Sitting on a park bench, earbuds firmly lodged in my ears with music turned just this side of uncomfortably loud, my book opened to the same page it's been on for the past week - the week that I've been back from - well I'd rather not think about where I was before. Where at least half the population of this giant ball of gas and bullshit disappeared to for years with no warning and then POOF here we were, back again, unchanged while every fucking thing we left behind was changed. Five years gone, five years lost to us, while the people we left behind had continued to move and grow.

Maybe that's why I couldn't focus on my music, or my book, or the scenic park laid bare before me. Why flashes of darkness and light would hit me without warning and crippling fear would strike me with no urging. My parents had died of natural causes while I was snapped into the void. No one was waiting to greet me or was excited when I returned. Friends and family scattered, the earth kept turning, but everything was upside down and inside out, or so it seemed to me.

I was the same as I'd been when the snap happened. Twenty-five years old, still searching for something, but no closer to the answers than I'd been before - and with less guidance now that two of my compass leads were gone. I had a house, thank God for the retroactive inheritance bills that were activated for people like me, whose family died and their property was put into question. I had some cushion, but I knew it wouldn't last. I had to find something, some means to keep my head afloat and hopefully not make my mind numb to the point that I'd wish for another snap.

I shouldn't be wasting time in parks with earbuds and books, I should have my feet on the ground looking for a job. What was I even qualified to do? I went to college and got a degree in liberal arts. Yeah, that's marketable. I loved to read, notwithstanding my current attention span. I earned extra cash during college editing my fellow classmates' papers, but I didn't actually have a background in editing. I was considering how best to pad my resume that I hadn't used for a full five years when he ran past.

A touch faster than the other joggers, a slightly different gait, his left side seemed heavier? I was studying him without actually thinking about it, his dark hair and the chiseled jawline would have been enough to draw anyone's attention, but there was something I couldn't quite put my finger on that marked him as different -

My head tilted as I watched him run, his hands were encased in gloves. Maybe that's what drew my attention, it wasn't cold after all. He didn't look like he was running because he was a health nut, not like the other joggers dotting the jogging track, more like he was running for the routine of it. And I had no idea how I came to that conclusion.

I shook myself, watching a stranger run was creepy, verging on stalkerish. It didn't matter that he was attractive or that he seemed to radiate some type of magnetic attraction that drew my gaze, that was probably just boloney that my mind was cooking up to make it alright for me to stare at him. Banging around in the nothingness for five years was NO excuse for this type of behavior, I told myself while my eyes were still following his course. Round and round he went, hardly breaking a sweat, and not breathing heavily either.

He glanced up and his eyes met mine and I could feel the blood drain from my face. Not because he scared me, but because I was caught being a creeper. And his eyes were like steel, gray and I shouldn't have been able to tell that from the distance between us. But I could.

Evenings were always loose ends for me. Five years, dead parents, and I know people are going to say "but you have to have SOME friends around." Of course I do, and most of them are now in their thirties and they don't know how to handle that I'm not. Or how to handle that I was GONE for five years, while their lives went on, and I have what would have been godchildren and honorary nieces and nephews, but I wasn't here. And if you don't think that shit is awkward, well, you clearly haven't experienced it.

They got to be at my parents' funerals. They lived through my parents' grief at the loss of ME. They said their goodbyes to ME. And now here I am. Yeah, it's much easier to let go. Even if letting go means that I have to start over.

The choices are, make my own dinner - which I am more than capable of doing, or go out on the off chance I could meet and make new friends. Usually I pick option one. Safer, quieter, easier. But after the day I'd had in the park, I thought perhaps I'd give option two a go.

Going for a walk, thinking that I'd choose along the way, I started out with my phone, earbuds, and book. Habits. Old habits die hard.

I know what most people are thinking. A woman alone, nighttime, after everything that had happened and continues to happen, wasn't I just asking for trouble? Not really. I'm not one of those people that automatically assumes that bad things happen to people because of size, shape, gender, and on and on. I don't think I got snapped into the void or whatever because I happened to be a petite woman. I don't think I'll end up snatched off the street because of it either.

Also, my parents spent a fair bit of extra cash to make sure I was taught self defense, so I felt at least confident in my chances against regular freaks. It was the extra-enhanced freaks I might have issues with.

I bypassed sushi places and burger spots. Ignoring the sub sandwich shops that almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the early night, I was thinking that Italian was what I was craving, and if it hadn't closed, my favorite spot wasn't far. So focused on my purpose, now that I had one, I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings and crashed into a steel wall.

"Ow," I bounced back, rubbing my right shoulder and thinking that maybe I'd been too quick in my bitching about the padding in bras. Looking up I realized it wasn't a steel wall OR door, but shockingly the jogger from earlier. "Oh, I'm sorry."

I couldn't decide if he was surprised by or uncertain about me. His lips were working to form something, and finally managed a sort of smile. "Nothing to be sorry about." His eyes were in a squint and I wondered how weird he'd think I was if I rubbed my right breast, because DAMN if it didn't hurt like fuck. "I should get out of your way."

I blinked again, words, use your words. "Right, I was on my way to dinner." You're not fucking stupid. Just socially inept. "I'm sorry I ran into you?" Did I run into him? I mean, I've heard about muscles of steel, but REALLY?

"Oh," he stepped back and cleared the path. "I hope you aren't late."

"Late?" He was more attractive up close and I swear it made it a thousand times harder to make words form. His eyes were almost silver and if I'd thought his jaw was chiseled as he jogged, well, holy hell up close? He could cut bread with it. He was waiting and I ran the conversation through my brain again. "For dinner, right. Dinner for one, so I'm only late if I don't arrive at all." Shit, now I sound lonely and sad. My eyes snapped shut. "And now I'll go and disappear into my spiral of shame."

"Shame?" He sounded so confused that I had to open my eyes, and sure enough his brow was fully furrowed and he looked as confused as a puppy. "Why would you -"

"You'd never understand," I huffed out a chuckle and shook my head. "I'm sorry for talking your head off, I should go."

"Wait," his gloved hand touched my arm, the briefest touch to get my attention. "I'm Bucky -" he took a deep breath like he was really unsure of himself, which was bizarre. "Bucky Barnes."

Something twitched in my stomach, something I hadn't felt since long before the snap. And that name, wasn't it a touch familiar? Butterflies and nerves fought for dominance, and as I bit my lip, I took my own deep breath thinking maybe this was it. The first step since coming back. "It's nice to meet you, Bucky, I'm Brooke Ashley."