And You Will Know Me Still

by theicemenace

Bucky Barnes was set adrift after the fall of SHIELD. Where will he go? How will he survive? Will he be able to exist in a world he's unprepared for? Or will he have to rely on the kindness of strangers to get get by? Some chapters will be noted at the beginning if they contain more mature themes, though not necessarily of an intimate nature.

25. Chapter 25

A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, and Captain America: Civil War.

As always, many thanks go out to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta and Winter-Soldier-88 for the brainstorming.

Note 1: I know it's been a while since this story was updated, but it couldn't be helped. Not only is my muse a fickle little scamp, my family has been experiencing a great deal of emotional turmoil that may not get better any time soon. Such is RL.

Note 2: This story is being revamped. Some scenes will be removed completely. Others will be changed to better conform to the MCU movies. Also, parts 2 and 3 will be eliminated and the chapters posted all under one title.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;
And you will know me still.
I shall be only a little taller
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems

Winter Soldier

And You Will Know Me Still

Chapter 25

Brooklyn

Dooney snapped out of a light doze, uncertain what woke him. He yawned and rubbed his eyes with one hand while the other found the controls by feel and turned on the light to check the time. Dinner would be served soon, probably something just as unimaginative as breakfast and lunch.

He turned on the television, flipping quickly through the channels, stopping on the same movie he and Kiba had started to watch the other night. It had been one of the worst and the best nights he'd had in a while. Worst, because he had to tell someone he was starting to care for about the leukemia. Best because he'd spent the next two nights with Kiba, something he'd wanted since they first met. She was the first woman in a long time to resist his charms. In general, not just for sex. The women-and some of the men-of New York seemed to find his southern accent and manners especially charismatic. He didn't get it, but, hey, it worked, even on Rosalie.

When he and Rosalie first started seeing each other, it was a convenience. Their schedules were such that neither had time or energy to put into a committed relationship. So, a couple times a month, they got together, drank some wine, had dinner, and spent the night getting rid of the stress that had built up since the last time. After a while, she started hinting at wanting something deeper and long-term. He'd put her off in part because being in a long term relationship meant he would have to tell her what he really did for a living. Rosalie eventually stopped mentioning moving in, and things settled back into their routine.

Then, a little over a month ago, she called to tell him it was over, that she'd met someone and wanted to explore a relationship with him. He missed her, but not as much as he thought he would. Truth was he could've fought for her, told her what he thought she wanted to hear, but couldn't do it knowing he wouldn't be around for much longer.

Then Kiba came along with her delightfully quirky sense of humor, strong convictions, and compassion. And the ability to resist every line he threw at her, old and new. He wasn't intrigued by her just because she rejected him-he could see in her eyes that she was attracted to him as well. With her, he had to change tactics. Instead of hustling her off to bed, his usual MO, he started talking to her about any subject that came up and found that, in addition to being beautiful, she had an incredible intelligence.

And he had to go and screw it up by trying to take himself out. Clint was right. It was a selfish thing to do, taking his life without a thought to how the only family he had would feel at the abruptness of his death. At not giving anyone time to prepare. Dooney didn't count Kiba in the ranks-they hadn't known each other long enough, but she was there, nonetheless.

The door opened and he muted the television while, his head coming around at the sound of a familiar voice. "Hey."

Kiba was standing in the doorway, rocking on her toes, hands shoved into the pockets of her vest.

"Hey. C'mon in."

She closed the door and came to stand next to the bed. "You had dinner yet?"

He made a face. "Any moment now, a nurse with cold hands and a surly attitude will be comin' through that door with a meal that's more fittin' for a prisoner."

The bag over her shoulder thumped on the bed. Kiba opened it and took out a brown bag from which the most enticing scent emanated. "In that case, I brought you some contraband."

Dooney opened the bag and pulled out the paper and foil wrapper. "How'd you know?"

"Are you kidding? We've practically been living together for the last couple of weeks. Every time we go to that diner," she nodded at the enormous burger in his hands, "that's what you order. A heart attack on a plate."

