Chapter 6: Winds of Change

Bucky liked how quiet the streets were when the darkness was thickest and the stars were brightest. He chose a job with night hours for many reasons, but he didn't realize that the walks home in the early morning would be, dare he say, therapeutic. There was enough for him to focus on to keep his mind from wandering into places he didn't want to go, but he wasn't overstimulated. One day at a time, it helped him move closer and closer to living a civilian life. Depending on the work, his shift could end anywhere between midnight and six in the morning. He didn't mind the long hours - the manual labor kept him distracted and helped him sleep better, and any overtime was compensated. The pay wasn't exceptional, but it was enough for him to pay his bills and put food in his stomach.

The fall weather was moving in, a chilly wind cutting through his light jacket as he walked home. He didn't mind the cold; he'd spent many nights on missions, holding up in the snow until his extremities were numb and his lungs felt frozen. He shook his head, stopping himself from going down the road of another memory. There may come a day when he would organize everything from during that time, but not tonight. Tonight, he would focus on the cold air in his face, the stars overhead, and the quiet sounds of a city asleep.

There was no one in the hallways as he walked up the stairs to the top level, which was to be expected for this hour. With his enhanced hearing, he could hear the rustling of people turning in bed, or making quiet trips across their apartments. But mostly, it was just whispers of breathing. He paused at his door, listening carefully to the inside before deeming it empty and going inside. He turned on the one lamp, using the dim light to navigate his way to the shower. He didn't care that the water changed color with the grime he scrubbed from his skin, only that it was clear once he finished. He toweled off, trying to dry his hair as much as possible so it wouldn't be cold during the night. He carefully folded his work clothes, putting them in a neat stack with the other clothes he'd worn that week before pulling on fresh undergarments and a shirt. The routine soothed him, and as he crawled into his sleeping bag, he noticed that he didn't have as much anxiety as he usually did. His mind was quieter than it had been in days past.

He pulled his journal to him, carefully thumbing to the last page. He took a deep breath, relaxing and trying to think of the things he'd remembered today.

Movies used to be in black and white.

Steve's mother was Sarah.

My mother was

He paused. He'd remembered his mother's name earlier, he knew he did. But now there was just a blank where her name should be. Why could he remember Steve's mother, but not his own? He knew he'd had a mother, he'd remembered eight days before that she'd died when he was very young. He didn't bother trying to remember her face or anything - he wasn't entirely sure he would have remembered that even without the constant trauma to his brain over the past several decades. He took a deep breath, trying to quell the building frustration. He focused on his breathing, steadily working his way through the words until it came to him.

Winifred.

For a moment, he thought he could picture her. He couldn't form any details, but there was a feeling of safety, and comfort. The moment was so short, so transient that he wondered if he'd even remembered at all. He tried to hold on to the feeling, but it slowly slipped away, leaving him with the cold apathy that surrounded him most of the time. He let out a long breath, then laid down and tried to go to sleep.

He was actually able to stay unconscious for a couple hours before something woke him. He thought he heard a sound coming from nearby, but in the delirious barely-awake state, he couldn't be sure. The fog of sleep cleared completely as he heard a dull thud and a muffled scream through the thin walls separating his apartment from Mika's. He immediately moved to his feet, creeping to the wall and placing his ear to it. He heard someone moving around, but there weren't any further sounds of struggle or distress. The same footsteps that he heard every day were sounding from the other side of the wall. In fact, it seemed like Mika was getting ready for the day. He checked his watch, finding that it was still the middle of the night. There was no reason for her to be awake. She'd been up at this time before, but never left her apartment.

Bucky pulled on his clothes and shoes, wondering if there was an emergency situation that he was somehow unaware of. There were no alarms blaring, and he couldn't sense any fire or electrical situation. There were no signs of natural disasters pending outside. He was lacing up his boots when he heard her exit her apartment, quietly trotting down the stairs. He slid out of his front door and locked it, spotting her one floor below him. Without thinking, he jumped over the bannister, using the railing for leverage as he swung down and landed in front of her. Mika screamed, and punched at him with her right hand. He caught it easily, but was impressed with the force that she'd produced. He hadn't expected her to be that strong.

"Not bad." he said, looking at her. Her stance was off, but she was certainly aiming to punch through him, which was often a difficult thing to teach.

"What the shit, Bucky?" she said. She took her hand back, breathing hard and trying to shake it off. Apparently it was hurting her, based on her reaction. She glared at him, her eyebrows furrowed.

