It was impossible not to fall asleep sitting there with my legs stretched out and the gentle sways and vibrations of the train car. So when I finally woke up, I even found Bucky snoozing across from me. He had his head on the seat and his arms crossed tight over his chest. He didn't look the least bit comfortable, because I was certain he'd chosen that position just so he could be on the move quickly and never achieve real sleep. It wasn't long before he woke up. All someone had to do was laugh or cough and his eyes shot right open again.

He immediately sat up straight when he noticed I was awake.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, pulling his backpack onto the seat at his side.

"No," I replied. He pulled out the entire loaf of bread my grandmother insisted we took with us. It was already sliced up, but cold when he slid a piece across the table for me. I got to work picking at it. "How much longer do we have?"

"I lost track of time. It'll take me a minute to figure out where we are. You can get up and stretch if you need to. No one will notice."

"I'm fine."

I picked at the bread in silence and he did the same in front of me. Eventually, he pulled out a bottle of water and handed it over, but neither of us spoke. When the water was low and the bread was gone, I went back to looking out of the window with my arms crossed. A few minutes of peaceful silence passed before he pulled something else out of his backpack. He slid the silver case across the table.

"I think you should open it," he said. I really didn't want to, but I took the case in my hands anyway.

"Why?" I asked.

"I think it'll help. Even if all it does is pass the time."

"It'll hurt." He reached into his backpack and pulled out three more notebooks, each one with its own collection of color-coded tabs.

"It always hurts," he said.

I nodded and went back to the little case. He slid the notebooks back into his backpack now that he was done making his point. He went back to writing.

I didn't want to see what was inside. He said there were pictures, and I wasn't ready to see Ivan's face again. I wasn't ready to see Beata either. Or maybe I was just telling myself I wasn't ready. So I pumped myself up and popped the clasp. The silver case opened with a click and I looked down at the two pictures that had been glued to the inside covers. One on each side.

I smiled as I took in their faces. They seemed so young and happy. He looked just like the man I'd known as my commanding officer, but much younger and so much more like my mom than I expected to see. There was no beard on his face. No lines around his dark eyes. Just a goofy smile. The girl beside him held his face in her hands while she kissed his cheek.

In the first picture, I could only make out the profile of her. But in the second, they'd traded places. He was the one kissing her, just barely above her jaw. She had her hand on his chest, clearly elated and shocked about the affection all at once. Her smile was wide and happy. And even though her eyes were light in color and she was wearing wire-rimmed glasses, they were my eyes. Innocent eyes, as my mom called them. And Dana was right. That smile. It was mine.

She jumped off a bridge. To protect me. To clear Bucky's conscious of one more death. To stop Hydra from getting their hands on the monster she'd discovered and hidden in her own body. She didn't look anything like the images they showed me. They said she hit a semi when she fell. The driver had hit his breaks and launched her across the highway. They said she lived for fifteen more minutes in that state. In the pictures—all I'd seen was blood and bits of flesh and bone. I'd never get them out of my head.

But it was comforting to see her laughing and smiling, playing around in a photo booth with the man she loved. She'd had so much and died so young. Ivan was right to tell me not to make the same mistakes.

My eyes were watery when I looked back up at Bucky. He was already watching me. I didn't even notice he'd stopped writing. His expression was blank and passive again, but there was concern in his eyes. It was getting easier for me to read him. I smiled and sniffed.

"She had my smile," I told him. He smiled back, just barely. But the concern didn't lift from his eyes.

"Then it must have been beautiful," he said. I smiled through the tears that were welling in my eyes again.

"Thank you."

"What for?"

"Pushing me to open it."

"I didn't push you."

"Still. Thank you." He nodded with that half-smile and went back to his notebook.