"Arlington National Cemetery?"
Bucky didn't think the look of disbelief on Amy's face would have been any greater if he'd asked her to drive him to the moon.
"Yes."
She continued to stare at him, shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
"You're sure he said-"
"Call him back, if you don't believe me."
He threw Amy her phone. She caught it, but simply slipped it back into the pocket of her pants.
"I believe you. It's just- did he give any other instructions?"
"Just the name of the street where he wants to meet."
"That's it?" Amy folded her arms loosely across her chest. "Seems pretty morbid."
"I think it's kind of fitting."
Bucky had exchanged perhaps fifteen words with Steve Rogers. Hard, awkward, stilted words. He was already starting to doubt himself. It wasn't too late to run. Vanish. He forced himself to look at Amy. Reminded himself that he was a ticking time bomb with no idea what might set him off next. Or who would get hurt when he exploded.
"Okay. Great. So you're both as crazy as each other." She grabbed a set of keys off a hook on the wall, and avoided his eyes. "The garage isn't locked. You go on ahead. I need to fetch a jacket."
Bucky thought about waiting. About arguing. He definitely thought about going on alone. But he saw an entire lifetime of solitude stretching out in front of him. Felt as though he had already lived at least one lifetime in isolation. What difference did one more hour with Amy make after everything that had already happened?
So he did as she asked. Left the kitchen. Left the house.
The street outside was empty. Quiet too, aside from the sound of dogs barking nearby.
Bucky opened the door to the garage and paused for a moment on the threshold. There were two cars facing him. A large shiny black SUV and- he rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the other vehicle.
It was a Dodge D-14 convertible coupe, circa 1940. He had no idea how he knew that, but know it he did. The car was missing its wheels, and its windshield. He looked under the hood, half the engine seemed to be gone too. He could tell where Amy had started work though, pouring her time and care into the car, slowly bringing it back to life.
He pulled his gaze away, walked the length of the garage, ended up at what could only be Amy's workbench. She had three notepads lying open, each full of handwritten notes and little technical diagrams. He flicked through one. Put it down. Attention caught by something else.
His mind was wandering. Struggling to focus. Searching for a distraction. Amy had screwed a noticeboard to the wall. Here were all the homely touches that were missing from her house. Old concert tickets. Postcards from friends. Her military dog tags. And a collage of photos.
Amy smiling. Laughing. Amy as a kid. Brown hair in bunches. Riding a horse. Climbing all over a tractor. Amy in full dress uniform. In fatigues. In a swimsuit on the beach. Amy sitting on the hood of a car, shielding her eyes from the sun.
His fingers ached to steal a souvenir.
"I'd like to point out that wasn't my idea."
Bucky glanced over his shoulder.
"Just in case you'd decided I'm some kind of closet narcissist," Amy added. She came to stand at his side. Wrinkled her nose at the photos. "My therapist made me do it. Something to do with the 'cognitive retention of positive experiences'."
"Happy memories," said Bucky, voice low.
"Something like that." Amy nudged his arm with her elbow. He looked down at her. Body prickling with awareness. She offered him a smile. "See, I do have some. So you don't have to worry about me." How did she know he was worried, when he hadn't known it himself? "Now, it's your turn," she said, giving his hand a short tug. "Let's go find your memories, Bucky."
He saw the gun under Amy's jacket when she turned to walk back to the SUV. Couldn't explain why it unnerved him to see that she had finally taken his advice about arming herself seriously. Perhaps it was simply the fact that if Amy had cause to use her weapon today, he would have failed her in some fundamental way.
He followed her to the car and climbed into the passenger's seat. She already had the engine running. She shifted it into gear, pulled out of the garage and onto the street. Bucky watched the house in the mirror until it disappeared. Wondered if he would ever see it again? His gaze shifted to the woman at his side. Or for that matter, if he would ever see Amy again.
..ooOOoo..
It took twenty minutes to reach the national cemetery. Amy turned on the radio after the first five. Bucky didn't know if she did that to hide the fact that neither one of them was speaking. He turned his head and stared out of the window, trying not to think about what awaited him at the end of the journey.
Arlington National Cemetery was imposing from the first approach. Grand and sombre and important. Amy pulled up in front of a building that was signposted as the visitor centre.
"I'm not supposed to drive any further."
Bucky frowned and sank low in his seat. It was much busier than he had anticipated. There were people everywhere. People and barriers and armed security guards.
"Stay here," Amy said, as she unfastened her seatbelt. He'd grabbed her before he even knew what he was thinking. She looked at him, raised an eyebrow beneath her bangs. The whole of her forearm was engulfed by his metal fist. "Trust me. You walking in there. Not a good idea. I won't be long."
He let go. Let her go. Watched her walk away.
The entire time Amy was out of his sight, Bucky was on edge. Not because he was waiting to be spotted, or to be recognised. Not even because he was waiting for HYDRA to appear.
In fact, he refused to examine the reason why at all.
But he knew when he started to relax. When Amy returned, fifteen minutes later, a piece of paper in her hand.
He stared at her in question, as she got back into the car.
"Visitor's pass," she said. "It'll let us drive into the cemetery."
"How did you get it?"
"Some of my best friends are buried here. It's not the first time I've paid a visit."
"I'm sorry."