"You're angry." he observed. He didn't understand. He had paid her a compliment, which wasn't something he did often. She wasn't looking at him, though - she was looking at her hand, probably seeing if there were any injuries. He knew there would be none, he had made a point to absorb most of her movement so she wouldn't fracture her hand with contact with the vibranium of his arm.

"You know, you can't just drop down in front of people. It's fucking terrifying." she snapped. He raised his eyebrows, surprised. He must have really startled her, for her to be responding so strongly. He'd assumed she had heard him, but it was clear that she had no idea he was even in the same vicinity. He made a note to write that down whenever he returned to his apartment.

"I'm sorry." he said sincerely. Her eyes still showed fear. That look felt like a knife between the ribs. It used to not bother him, but he realized that he had quickly grown used to people looking at him like a person instead of a monster. His training classified that as a weakness, but he ignored it. He didn't know how to make the situation better. Should he leave? No, surely leaving would be considered rude as well. A thousand different words ran through his head, but none of them seemed right.

"I'm sorry for snapping." she said, finally settling. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes, and the tense way she was holding her shoulders. These were usually signs of fatigue.

"Are you alright?" he asked her. This, he knew, was a proper response. She blinked her eyes a couple times, as if surprised at his question. Her eyes traced his face, as if she were deciding how to answer.

"Not really. I haven't been sleeping well. I think it's starting to take a toll on me. I was just gonna go for a run, see if it could clear my head. Maybe make me tired enough to sleep." she rambled. She only rambled when she was nervous, or tired. Apparently she was feeling both.

"It's the middle of the night." he pointed out. In her fatigued state, she would not be as aware of her surroundings, and would not have the same reaction times as if she were well rested. There were too many variables in the situation. He wanted to point all these out to her, but instead just said, "It's not safe."

"Yea, well, I don't really have other options. Found out the hard way that the gym doesn't open until four-thirty." she said. She seemed a little upset again, but Bucky didn't think it was at him this time. He ran through the scenarios in his head: Mika could just go for a run, return safely, and go to bed. Or, she could get into trouble, and he would be close by enough to resolve the situation. Last, she could get into trouble, and he would not be close by enough to resolve the situation. This final scenario could end in her injury, kidnapping, or death. Which would lead to a new neighbor.

James Buchanan, you never let a girl walk home by herself. You hear me? The voice in the back of his mind, which had been silent for a few days, resurfaced, cutting past the cold calculations running through his brain.

"I'll go with you." he said. That was the path with the highest chance of success. Plus, it appeased the voice.

"That's okay, you need to get to sleep yourself. I'll be fine." she said. It seemed she didn't want to inconvenience him, which was entirely alien to him.

"I was up. I could use a run." he lied. He chose not to tell her that he would be up regardless, waiting to see if she returned or if she required extraction from an occurrence.

"You're wearing boots and jeans. You can't go for a run in that." she said. He noticed how she was dressed - brightly colored leggings, with a long sleeve shirt that was also a vibrant color. No stealth, no camouflage. At least she'd thought that part through.

"Could be worse." he said, remembering the time that he ran nearly naked through the mountains in Russia. He turned and started down the stairs, willing himself not to get stuck in the memory. "Let's go."

"You know, I've run in the middle of the night before on my own and everything was fine." she said, following him. He grinned, but quickly schooled his face back to a neutral expression. She reminded him of someone, trying to appear tough and independent.

"I'm sure." he answered, continuing down the stairs. Something whispered from the back of his mind, but he couldn't hold on to it. He figured it would come with time.

The air was cooler than when he'd been walking home the couple hours before. This was fine with him; he'd run in much colder. Mika started stretching and warming up her limbs, fidgeting. He could tell she was a little nervous, but it didn't seem to be for the same reason people were usually uncomfortable around him. He stood patiently, waiting for her to be ready.

"How far do you want to go?" she asked, still moving restlessly.

"However far you want." he said, shrugging. It was obvious from her muscle tone and habits that she was relatively in shape for an unaltered human.

"Do you think you can keep up with me?" she asked, a challenge in her eyes. The thought was comical; Bucky tried to keep his face neutral, but his breath left him in a short chuckle.

"I know I can." he said. Unless she was hiding enhancements (he was still on the fence about her being telepathic), there would be no contest.

