4

You opened your eyes to the sound of crickets and the rustling of leaves from underneath you. You felt a sharp pain in your left leg as you tried to sit up to see what happened. You groaned, only managing to pull yourself up slightly enough to see the tips of your boots. You lean back on your elbows and frantically start looking around.

Your neck is a bit stiff as you turn it from side to side, but you're thankful it doesn't take too long to realize you had fallen down a very steep cliff. You see the peeks of heavy mud under your feet and you realize you had slipped.

You curse yourself for not being more careful.

Pulling yourself up and close to a small tree next to the running creek, you wince at the quick pain that shoots through your hand. You pull it back to your chest immediately, cringing. You had forgotten about your open wound. Trying not to aggregate it too much, you finally maneuver yourself until your back is up against the slightly wet bark.

It's then that you see how dark it is, and realize you must've been out cold for at least a couple of hours. You reach your hand up to the back of your head, grimacing and trying to find an injury that might've been caused by the fall.

You must have hit your head pretty hard.

After long seconds of searching your scalp for blood or pain and finding nothing, you give up in exhaustion, dropping your arm down on your thigh. You began to worry as hunger and pain crept up your body. You were slowly starting to doubt even more that you would reach The Capitol successfully.

Throwing your head back against the tree, you take a deep breath and hope for some well-needed rest. You also hoped your leg wasn't hurt too bad. You were too scared to bend it and find out, worrying that the answer would make you give up once and for all.

The crickets have gotten louder and so had the sound of the water flowing down the river.

It's silent, until suddenly, it isn't.

You hear a heavy ruffle of grass and twigs, and you feel your heart beating away quickly in your chest. You only have to look slightly to your right to see one of your worst fears approaching you from within the shadows.

It's an older man, maybe mid-forties, and average height. He's limping and he looks very pale. There's a desperate look in his caved eyes. It doesn't take too long for you to actually see what you were looking at it.

And judging by the dark black/green substance over his lower stomach and on his arm, it wasn't hard to tell that he was infected.

And he was making his way over to you.

Your sense of pity quickly turned into fear, and you tried to back away as much as you possibly could without triggering any pain. Your breathing picked up as did his limping, his dark eyes not leaving your body.

"Please, please." He was begging, his voice hoarse.

You swallowed thickly, torn between wanting to be a good person and help, or trying to run away to save yourself. But you knew that even if you wanted to help him, you couldn't. He had no hope. He clearly knew this too by the look in his eyes.

The look in his eyes haunted you as he got closer to you.

"Stay away." You whispered, desperately. Your eyes went down to his hands as they extended towards you. If he even got some of the bacteria on your exposed skin, you would be just like him in a little over four hours.

You tried to push yourself away with your hurt left leg, whimpering.

The sharp pain radiated through you.

The man fell to the ground and you watched as he tried to crawl towards you.

"I can't help you, you know I can't." You shook your head, "I'm sorry."

The man cried as some blood escaped his mouth and dribbled down his chin. You watched in emotional pain. This was heart-wrenching.

But this feeling was soon gone when he almost grabbed your boot, his action rough and violent. Your hand immediately snaked around into your backpack, your cold and nimble fingers wrapping around your spear.

"You need to go." You warned him through blurry tears, "I don't want to hurt you."

The man stared at you for a second before reaching for you with a feral growl.

You jumped back as far as you could, crying out in intense pain from your injured hand and leg.

You pulled out the spear and everything else was a blur. His growls and your cries mingled in the air together.

Suddenly, everything went quiet, and all you heard was the same rush of that river. You felt your heart in your chest, ripping away at the seams.

You swallowed heavy sobs and you gasped when your vision cleared and you saw what you had done.

There was the man laid out in front of you on his back, your beautiful hand made spear right through the middle of his chest. And you cry again.

How were you going to do this alone? You know you should get as far away as possible from the body, but you were too tired and in too much pain. You were hungry.

Was this it? Was this the end?

The man's soulless black eyes were the last thing you saw before you blacked out again.

