The Saturday morning air was cool and breezy as Bucky pulled into the driveway of the ranch. It was located in a very remote location, only accessible through a series of winding, rural roads that were obscured by hedges either side. Then, further down a private road was the ranch found, where tall, dark green trees grew around it. Bucky parked his bike next to a large, black off-roader car, went up to the door of the house and rung the bell. There was the hurried noise of footsteps, and then the door opened. Becca greeted him. "Hey, so glad you could make it. Come in." She was wearing a blue knit jumper, leather ankle boots, and a pair of black jeans.

"Thank you." Bucky said.

The downstairs was completely open plan: the door led into a kitchen on the left side, a large living room on the right side, and a carpeted staircase winding up in the middle. The place was clearly well-furnished, and had been lived in at some point. But there was undisturbed dust covering the window sills, and cobwebs in the corners of the window panes – it was no longer a place often lived in anymore. On top of this, all the furniture had not been updated since the 90's; the last time someone had been a fulltime resident. The smell of old armchairs was evident as soon as you walked in.

"I'm sorry about the dust. I've been meaning to clean this place for a while, but I just haven't gotten around to it yet, you know."

'It's fine." Bucky said. He looked around. "This place feels homely, did you spend time here as a child?"

"Holidays, yes. When my grandma invited us all around, and we'd usually have a roast or a barbecue, depending on the season. It was always nice to see her. She was very interesting to have as a grandma." Becca reminisced fondly.

Becca sat down in an armchair, as did Bucky.

"What do you mean by 'interesting'?" Bucky asked, curious to find out as much as he could about his late sister's life.

"Well, after the war, she took it upon herself to learn to be more independent than ever. She learned how to fight, got involved in politics, had plenty of romances over the years, and even started her own boxing ring, so yeah, she was pretty awesome."

Bucky smiled. "Sounds like she had quite the life."

"She did. I'm glad I got to hear all her stories. I'll tell them to you someday."

"I'd loved to hear them. Did she ever mention me by any chance?"

The glow in Becca's face dimmed ever so slightly. "Of course. You were her brother. A hero. She was proud of you. She missed you, even after all those years." She paused, looking reflective.

"What is it?" Bucky asked.

"It's nothing, really, just ..." She collected her thoughts together. "Years after you went missing, she wasn't convinced that – that you were dead, like everyone thought you were. She went looking for you, and very nearly succeeded in finding out the truth. But then, one day, she told me she woke up, and she couldn't remember a thing from the previous day. After that, she gave up, believed people when they said she was following a dead trail." Becca looked devastated. "She couldn't explain her memory loss until... well, you can guess what happened."

"She found me, and they wiped her." Bucky said gravely.

"Yes. It haunted her, knowing how close she came. But I told her it wasn't her fault. There was nothing she could do."

"I wish I could tell her 'thanks for trying'." Bucky said, heartfelt.

Becca quickly thought to change the subject. "Hey, I should show you something. But we'll have to go upstairs."

Next Scene

"Welcome to the attic." Becca said sarcastically. It was a fairly roomy space, an old, worn-out, faded sofa sat to the side of the room, and a tattered, floral-patterned elliptical rug in the centre, as well as a series of boxes, chests of drawers, and an antique-looking wardrobe. Bucky examined his surroundings, as Becca searched around.

"Hey, this is it." Becca said, stepping forward with a large, antique-looking book, bound in leather.

Bucky took the book from her and sat down on the old sofa. On the front cover was written: "My brother, James 'Bucky' Barnes. Rest In Peace, hero." Bucky's eyes lingered on the final word. Despite everything, he was still a hero to some people, even if some days he still felt like a villain. He turned each page slowly. Some were portraits of him, others were him with his family. His mother, his father. A day at the beach. A picture of him and Steve from 1943. Bucky closed the book. It was all too much.

Becca could see it in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Bucky, maybe this wasn't a good idea – "

Bucky shook his head. "No, it's fine. Thank you for showing me this. It means a lot."

"It's no problem. Rebecca wanted you to have that, and a few other things too. You can take a look at the rest later."

Bucky smiled, and looked at Becca curiously. "It's funny that you both have the same name."

Becca smiled back, and went to sit down on the other end on the sofa. "Yes, my mother named me after her, because, I suppose she was her greatest inspiration. She raised my mother on her own, too."

Bucky remembered the missing files on Ashley Barnes. "What about your mother? Is she alright?"

Becca bit the inside of her lip and looked down at the ground, pain in her eyes. "No, she – she went missing, a long time ago now."

"What happened?" It was exactly the answer he had been dreading to hear.

"That's what makes it so awful. We don't know what happened to her. One day she was here, and the next... she was gone." "I've been searching for answers ever since, but so far nothing. Most people think she was murdered, but I can't believe that when there's no evidence. One day, though, I'll know the truth, I have to."

Bucky had a horrid feeling in the pit of his stomach. "When did this happen?"

"2012, before New York. Look, don't worry about it. Missing person cases like hers happen all the time. I just wish it didn't have to be her." Becca said painfully. The last thing she wanted to do was burden Bucky with any of her own suffering.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Bucky said, trying to be sympathetic.

"It's okay. My life has changed a lot since then. For the better, I think. She wouldn't want me to wallow in my despair anyway, even if it hurts to move on."

"I get it."

The truth was, however, that Becca was still as desperate as ever to find her mother, and had been searching those past five years. But nothing. It was a hopeless search, but Becca was stubborn, not unlike her mother, and would never officially call off her search. For now, though, the prospect of ever finding her was distant.