"Fine. You know the old library, about five kilometers from here? Let's see who gets there and back first." she said. She was shifting her weight back and forth on her feet, her eyes glinting with excitement.

"The point of me running with you was to stay with you and make sure you're safe." he said, confused. Why was she trying to outrun him? He thought his physical superiority was obvious. Although he remembered that he appeared as less of a threat when in civilian clothes as opposed to tactical gear.

"C'mon, Bucky, where's your competitive spirit? Afraid you're going to get beaten by a woman?" she asked. She was trying to incite him, and for a moment, he wanted to give in. But years of training taught him patience and control. This time, he listened to it.

"Not at all. I'm certain I would win, unless you're very good at hiding super powers." he said, probably the most honest thought he'd shared with someone in a long time. He was proud of himself, though Mika obviously did not know the milestone that she had just witnessed.

"You're no fun." she said. Again, he wanted to smile, but held it back. Her tone matched that of a child.

"I thought you wanted to run?" he said after a moment, bringing her back to her original plan. The longer they waited, the more likely it was that they would see other people.

"Yeah, whatever." she said. He almost expected her to cross her arms and pout. He allowed one corner of his mouth to quirk up in a smile, gesturing for her to go ahead. She made a face that he couldn't quite decipher, then took off running down the road.

It was easy enough to catch up to her, even if she was going along at a pretty stiff clip. He knew she would not be able to hold this pace for long - right now, she was riding on the adrenaline from their conversation and from lack of sleep. She for sure wasn't noticing the areas around her; multiple times, he had to casually move so she would step away from low hanging tree branches, or breaks in the concrete. She paid no mind to crosswalks when they crossed streets, not even checking for oncoming cars. She was trusting the late hour too much. Bucky was glad he had chosen this plan, otherwise she surely would have encountered unavoidable danger.

Once her adrenaline had decreased, her pace faltered. He stayed with her, encouraging a steady cadence and easy breathing. He based their tempo on her stride length, respiratory rate, and trunk posture, finding one that would accommodate her current state. She matched him without seeming to think of it, which made it easier for both of them. By the time they made it back to the apartment building, she was definitely tired, but not exhausted. Bucky had to admit that he was impressed. Given her initial level of fatigue, he didn't think she'd be able to run ten kilometers, let alone at that speed. He stood nearby as she caught her breath, a light breeze alerting him to the sweat around his face. Very impressive indeed. He tried to think of something to say, but wasn't quite sure the social protocol. He was used to hiding in plain sight, not interacting.

"Feel better?" he asked after a few moments' deliberation. Once again, it seemed safe to inquire for her general state of being. She stood up straight, taking slower breaths.

"A little." she said. She still seemed agitated, but with him. It appeared to be in response to her current situation. He knew that feeling well, the general feeling of unrest.

She moved past him, going to the door of the building. He pulled it open for her after she scanned to unlock it, a distant memory surfacing. Holding the door for a woman was so ingrained that the memory didn't fully actualize until after he'd done it. He stared at his hand for a moment, wondering if muscle memory applied to neuroprosthetics. Mika nodded her thanks, going in a starting up the stairs. He followed her, giving her space as they made their way to the top floor. He was just turning the key to his door when she spoke again.

"Hey, Bucky?" she asked. He turned quickly. He was not expecting her to say anything else.

"Yes?" he responded. He had not run through this scenario. Once again, he found himself in uncharted territory with Mika. He stood very still, unconsciously noting available escape routes.

"Uh, the tea," she said, as if she also was surprised by their continued conversation. "Is there anything in it besides nutmeg?"

He was surprised by the question, but tried not to show it. He imagined the journal page where he'd written down about the peppermint tea. "Honey. A little bit of honey." he said, the block letters appearing in his mind's eye.

"Thanks." she said. He nodded, waiting to see if she had any other questions. Again, she seemed uncomfortable, but again, the discomfort seemed to come from within. He didn't know what else to do to make her feel better. A memory tickled his brain again, something about someone coming to stay with him. Most of the pieces were missing, but one stood out.

"If you need anything…" he started to say. During his internal dilemma, she had turned away. Her eyes met his again, her face soft as she gave him a gentle smile.

"Thank you, I really appreciate it." she said. She seemed to be telling the truth. This brought him to another roadblock in the conversation, and he decided not to push it. With a final, awkward wave, he turned and went into his apartment.