Another twig, and another mini heart attack, and you were awake again. This time it sounded like heavy footsteps and they were approaching you. Their pace wasn't quick but it was fast enough that you could tell the person was not injured. You sway your head to the side and slowly open your eyes.

Your gaze is on the dead body - the man you killed - and then you follow the sound of the heavy footsteps stops.

You see heavy grey boots behind the man's head, and slowly, your eyes drift up the person's body.

They wore all black and a long trench coat.

Maybe this was it. Of course, you would die like this.

You don't have time to drift your eyes all the way up before the man is crouched down on one knee.

He's a black man and he's staring down at the corpse. Next, he's looking at your hurt leg, and then your face.

You feel the sudden need to laugh when your eyes meet because the irony couldn't have been any better. You can almost hear Will laughing in the distance.

Because of course, no other than Nick Fury would be right there looking you dead in the eye, with his one eye.

"Did you kill this man?" His voice was strong, demanding.

You swallow thickly, your eyes once again trailing to the body you murdered.

"Yes," your voice is weak, "I took his life. He was sick." Your voice breaks at the end.

"And this weapon?"

Your eyes trail over the beautiful wooden spear which Fury flicks with his finger.

"I made it."

He looks at it for a few long seconds with a look you can't read and then back to your face. He examines you, like really looks at you, and you start to feel a bit uncomfortable.

"What were you trying to do?" His question confuses you a bit.

You swallow thickly.

"I was trying to get away, but I hurt my leg. There was no other choice."

"You're alone?"

A beat.

"Yes. My friend got killed a couple of miles back. We were headed south." Fury tilts his head at you.

"Can you walk?" He asks.

You try to push yourself up on your hands and a low cry leaves your lips as some weight lands on your left leg. You slouch back down, defeated.

You're in a daze as your eyes shut again, you hunger now making you delirious. You're not aware anymore of your surroundings and it takes you minutes to realize Fury had managed to get you up on your feet with your arm thrown over his shoulder.

He's your crutch and most likely has been for the last mile or so since you no longer see the river.

Your ears perk up at a sound you hadn't heard in years. Chatter.

Fury is walking you through some low shrubs and fallen trees, and suddenly, you're faced with an open field.

There are camps and tents set up, and there are people walking about. What startles you the most is their attire. They were stripped down, similarity to how the world used to dress before the fall. It was obvious you stuck out like a sore thumb in your post-apocalyptic attire.

Some of them are laughing, some talking, and some are being treated for injuries by others.

What was this?

You feel Fury's grip tighten on you, and for a second, you feel bad for him tugging you miles like this.

He walks you through the camp, where you see some younger and older kids. You also see some young adults around your age and a few people who could be in their early to mid-thirties. They all look well, and for a second it angers you.

Some girl, who looked around your age, looks up from washing what could be a shirt in a large bucket, and she smiles at you. Some others look at you, but apprehensively.

Fury has you walking towards a smaller tent that is closed off by two wooden shutters on each side. When you walk in, you see a few others laying on some cots. You're guided to an empty one of the far left corner.

He drops you down diligently and then leaves without a word. You feel a bit awkward and overwhelmed at the sudden change of scenery and environment.

You look over to the shutters where Fury is talking to that same girl you made eye contact with earlier. She nods and walks over to you.

"Hey there." She greets you softly.

You don't say anything for a while as you watch her wring out a wet towel and some other rags.

"Hi." Your voice is small and hesitant.

The water wrings out into the bucket almost mockingly. They just happened to have clean water?

"Fury tells me you hurt your leg. May I take a look? I—"

"—I'm hungry." You practically cut her off.

The look she gives you is pitiful and you feel the tears in the back of your throat. You never knew hunger like this before.

It hurt.

She looks you over once and then nods slowly.

"I'll grab you some soup."

Soup? They had soup here?

Bucky's arranging some heavy guns on a long table in front of him. He puts them together and takes them apart, cleans them, and repeats it all over again.