He peered into the bag. "No fries?"

Hitching one hip onto the bed next to his knee, she poked him in the chest. "Ungrateful much?"

"Kidding." He tore the paper around the pickle. "How'd you know I was here?"

"Barton's easy to read once you know where to look."

"Yeah. Don't mention it though. He likes to think he's mysterious and enigmatic. That no one ever really knows where they stand with him. Mr. Spock with arrows."

"Well, he ran out like his ass was on fire and was pissed as hell when he got back. Went into the den and closed the door. We could hear him talking, but he didn't come out for a while." Using the first two fingers of her left hand, Kiba "walked" them up his leg. "So, I let my fingers do the walking around the Internet and found your name on the patient list for this place."

To avoid her penetrating gaze, Dooney asked for the water carafe just out of reach. Kiba poured him a glass and handed it over. He drank half and set the glass beside his burger.

She looked down at her lap, arms crossed and shrugged. "Why're you here? You're not in ICU so it couldn't've been too bad."

Dooney had a split second of personal debate then smiled and lied, sort of. "I had a bad couple of days and got a little confused about my meds. Good thing Clint came to check on me."

~~O~~

"You want part of this, Kiba? My stomach's not quite up to it."

She picked up the burger and took a bite, talking around the food at his expression. "What?"

"Most people would just take the part I haven't eaten off of."

She grabbed a few of the napkins and set them on the rolling table, using the last one to cover her mouth while she coughed. He passed her a glass of water, and she took a few small sips. When she could speak without spitting food, she smirked. "I think we're past that point, considering those two nights we spent together."

His smile warmed her in places that had been cold for a long time. "We did have a good time, didn't we?"

The nurse came in, saw the burger on the table, shook her head and left. She was back a few minutes later with medication. Uttering not a whimper of protest, he took the pills with water.

"FYI - Rogers took off too. Left a note saying he had some personal business out of town, but that he'd be back." She gathered the trash and threw it out, washed her hands and came back to the bed. "How long are you in for?"

"Couple more days." One shoulder twitched in a small shrug. "Just a precaution."

Sitting on the bed again, close enough to brush her fingers through his hair, Kiba tilted her head to the side. "Come back to the brownstone when you get out. That way, we can keep an eye on you 'til you're back on your feet. There's plenty of room."

Dooney's eyes got a thoughtful glaze in them, then he shook his head. "I've imposed too much as it is."

"You helped Barton make Newcomb as HYDRA. That's hardly an imposition. And we like having you around."

"We?" he asked with a smile. His cell phone vibrated on the table before she could answer. He checked the screen, huffed and set it in the drawer. "I have a business that needs my attention. And before you ask, no, I can't delegate. I'm the only employee."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

Taking hold of his hand, Kiba turned to face the door with his arm around her shoulders, and sat next to him. Dooney scooted over to give her room, holding her close and planting a small kiss on her temple. Her shoes hit the floor and her legs came up to rest next to his. She turned to offer her lips and he wasted no time accepting. With a sigh, they settled in to watch the rest of the movie they started a few days ago.

The Helicarrier

"Two words, doctor: universal donor," Steve stated succinctly.

Dr. Nomura stared at him for what seemed a long time, and Steve could see the wheels turning. He paced in the confines of his office, thumb and forefinger pulling at his lip. Then, he stopped and nodded. "I see where you're going with this and you're right. It could work, provided the two of you are compatible."

Steve followed Nomura down the hall to the phlebotomy lab. The tech met them just inside the door. "Antonio, I need you to crossmatch Captain Rogers's blood with Commander Hill's. This takes priority. Everything else can wait." He picked up a tablet. "I've ordered tests for both of them. Call in whomever you need to assist then message me when the results are in."

"Of course, doctor." Antonio went to gather everything he needed, working quickly and efficiently.

To Nomura, Steve said, "If this works, how much blood will you need?"

"We'll start with a pint. See how it goes. For most people, I wouldn't even consider allowing a donation of more than that, but you're a special case."