In the quiet darkness of the room, he let the past hour run through his mind again. He had many emotions twisting around in his chest, but he couldn't differentiate them. Every day, he tried to remember the man he used to be, but that man was not the same man that he was slowly becoming. And neither of those men were the Soldier, who had been prevalent for so long.

He pushed the thoughts away, not wanting to try and consolidate them at this time. Instead, he showered again, focusing on washing away the sweat from the run. He folded up his clothes, adding them to the stack that needed washing. He settled into the routine again, trying to calm himself so he could get a few hours of sleep. Before he turned out his light, he reached for the journal again.

Don't jump down in front of people. It's fucking terrifying.

The swear word wasn't necessary, but it made him feel rebellious. He stared at it in triumph for a moment, before putting the journal aside and once again going to sleep.

Bucky awoke as the sun was beginning its ascent, the first rays of light seeping through the newspapers he'd taped to the windows. He sat up and stretched, the metal pieces of his arm clicking and sliding into place as he moved them. He was sad to find that he felt no lingering effects from the run the night before. He hadn't expected them - ever since he'd been enhanced, his body didn't react the same way to formal exercise - but he was hoping the feeling would have remained a little longer. He went through his morning mantra, grounding himself in the present before rolling out of bed and getting up. He pulled on his clothes quietly, taking in the sounds of the morning. No one was in the hallway, and no wind was pushing against his windows. Mika's television was on, but there were no sounds of her moving. After remembering her face the night before, he found himself actively wishing for her to be asleep. It was an odd feeling, but not the first of its kind. Day by day, he was remembering how to consider other people, rather than hide from them or manipulate them.

He pulled out a packaged protein bar, carefully eating it and disposing of the wrapper. It wasn't particularly satisfying, but it would do. He sat down at the small table the previous owner had left in the apartment, pulling his journal in front of him. He carefully read through the first few pages, trying to commit the pieces to his new memory, patching it from where it was torn apart by Hydra. He wasn't sure why he did this every day. Maybe, he thought, if he could put enough new pieces into his mind, he could completely blot out the dark, broken bits. He could paint a different picture on top of the old one.

When he tried to initiate another memory from before, or instigate the voice in the back of his mind, he was met with nothing but silence. He read through his other memories again, seeing if they would spark something. He was met with nothing. With a frustrated sigh, he put the journal away. He grabbed his backpack, silently exiting and locking his apartment before trekking down the stairs. There were still very few people out on the street, as it was just before the morning rush hour. Everyone was always running a little late on Friday mornings. Bucky wandered around to the corner store, picking up a newspaper and paying the half asleep attendant with exact change. The man nodded, not even bothering to look up at him anymore. Bucky tucked the newspaper into his backpack, putting his head down and walking back towards the apartment. He paused at the cafe he'd eaten at with Mika almost a week ago. He didn't know what made him stop, considering he could smell the sugar even outside on the sidewalk. The owner spotted him and waved. He didn't think she recognized him, but the gesture still sent off the alarms in his head. His training kicked in, his muscles tensing for him to make a retreat to the safety of his apartment. Don't be recognized. Don't be noticed. Notice leads to punishment.

But he ignored his training and went inside.

"Good morning!" she said with a smile.

"Good morning." Bucky replied quietly. His eyes quickly moved around the cafe, taking note of the exits and the people inside.

"What can I get for you? Cinnamon bun? Donut?" she asked, gesturing to the brightly colored pastries in front of them. The sugar smell was overwhelming, just as it had been the first time.

"Just a coffee, please. To go." he said. She nodded, filling a large cup with the dark liquid and capping it for him. He gave her a bill, gesturing for her to keep the change. He took the coffee and bid her a good day, deciding that was enough unplanned interaction for the morning.

His apartment was still quiet when he returned, and the only sounds from next door were from the television. He sat down at the table again, putting the coffee down and staring at the journal. His training didn't want him to trust the coffee. He responded to it by taking a large gulp. It burned on the way down, but the pleasant bitterness and warmth helped him feel better, though he didn't know how or why. He pulled the newspaper out of his backpack, laying it on the table and carefully making his way through every article, looking for signs of things he needed to be concerned about. The Avengers were casually mentioned about halfway through, in response to a terrorist attack in Mexico. There was a picture of Captain America - "Steve" - with a quote, but the article was second hand from a different news source. Nothing about Hydra, or SHIELD, or Trask, or anything else on his shit list.