It's one of the only things that keep him sane.

He had another memory today. A memory of a simple time and a life lost. He takes a magazine from his tactical AK-47 and shoves it up the magazine wall of the heavy gun. He slams it back down and leans his arms out on the table, breathing hard.

His metals fingers flex over the solid table and he looks at it in disgust.

This was all he was good for. He stopped being a man eighty-three years ago.

He missed his family, his life before he was drafted, he missed Brooklyn, he missed jazz, he missed dancing, he missed being happy, and he missed his best girl. He missed how life used to be — this wasn't life. Even the kids these days were different than during his time.

They held no respect.

Now, all he had under his arm was hundreds of killings, murder, and years of guilt, and evil. He wasn't a man anymore, he was a machine.

Shuri's work only made him more convinced of that after he got back from Wakanda.

He sees the little girl he killed in his head, he remembers that day so well it resonates with him every second of every day.

His hands flex again.

"Fury's found another girl," Steve mumbles as he walks into Bucky's quarters.

Bucky rolls his eyes, picking his gun back up, and pretending his episode didn't happen.

"I know the days of Stark technology are long gone, and doors are now obsolete, but if you could just not barge into my room that'd be great."

Steve looks at his friend's back and chuckles.

"You're in a bad mood, today."

"When am I not?"

"Well, last week you seemed pretty alright when that one girl was talking to you. She really liked you, Bucky. What was her name, Jessica?"

"I couldn't care less," Bucky mumbles, putting the other weapons together again.

"Come on, Bucky."

Bucky slams another gun down, louder this time. And it startles Steve.

"I said I couldn't care less. Stop trying to hook me up with some girl, especially a child." He says forcefully.

Steve stares at Bucky, mildly disappointed.

"You need to —"

Bucky spins around.

"I need to, what?"

Steve's face falls.

"You just—you can't keep living like this, Bucky."

Bucky gives his friend a disgusted look and rolls his eyes.

"Living like this? Steve, look at this. Look at this life we are living. This is reality. This is my reality. I stopped living my real life eighty years ago, stopping lying to yourself." Bucky turns back around to face his guns.

Steve feels his heartbreak as he walks up behind Bucky. His eyes go to the guns and to Bucky's metal hand that is slightly shaking.

"Is that what you really believe? That this is all you're good for?" Steve asks quietly.

"We know it is," Bucky mumbles under his breath.

He's lost count how many times he's had this same conversation with Steve.

"Bucky, you need to move on from her," Bucky's hand stills, "I know you still think about her. And I remember her just as much as you do. She was a sweet girl."

Bucky stiffens.

"Don't talk about her."

Steve takes a deep breath.

"Fine, I won't. But your life isn't over. You're very much alive. You're also very much a man."

Bucky runs his hand over his face at his friend's words.

"By the way, Jessica is thirty-one. Not a child." Steve changes the subject as he takes one of the guns in his hands.

"A child to me."

Steve scoffs.

"You're unbelievable."

Bucky senses the playful tone in his friend's voice and the edge of his lips perk up.

"What's unbelievable is you suck at holding a Glock." Bucky takes a small gun from his best friend's hand.

Steve watches Bucky examine the gun, his right arm leaning on the table as he does so.

Steve looks over at the entrance and then back at Bucky.

"Fury says he found the new girl next to a man she had stabbed through the chest."

"Lunatic."

"The girl or Fury?"

"Both. How do we know to trust her? He just brought her in willingly? This isn't a refugee camp."

Steve takes a deep breath.

"He says she was hurt. She's being looked at. He wants me to speak to her." Bucky's eyes furrow together and his hands slow down, "She told him she was trying to head south." Bucky's hand stills and he puts the weapon back down on the table. He gives Steve a confused look, "Yep. That's what I said."

"How crazy is this girl?" Bucky scoffs, but quietly.

"We don't know yet," Steve says.

"Age?"

Steve shrugs, "Mid to late twenties, maybe."

"Do you think Fury wants her to join the camp? You don't think Little-Miss-Sabster will ruin the mission?"