Steve sat in the chair as directed by Antonio while Nomura hustled down the hall out of sight.

Avengers HQ

Stark Plaza

Manhattan

Bruce counted himself lucky to be alone in the lab for a change. Then, a door opened followed by familiar footsteps thundering down the stairs. "Doc?"

"Over here." Holding in a sigh, Bruce put on a smile as Barton joined him. He held up a flat, clear rectangle that looked like glass, a data card.

"Got everything you asked for." He took several vials of blood from his pocket and laid them on the table.

Taking the data card, Bruce tapped commands into the mainframe, turned to face an open area surrounded by tables filled with equipment, and gave a flick of the wrist. A holographic display appeared. Then, a thought occurred to him. "Wait. How'd you get the blood? Please tell me you didn't draw it yourself."

"Course I didn't."

Exhaling in relief, Bruce examined the DNA and other medical information displayed. "Good."

Barton waved a hand carelessly. "I broke into the hospital's lab and took it." Bruce's mouth dropped open, though knowing Barton as well as he did, he shouldn't be surprised. "How else were we going to get it? Didn't want to get Dooney's hopes up."

Noise in the other room put Barton on alert though Bruce knew it was only Helen Cho setting up her equipment. "Relax. We'll know something soon."

Standing opposite Bruce with his arms crossed, Barton's eyes glazed over at the amount of information moving and changing in air between them. "Will you be using one of those, what do they call them? Retro something?"

"A retrovirus? That's up to Helen." He made a few adjustments to one of the blocks of data, his eyes flickering between it and Barton, seeing his confusion at the obviously unfamiliar term. "Retroviridae is a family of enveloped viruses that replicate in a host cell through the process of reverse transcription. A retrovirus is a single-stranded positive sense RNA virus with a DNA intermediate and, as an obligate parasite, targets a host cell. Once inside the host cell cytoplasm, the virus uses its own reverse transcriptase enzyme to produce DNA from its RNA genome, the reverse of the usual pattern…"

Barton dropped into a chair and swiveled back and forth. "So how's it work?"

"The virus adheres the changes to the recipient's DNA, they become part of it, like grafting skin. What we're going to do is break down your friend's DNA one chromosome at a time to find the one that triggered the leukemia. If he's missing something that would've kept it in check, we add it. If he has that piece of the puzzle, but it's dormant, we activate it."

"Like a light switch. If he has one, you make sure all the wires are connected and flip it. If he doesn't, you install one then you flip it. Easy-peasy."

Bruce took off his glasses to rub his eyes. He put them back on to peer at Barton with a bit more respect. Going to the computer, he inserted the data card into the docking port, realizing that his teammate was smarter than he wanted people to think. He'd let him have that illusion for a while longer, outing him at just the right moment. "A simplistic description of the process, and not as, uh, easy-peasy as it sounds, Agent Barton."

Helen Cho joined them, giving Barton an annoyed glance, which he returned with the smallest smirk. Bruce didn't know what had caused the ill feeling between them, though it was rumored that she'd asked him out on several occasions and he turned her down. Politely. Whenever the subject came up, Barton said he didn't have a girlfriend. However, prior to each mission, he made a phone call just before wheels up.

Bruce and Helen got to work, ignoring Barton for the time being. Or rather they tried to. Barton alternated between peering over Helen's and Bruce's shoulders, and in between, asked question after question, which they felt obliged to answer. Eventually, they both had enough. Helen huffed, her dark eyes filled with frustration, bordering on anger. She mouthed, Do something to Bruce.

He nodded. "Clint?"

"Yeah?"

Motioning to the archer, he leaned close, keeping his voice low. "This work requires the utmost concentration. One little mistake and it either won't work at all, or it could kill, uh…"

"Duane Nelson. Goes by Dooney." Barton hurriedly gathered his things together and stuffed them into his backpack. "I'd like to stay and chat, doc, but I've gotta get back to Brooklyn. Keep me in the loop."

He jogged up the stairs and into the lift. As soon as the doors closed, Helen exhaled loudly. "I thought he'd never leave. How can you be so calm around him?"

