him at all unless he had something to gain from it. And he was pretty quick to change his mind when I told him that you would be coming with me."

Bucky doesn't reply to this. Instead he scratches the stubble on his chin with his knuckles the way he always does. The changing light throws shadows on his face as the tunnel peels back to reveal another station; the last one and also our stop.

We exit onto the platform (apparently the last people on the train) and begin to make our way out, up two flights of stairs and into the open air again. From here, we walk east.

This is the outskirts. But it appears most of the buildings here, mainly warehouses, are still in use. We almost miss the one we're looking for. Tucked away behind still-used buildings, guarded by a chain link fence and sprawling drive of overgrown weeds. Though the gate is swung wide open; an invitation.

Bucky takes the hunting knife from his belt as we share a silent nod. I step behind him and he throws open the door with his metal arm.

The warehouse reeks of pigeon shit.