"Me too." Amy sighed. "It's okay. They would have wanted to help." She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "So, now we just have to get you passed the security guard over there. I vote you don't let Captain Rogers pick your meeting places in future."
"No one noticed me yesterday."
"Apart from HYDRA."
"Apart from them."
Amy shot an agonised glance in Bucky's direction and started the engine. Oddly, her anxiety focused him, grounded him, and awoke an age old desire to protect.
He did his best to look calm, as Amy drove up to a bored security guard. People rarely saw what they didn't expect. Bucky already knew that. He didn't believe for one second that the man actually read what was on the piece of paper, let alone that he checked the occupants of the car, before he waved them through the checkpoint.
Amy started to breathe a little easier.
"Glad we didn't have to put the bulletproof glass to the test."
"You drive a bulletproof car?" Bucky asked, incredulous.
Amy gave her shoulders a little shrug.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't want it anymore. It's only a prototype."
"For what?"
"One of the best cars I've ever designed." He didn't understand why she looked so heartbroken, and then she added, "It was written off recently."
He looked at her. Looked around at the interior of the car. There was something vaguely familiar about it, now that he was paying attention.
"Where exactly am I headed?" Amy asked, and Bucky lost his train of thought.
She drove for another five minutes, following his directions, heading away from the crowds of tourists and mourners. She stopped in the middle of a deserted stretch of road, flanked on either side by gravestones. He caught her staring out of the window, expression bleak. She turned her head just in time to realise that she was being watched. Looked away again.
"You okay?" he asked.
A burst of surprised laughter escaped her lips and her head snapped back towards him.
"That's my line."
"I'm borrowing it."
"I'll be fine," she said, composing herself. "Will you?"
The low throb of a motorcycle engine filled their quiet corner of the cemetery, just before Steve Rogers drove into sight. He stopped at the far end of the road.
"I guess I'm about to find out."
Bucky wasn't sure what hope felt like anymore, but he thought it was possible that the broken mess inside his chest made room for just a sliver of it. Strange. He had to get out of the car. Knew it, but couldn't move. That was when Amy reached out and touched his hand with her fingertips.
"Before you go, I just want you to know, I'm glad to have met you, Sergeant Barnes." She glanced sideways, summoned one last smile for him. "If you ever need a mechanic, you know where to find me."
"Amy."
He searched her face. Didn't want it to be one of the things that he forgot. The bruises on her skin were almost healed. The marks he'd left around her throat, concealed by a scarf. It was just her bottom lip that was still so obviously injured. He told himself that was why his gaze lingered on her mouth. He saw her swallow, watched her lips part a fraction, and then she disarmed him completely by placing a chaste kiss against the rough stubble of his jaw.
"Goodbye."
The farewell was whispered against his skin.
He hardly recognised the word. His body, so starved of affection, was too consumed in savouring the fleeting sensation of her caress.
"You've got a life to reclaim." Amy nodded her head in Steve's direction. "And all those answers you're looking for are standing out there."
True. So why the reluctance to leave?
He couldn't want this woman.
At least, he shouldn't…
"Thank you," he said.
There were those two alien words again.
"Go."
Bucky obeyed her final order like a model soldier. Packed her memory neatly into one of the empty compartments of his mind to be taken out and examined later. He closed the distance between Amy's car and Steve's bike with strong, steady strides. Scanned his surroundings out of the corners of his eyes as he walked.
Just in case.
A fact that was not lost on Steve.
"Expecting a welcoming party?"
"I wouldn't blame you."
Bucky frowned, regarded the blond man in front of him. He knew him. And now he knew how he knew him. But the pieces still didn't quite fit.
"I thought you were dead," said Steve.
"I thought you were smaller."
Steve laughed, short and sudden, and jammed his hands into his pockets.
"I've heard that before."
Yes. There was an echo in Bucky's head too. Distant and distorted, but it was definitely there. Like trying to remember a dream.
"What happens now?" he asked.
"You want to know who you are, right?"
Bucky nodded.
He did want to know, despite the fact that knowing might be worse than not knowing. He didn't think he was a coward, didn't think that had ever been one of his crimes. So he had to face his demons. He had to know the very worst before he could know whether or not he was strong enough to survive it.
Steve seemed to understand what he was thinking.
"We'll take it slow," he said. "Maybe start with a haircut. You leave the army for a few years and start thinking you can dress like a bum."
The corner of Bucky's mouth actually twitched, part smirk, part smile.
"I could be wrong, but I don't remember taking fashion advice from you before."
"No, you weren't big on listening to my advice."
"Really?" Bucky asked. He looked up at the sky. A lifetime of sights and sounds, moments and memories, were tickling the fringes of his mind. For the moment, they mostly had a safe warm glow to them. The bad days, the terrible things, they hadn't happened with this man. Bucky let his words form slowly before speaking them. "I would have sworn it was the other way around."
Steve was starting to smile.
"You remember that?"
"Just a feeling…"
"You should listen to it. You've got good instincts." Steve clapped him on the shoulder. The one that wasn't made of metal. And then he grabbed him, and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. "I missed you, Bucky."
He stood still. Didn't know how to react. Couldn't return the embrace. Until something clicked. And he realised, he wasn't the only one who was lost.
"Me too."