"As I said, Buck, I still need to speak to her."

"I hope I don't even get to see this girl's face."

Year: 1938

New York, New York

He did a double-take, and it was at that moment that he saw her sitting across the room.

She was in the lounge area holding a martini with that gloved hand and she was talking to the guy who she had walked in earlier with. Except he was standing angrily and looking like he was moments from walking away from her.

Bucky squinted his eyes as he noticed the man yelling and stomp his foot.

He began motioning maniacally towards the primary stage and was yelling so loud Bucky could've heard him if it wasn't for the loud music. The woman rolled her eyes and crossed her legs, revealing a long slit that ran up her dress. It was just enough skin for Bucky's hand to get sweaty.

He waited until the perfect opportunity when the man had walked towards the direction of the stage, making his way into the back behind the curtain. Bucky stretched out his arm and patted Steve on his shoulder.

"Look, Steve, I gotta go do something. Keep the girls' company." He added with a wink.

Steve's eyes widened in surprise as he looked between both girls. Both hilariously held the same look like him. Steve swallowed hard, the lump in his throat bouncing up and down.

"What?" he squeaked.

Bucky walked away, leaving three startled people behind.

The blood rang in his ears on his walk over to the girl.

Was he really doing this? He almost felt like his legs were just taking him, that he had mentally no control over what he was doing. He sees her take another confident sip of her drink and he swallows hard.

He figured ma ybe he should go back. He's never felt so much nerve and yet conviction in his life.

He had tunnel vision at this point. Everything around him was black and quiet except for her. It was as if there was a while halo around her form, asking for him to follow the light. No-fault of his own, he couldn't even hear the three upset people calling after him as he walked away.

Halfway to her, she had looked up mistakingly and caught his eye. He felt his heart explode in his chest but then falter when she looked away.

Here we go again.

She thought to herself.

She smirked when he reached her. Her legs were still crossed and her eyes remained on her drink.

"Ma'am." He acknowledged her. She noticed the lack of confidence in his voice and tried not to cringe. His face went ghostly pale. He hated himself for letting his voice shake so much. It was silent for a good couple of seconds and he realized she would not look his way. He figured he might as well just head straight on instead of walking away saying nothing else. He cleared his throat, "I just wanted to tell you," speaking was good, it showed more confidence, but he realized that he did not understand what he wanted to say. This never happened to him before. He went with honesty as he stared at her, "you look beautiful." He breathed that last word while giving her a look over.

It was honest; it was genuine.

His flirting skills had completely gone down the drain and he knew it. He felt like he would throw up. She still didn't look over at him, it was as if she's heard that phrase a million times. He takes a step closer and clears his throat again before opening his mouth to say more, but no words come out, only a faint squeak.

The lady takes a sip of her martini and swirls the olive around with the tip of her finger. She's impressed with his move.

Usually, guys come up to her and tell her she's beautiful and then ask if she wants to go to his place, to which she denies because she's disgusted. She wonders where this one will go with this. It's not that she was cocky, she just knew this game too well. He had to be like all the others, right?

Bucky's mouth is stuck as he watches her and mistakes her interest for complete disinterest.

His lips would form more pickup lines, but now regret is itching at his throat and the awful pain of heartache. His mind shifts gears and instead of a pickup line he's trying to come with an apology; he's embarrassed. His face is still ghostly pale, and he's about to walk away from this opportunity when a delicious sound leaves her mouth.

Because that doesn't always happen. the voice in her head says.

He turns his feet to spin back around,

"Daisy."

Bucky stops and his mouth is agape, and he's never been more lost. He's confused but also in love with the sound of whatever just left her mouth. He tried to fix his posture and make it seem like he knows what's going on because the last thing he wanted to look like was an idiot.

He even momentarily looks over his shoulder to make sure she wasn't speaking to someone else. The pearliest white smile fills her face as she uncrosses her legs and places her drink on the table in front of her. Her bracelet glistens in the dim light, as do her eyes.