Chuckling, Bruce entered information into the hologram. "He's an acquired taste, I'll give you that. Always pushing the boundaries, seeing how far he can go before you call him on it. It's a game for him."

"I know. It's just that every time I'm around him, he makes me want to… grrr!"

"Pull your hair out?" With a flick of his wrist, he sent a block of information over to his colleague. She enlarged the file, reading while making notes. One image displayed a double helix spinning slowly and was color coded by element. Here and there, certain areas were highlighted and flashing. "Helen?"

The dark haired geneticist came around to Bruce's side. "I see it. If we follow that to here," she pointed with the stylus, "it should lead us to the missing or dormant chromosomes."

They worked in silence for a while, then Helen handed him a bottle of water. "Don't tell him I said this. As aggravating as he is, Agent Barton did present us with an interesting case."

Bruce twisted off the bottle's top, using the hand holding it to point at her. "That's what makes putting up with him worth the time. He's also one of the best people to have at your side in a fight."

"How does he do it? Keep up with the other Avengers, I mean. You, Thor, Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff, you have all these special powers, and all he has is…"

"Sarcasm and a bow and arrow?" Bruce returned to work, speaking over his shoulder. "You're not the first to underestimate Barton, and won't be the last. The main thing is not to let him know he's getting on your nerves." He let her think it over a while. "Now you want to know why he hangs out with superheroes." Bruce walked around the opposite side of the hologram, a look of pride in his teammate. "He does it because it's his job."

The Helicarrier

The staff came in to change the bedding and give Maria a sponge bath while Steve walked down to the mess hall for more coffee. Most people drank it for the kick, but Steve wasn't affected by the stimulant. He drank it because he liked it. And it gave him something to do.

Steve finished his coffee, set the mug in the pass-through and returned to the medical bay. Nomura and the nurse were in Maria's room. A bag of blood hung on the IV pole, a quarter of its contents already inside her veins. He tapped on the window and Nomura joined him. "I take it we're compatible."

"Very much so, Captain Rogers. She's tolerating it better than we could've hoped." He took Steve by the arm, leading him into the room. The nurse left them alone, closing the door behind her. "Increasing her circulation would help immensely."

"How do we do that?"

The doctor handed him a small bottle. "Massage her limbs, back, neck, shoulders. Even her abdomen. Anything to get the blood flowing."

Steve looked at the bottle and back to Nomura. "Don't you have a physical therapist on staff?"

"Yes, of course. However, the touch of a loved one is more beneficial than that of a stranger. The unconscious or comatose person senses emotion through physical contact."

"But we're not… I mean we haven't… We don't…"

Nomura smiled gently and patted him on the shoulder. "You'll do fine, son. I'll leave you two alone. If you need anything, use the call button."

Steve looked at the label. Warming lotion. Friction warmed the lotion before application. Because she was on her side, Steve started with her back. He rolled the sheet and blanket out of the way, removed the pillow and parted the sides of the gown. He squirted a small amount into his palm, rubbed his hands together and began massaging her back and shoulders. Steve had done it on a few occasions, always through her clothing. It thrilled him now to be able to see the bumps and ridges of her spine that he'd only felt.

He moved down to her lower back and the outside curve of her hip, doing his best to ignore her bare backside. This was neither the time nor the place for the thoughts running through his mind.

Easing her onto her back, Steve pushed the sleeve of her gown up and continued his ministrations on her arms up to the shoulder. He avoided the left arm below the elbow, not wanting to venture too close to the injury. Bruises peeked from under the bandages, bright purple against the white.

When it came time to do the rest of her, Steve hesitated briefly before folding the covers back to expose one leg up to the thigh. Here, like her back, he'd only felt its shape through the material of her pants. The muscles were smooth, firm and toned, as was the calf, just as he knew they'd be.

Moving around to the foot of the bed, he used his thumbs to press into the ball of her foot, moving down to the heel and back, smiling when her toes curled at the contact. She's ticklish. Steve filed the info away for later as he covered that leg and went onto the other one. The doctor had mentioned massaging her abdomen, but Steve didn't feel comfortable doing that without her knowledge. The bottle went back into the drawer, and Steve once again took up his post holding Maria's hand.