The day passed quietly, like all his days did. It was not an errand day, or laundry day. It was just another day. Another day where he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to do. Another day where Hydra agents weren't shackling his consciousness and hijacking his body. Another day where he got to live.

Just as he was getting ready to go to work, he heard footsteps in the hall. He assumed Mika was leaving for the evening, but he was surprised when they turned to his door. A sharp knock echoed through the apartment. For a minute, he considered pretending he wasn't home. She had no reason to be here, that he knew of. He silently moved to the door, looking out the peephole. There she was, standing nonchalantly with a bowl in her hands. She seemed completely at ease, her eyes wandering as she waited for him to open the door. Bucky's mind whirred with possible scenarios, each less likely from the last. His training told him to keep the door shut. So he opened it, just a little bit.

"Yes?" he asked, quietly. If anything happened, he could shut the door, wedge it with the table, and escape through the window.

"Your education on desserts starts now." Mika replied. Bucky was surprised. Out of all the possible plots he'd thought of, he should have realized that sharing food would be the number one most likely. But he could smell the sugar from here, and had no interest in it.

Please and thank you, James. Always remember your please and thank you.

"No, thank you." he said quietly, dusting off manners long forgotten. She held out the handle of a clean spoon to him, and he had to use everything in his power not to flinch. It was a spoon, not a knife.

"Just one bite." she prompted. He was completely thrown for a loop with that. The first time Mika had wanted to share a meal with him, he was surprised. Spending time with her last night was also a surprise. Now, here she was, unprompted, wanting him to eat something. For the first time, he didn't think she had ulterior motives. It seemed she was genuinely trying to be nice. As he waged internal war at the turn in events, she rolled her eyes, taking her spoon and eating a scoop. "See, not poison."

"I don't really like sweets." he said. Besides the fact that he was shocked by her obstinance, he also had no desire to ingest the sugar that he could smell from the bowl. The muscles in his jaw tingled at the thought. She continued to hold the extra spoon out to him.

"Humor me. I'm very stubborn, I can wait a long time. Just taste it, and I'll leave you alone." she said, giving him a face that matched a sad dog. Bucky stared for a long time, trying to figure out how else to get out of this. Mika sighed, settling into a more comfortable standing position, with the spoon still outstretched. He opened and closed his hands, wondering exactly how rude of him it would be to just close the door. She looked him dead in the eye, her eyebrows raised expectantly as she wiggled the spoon. Unfortunately, without being rude, there was no getting out of this one.

He slowly reached out and took the spoon from her, giving her a dark look as she smiled in celebration. The metal of the spoon was warm where she'd been holding it, and it felt odd compared to the plastic utensils he'd been using.

"One bite." he agreed, though he didn't even want to do that. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad, he reasoned. Maybe he was just sensitive to the sugar smell after living off gruel and potatoes for so long. She held the bowl out to him, watching as he took the littlest bit on the spoon. He was agreeable to this, and was doing this of his own free will. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Ah ah, you have to get a blueberry with it. That's the best part." she said, pointing to the fruit. He begrudgingly added one to the spoon. He didn't like the way it stained the cream cheese around it purple.

He looked at the spoon for a while, trying to convince himself that it was okay to eat. Finally, he just stopped thinking, taking the bite without considering the multitude of consequences. As he thought, the cream cheese mixture was entirely too sweet for his palate, making his teeth feel sticky and the back of his tongue buzz. But he had to admit that Mika was right - the blueberry, with its tart flavor, was in fact the best part.

"What do you think? You won't hurt my feelings, I promise." she said. Despite her comment, she looked rather hopeful. He carefully swallowed the last of the bite, immediately wishing he had some water to wash it down. He hesitated, trying to decide the best way to respond.

"Too sweet. I'm sorry." was the best he could come up with. He did his best to look apologetic, which seemed to be good enough. Mika shrugged, and to her credit didn't look bothered by the critique.

"Eh, maybe the next one. Bye!" she said, turning and going back to her apartment without any further hassle. Bucky stood there for a moment, staring at the spot she'd just vacated. As he turned to get his things, he realized he was smiling. Possibly the first honest smile he'd had since Before.

It would be a long time before he felt comfortable in this life again. But he was relieved to see that each day he was getting just a little bit closer.

Thank you to everyone so far who has favorited, alerted, and reviewed this story! I'm so grateful for all of y'all taking a moment to read. Be sure to let me know what you think, I love hearing your thoughts!