The moment his eyes meet hers, something happens across her face. Her muscles loosen and her mouth gapes a bit. His eyebrows knit together. It was almost as if she seemed to have gotten those same emotions he did when he first saw her step out of her ride. She clears her throat.

"That's my name." Bucky is still shellshocked, but now his lips are peeking up at the sides into a smile. She chuckles at his nonresponse and motions forward with her hand as if for him to keep going, completely ignoring the heat in her cheeks and rapid beating in her chest, "I'd love to know yours as well."

He's about to speak when they hear a commotion coming from the backstage. He feels fear and jealousy in his gut and she notes it in his eyes when she notices where he was looking at.

"Is that your—?"

"Brother." Relief washes over Bucky and he lets out a chuckle. The edges of her mouth perked up. He was happy about that. And she was happy about this. "Are you usually this shy?"

The vintage Brooklyn accent was heavy on her voice now.

Bucky shakes his head, "No. Never." He says so confidently and quickly that she believes him. He isn't new at this, "Just with you, ma'm."

This comment alone completely takes away what's left of the girl's immense self-confidence and a deep blush creeps up her neck. Her earth tilts on its axis. She feels a weird tremble in her hands she's never felt before and she knows what it is immediately. She examines his gorgeous eyes, his perfect jawline, and that boyish brown hair.

She didn't notice how gorgeous he truly was until that moment. Bucky takes another step forward and extends his hand.

"Dance with me?"

Her lips twitch. Slowly moving towards the edge of her seat, she slides her white-gloved hand into his, a moment he and she would never forget, and he pulls her up slowly onto her feet. She can't look away from his bright smile as he pulls her in.

They don't go out to where most of the people are, but they dance in that exact spot. If they were to be brutally honest, it wasn't even dancing; they were swaying to The Way You Look Tonight.

It's those two minutes of silence that they both feel something they've never felt with anyone else before. It's entirely magical and heart straining. She feels the heat of his front against hers and she wonders if he's feeling the same powerful things she's feeling. Because this wasn't just any regular feeling, it was not lusting, and it wasn't just attraction; it was something else. He had to feel it too or she wouldn't be the same ever again.

It was strange because he was a stranger. But it didn't feel that way. This was different. It was the way he fit against her, just perfectly. Bucky breathes out a shaky breath as he brings her closer.

He feels like he might pass out from such perfectness. He never knew such an innocent conversation and act could make him want to do so much- be with someone so much.

She feels her heart hammering so hard in her chest that there's a moment during the song where she's bringing her gloved hand from his shoulder and up to the side of his neck. She was caught up in the moment, things were happening on its own; she no longer had control. His skin was perfect, she notes.

Bucky's eyes go wide at her move and he looks at down at her. She was touching his skin. He hoped that when he looked down, she would look back with that same confident attitude she seems to possess. But she's not looking at him, she's staring up at the stars were past the ceiling above them along with all the ten floors.

She bluntly ignores his stare because she can't believe what is happening. Maybe there was an answer in the heavens.

He watches her intently, like a movie. If it was even possible, she was more beautiful this close. He can't look away and she feels his eyes on her. They were boring into her soul. He wants to memorize this forever.

She closes her eyes slowly and takes a deep breath because she feels like she might cry. He does the same and brings her in a little closer. His one hand ghosted inches over the skin of her back where her dress dropped, not sure if it would be appropriate or not to touch her skin there. He settled for her clothed waist instead and this makes her smile.

A gentleman.

His head is still tilted down, and she takes this opportunity to lean the side of her head against his, smiling faintly. He brings his face closer and looks down at her, their noses touching. She feels the side of his nose against hers and her eyes open. She's staring straight down at his bottom lip and she gulps.

This man was perfect, everything about this was.

The song is about to close to an end when he brings his hand down her arm and passed her soft skin.

He takes her fleshed hand and slowly intertwines their fingers.

She gapes at this action, feeling his breath bounce off her face. She looks up at him from clouded eyes, lust taking over immediately.