Safe House

Vermont

James and Natasha returned to the cabin near dark. Their hike had been long and arduous, and she'd done it all without complaint. Not certain of her motives for anything she was doing on his behalf, he simply followed wherever she led. Often behind her, and occasionally at her side. He offered no opinion one way to the other on what path they should take and they only stopped when she suggested it.

At one point, they stopped for a rest in a small clearing. Natasha had taken off her boots and socks to wiggle her toes in the grass. Leaning back on her hands, she'd closed her eyes and turned her face into the sun, basking in its warmth and promise.

Not knowing what else to do, James sat where he could watch her face. He was curious about everything she did, the reasons behind each decision she made whether for herself, for him or for them together. He wasn't exactly waiting for her to give him orders; he'd taken care of himself for weeks before they joined forces. Until he could figure her out, he fell back on the programmed behavior of the Winter Soldier.

They hadn't spoken since the previous night, not conversationally. And if they did, what would he say? That being around her gave him the freedom not to make decisions? Within him, he felt the compulsion to complete his mission to assassinate her then go after the other one. That was one reason he wouldn't allow her to take him in. He didn't want to kill anyone ever again, and was afraid he would harm Natasha, Steve and anyone who got in the way of completing his programming even considering that the man giving those orders was gone.

James followed her up the steps to the porch. She took off her backpack as she went, dropping it on the floor beside the chair. Her boots came off to keep from tracking mud and dirt. Again, James followed her lead.

Inside, Natasha turned on the music, washed her hands, and began gathering food. She laid the vegetables in the empty sink and turned on the water while she got out cutting boards and knives. She looked over her shoulder at him and he guessed that she must've felt him tense up at seeing the knives. He relaxed when she lay them on the counter. The washed vegetables went into a bowl which she set on the counter as well.

Natasha retrieved a package of meat from the refrigerator and laid it on the second cutting board. "We're making chicken stew. You cut up the veggies while I get the chicken ready."

James picked up the knife, looking from it to the food items, uncertain what to do. Natasha took the knife from him and demonstrated with an orange vegetable. When done, she handed him the knife. "For the onion, cut the top and bottom off and remove the skin before cutting it up." He stared at her for a long moment, and she smiled wryly back. "I know you're good with a knife, Barnes, so get to work."

Her tone indicated a request, not an order. Still, he obediently did as he was told. After a few minutes, somehow, the two of them standing side by side performing what would've been a mundane ritual to anyone else, gave him a sense of peace. The belief that he just might be able to become a part of the world that had left him behind so long ago.

When he finished, Natasha took a pot from under the counter, added yellow liquid and water. She took down several small jars from a rack on the wall, sprinkling a little of each into the pot. "If you're done, give them one more rinse in cold water and put them in."

While he did that, Natasha held the cutting board in her right hand and used the knife to push the pieces of chicken into the warming liquid. She turned down the flame and covered the pot with a clear lid. "It has to simmer a while so find some way to amuse yourself. If you want to help, I'll give a shout."

Then, she filled the sink with hot soapy water to wash the dishes. Her back was to him, her head moving in time to the music. It would be so easy to snap her neck. Just a quick flick of the wrist and it would be done. That would leave Steve for him to dispose of and his mission would be complete. James flexed the fingers of his biomechanical hand and circled the shoulder joint in preparation for a fight. He took a half step in her direction and stopped, letting the hand fall to his side.

No. He told Natasha there would be no more killing, and he meant it. She was also the last person he wanted to see harmed, by him or anyone else. If at all possible, James wanted them to be friends. However, he had no idea how to start. Maybe that was why Natasha had brought him to this solitary place. He tried putting himself back into society, and it had been a dismal failure. The rules were different now than before. He needed guidance, and Natasha seemed to be offering.