"James." He answers low, in a husky voice.

It takes a moment for her to register that that is his name.

"James." She whispers back like it's a prayer.

Present

After your bowl of tomato soup and a glass of freshwater — without that canteen after taste — it was almost like the pain in your leg had gone away.

Apparently, your hunger and exhaustion had contributed to the pain, making it feel like it was worst than it really was. The nice girl had told you it was a muscle sprain, and after a week of it being wrapped and elevated, you would be just fine.

The bump on your head also wasn't grave, just the right spot to make you blackout, but there seemed to have been no other damage to the physical eye.

And your hand was healing just fine, although she did give you some antibiotic ointment which you would need to reapply every so often.

You had asked her what this place was but she ignored your question and tended to you until her job was done.

You were too tired to pry, knowing you needed good rest- real rest.

Your fingers grabbed at the blankets beneath you. Cotton.

You hadn't touched cotton in years; you hadn't felt warmth and comfort in years. It felt surreal to you.

A sturdy walk of boots against grass startles you and you and the other patients in the tent look towards the man coming your way.

You practically feel your eyes bug out of your head.

The man had a solid look on his face, one of determination and loyalty, yet he looked so peaceful.

How could you have expected anything else?

Captain America.

Was this really happening?

You felt the bed to your right sink down just slightly and your heart pace skyrocketed. You were nervous. What were you supposed to say?

If only Will were here.

"What's your name?" He asks very quietly, obviously trying to keep the conversation as private as he could.

You played with your fingers and told him your name.

He nodded.

You're expecting him to interrogate you about the man you killed. It wouldn't surprise you, it was the Avengers. They probably thought you were a killer. An enemy- Hydra.

"Why are you trying to go to The Capitol?" The question sends many emotions through your body and you find yourself stiffening, "A lot of us here," Steve motions to the air around the both of you, "we also have faith for the future. We would all love to take back our life and all the good things that came with it. Is that why you were trying to go? For a better life?"

You practically scoff at his question. The look Steve Rogers gives you is one for the books, and for a second you can see that look in his eyes. The look that said You're a traitor, aren't you?

You look away from him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I want to kill the man that made that place what it was. It was supposed to be a place of refugee and safety. It was never their plan for this to happen for all of this to happen and for what? To watch my parents die and for me to lose everything I had?" You shake your head to yourself in disbelief.

"What do you know about The Capitol?"

"It was my parent's design," you gave him their name and his face blanks for a moment and he stills, "… I'm their daughter. I'm sure you heard of me."

Steve's brows come together and then unravel again.

"I actually do. But I heard they worked for Hydra and that —" his eyes trail over your face, "you killed them. There was no solid way for us to trace anything back because the war happened soon after."

You roll your eyes.

"My parents did not work for Hydra. They were good people who wanted The Capitol to be a sanctuary. They were killed by Hydra and their plans were stripped away. I'm going to The Capitol to kill the man that killed my family." You say fiercely.

Steve looks at you shocked.

"You know who he is." He says.

You nod.

"Yes."

Steve runs his hand through his hair and lets out a deep breath.

"We've been trying to track it down for years, we could never find out who was the ring leader. We could never piece together who it was, but you, you know who it is," he says quickly.

You take a deep breath.

"I don't know his name. Only his face."

"You need to tell us what he looks like."

His demand stops you for a moment. You consider telling him, that would mean The Avengers could finally deal with the right person. You consider it. But then you remember the anger you felt when you saw him killing your parents and you remember how personal this is.

It had to be you.

"No."

Steve looks at you, mouth agape.

"Y/N, you need to tell us. We'll help you."

"No, Captain Rogers. I need to do this." You know he can feel your trembling hands as they on hold tightly to his arm.

He looks down at your hands and it's like he senses your pain and your need for this.

"I get it," he says, "I get the want, the need, to avenge, I do."

"Then let me do this. Please."

Steve's eyes leave your hands and meet yours.

You can see the conflict of emotions in his eyes.