His stocking feet making no sound on the hard wood floor and rugs, James went to the book shelf, chose a book at random and returned to his room, locking the door behind him. Not to keep Natasha out, but to keep himself in.

Before opening the book, he read the title, The Bourne Identity. It was the story of Jason Bourne, a man with remarkable survival abilities who suffered from retrograde amnesia, and who must seek to discover his true identity. In the process, he must also reason out why several shadowy groups, a professional assassin and the CIA want him dead. And like the book from the library, he didn't miss the similarity to his own situation. He turned to the first page and started to read.

The Helicarrier

Dr. Nomura sent Steve to get some rest, but he hadn't been able to sleep so he took a run on deck instead. He ran the length of the helicarrier ten round trips then did push-ups and crunches. The punching bag would've helped get his frustration out, but he needed fresh air to clear his head.

Another problem nagging at him was that he'd hoped to hear from Natasha by now. He didn't know if the fact that he hadn't was good or bad.

He went down to the gym to shower and change, then made his way back to the medical bay via the mess hall. For the first time in days, he felt like eating. After a thousand calorie meal and an entire pot of coffee, Steve returned to Maria's room. This time, she was on her back. Holding her hand once more, he sat in the chair and closed his eyes.

~~O~~

Maria slowly became aware of her surroundings. This place didn't sound or smell like the brownstone, her apartment or her quarters in The Cave. Though she was in no way a perfect housekeeper, none of those places smelled like antiseptic and the only time she heard beeping was when the alarm went off, if she slept that late.

She yawned and tried to sit up, giving it up as a bad idea when a wave of dizziness made her head spin. Her head dropped back to the pillow and she opened her eyes instead. The room was lit by a single light next to the door; more than enough to see by. The hospital room was small, and the low thrum of engines told her she was on the helicarrier. Searching her memory for why she was he, she realized that the last thing she remembered was boarding the quinjet for the flight to New York.

Her bangs hung in her eyes, but when she tried to brush them away, she felt and saw the IV stuck in the back and the oxygen sensor clipped to her index finger. Then she remembered the infection. Dreading what she might see, Maria looked to the left, and was relieved to find her hand hadn't been amputated. She moved just her fingers, surprised to feel no pain. Next, she made a loose fist, and still no pain, something she hadn't been able to do since…

How long have I been here? What day is it?

A snore came from her right. She found the bed controls and turned on the overhead light to see Steve asleep in a chair, head resting on his fist and knees splayed wide, the other hand on the edge of the bed.

Her bladder twinged a complaint, and without thinking, Maria tossed the covers off and swung her legs over the side. Her punishment was another wave of dizziness followed by her stomach heaving. She swallowed the bile in the back of her throat, breathing through her nose until it stopped.

Steve patted the mattress in his sleep, and when he found her hand, his fingers curled around it and he sighed. The man looked so peaceful, it was a shame she had to wake him. "Steve?"

He went from sound asleep to wide awake and on his feet in less than a second. "Maria? You're awake." Framing her face with his palms, he kissed her then rested his forehead against hers. "Thank God it worked."

Making a "hurry up" motion, Maria grasped his hand and slid off the bed. "Later. Help me to the bathroom."

~~O~~

Maria took a step, bringing Steve's attention to the fact that her gown gaped open in the back. Gathering the sides, he held it closed until they reached the door of the bathroom. Turning around, she gazed up at him with that half-smile he adored. "I'll take it from here, Rogers, but don't leave."

"I won't." Steve closed the door behind her, careful not to shut it on the IV tube, and for a fleeting second, thought about calling the doctor. Instead, he leaned against the wall and heaved a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes, rubbed both hands over his face and blew out a breath of air he'd been holding for what seemed like days. While waiting for her to come out, he said a short prayer of thanks. The water shut off, and Steve pushed off the wall, ready to help her back to bed.

Through the door, he heard a small intake of breath and an angry growl just before, "Steve!"

He wrenched the door open and Maria turned toward him holding up her left hand. Her eyes were wide with shock and not a little bit of anger, neither of which was unexpected. "What the hell did you do to me?"

TBC