There will be one more chapter after this, y'all! Thank you so much to someone who left a review, and reminder that they always make my day! :D

The stupid buzzing of an alarm clock was the first thing Wanda heard, only mere hours after being rudely awakened. She murmured something that probably no one could make out before setting to work on disabling the alarm.

It was set up like a bomb — complete with a timer counting the seconds away until it's turned off; a rainbow array of colored wires dipping over and under each other; and...glitter? Yeah, Clint was the one that made the final adjustments and tweaks to the poor clock before giving it to Wanda. She was sure that his best friend has also helped though, probably as a part of her training regimen. Nothing would surprise Wanda anymore.

The teenager cursed, then realized her mistake of making noise. Her hand covered her mouth and she hoped Natasha wasn't waiting outside her door, listening in for any noises. The spy was — well, a spy. Steve had tried to help Wanda out and take away the whole disarm-your-alarm-clock charade. Yeah, he was quickly outnumbered by the pair of assassins. He simply shrugged and mouthed sorry at Wanda. She did agree on it though — their methods always seemed to work.

Wanda managed to disarm the clock after barely a minute and a half. It was a new record for her, so she headed to the bathroom feeling quite proud. After taking a super-speedy shower, Wanda felt a bit of stress lifted off. She stood there, having gotten dressed, and was now brushing her teeth. Her mistake was thinking her day was going well. That all went out the window when Wanda suddenly remembered: the dream (memory) from last night.

She shuddered just thinking about it — the blood on poor Natalia's hands, Elizaveta getting murdered for messing up ballet, and Bucky somehow being connected. Wanda realized he'd been in Winter Soldier programming, but it was still scary to see how he compared to the Bucky that she knew, the guy who was probably in the kitchen making coffee with his best friend after a morning jog. He occasionally accompanied Steve and Sam to go running near the Compound.

Wanda took a deep breath and opened her bedroom door. She crept down the hallway, being careful not to wake up anyone who didn't wish to be rudely awakened — she'd had experience with that and didn't reckon anyone else wanted it. Especially when a certain billionaire was trying to sleep off a massive hangover, a result of challenging Clint to a game of shots. Wanda assumed he wouldn't be present at morning training, but also wouldn't be surprised if the archer did come through after inhaling an entire pot of coffee.

She was right — Bucky sat in the kitchen on the table. Steve had an eyebrow raised and was placing his plate into the sink.

"Well, it's comfy up here," Bucky was saying. "I'd totally recommend it."

Steve snorted. "It's comfortable on our kitchen table?"

His best friend shrugged and finally noticed Wanda walking into the kitchen. "Morning, I made pancakes—"

"Actually I made those," Steve interrupted.

"It was a team effort."

Wanda laughed at their bickering. The knot in her stomach churned when she remembered the memory Bucky was concealing. Did he even remember it? Shuri had said that he was beginning to recover some lost things, especially with the team's help. She didn't even know if it were possible to bury something that dark. How could a person conceal that much pain and grief? How do you become an entire different person just like that?

Steve patted Wanda on the shoulder and said, "I'm headed to the gym early, but you can come when you're done with breakfast."

She rolled her eyes at him, but the effect wasn't really the same with a big grin on her face.

Bucky stretched and yawned. "I think I got up too early." He laid down, still on the table. "I'm blaming Steve."

"Spoiler alert, Wanda replied, "you always get up at the same time every morning."

"But who's fault is that? Exactly — it's that little guy from Brooklyn named Steven Grant Rogers."

Grabbing some pancakes and the bottle of syrup, Wanda took a seat at the kitchen counter with a stool. She would've sat at the table but...a certain someone was laying there. She started eating slowly, trying to remove her gaze from Bucky's. It's almost like he could see right through her.

"Nice weather we're having," he exclaimed.

Wanda raised an eyebrow and stifled a laugh. "If that's your way of breaking the ice, then you could use some work.

"Well, guess what? I've actually broken ice before!" Wanda was about to say something, but he cut her off. "And I'm totally not talking about the time I fell off a train. Ah, good times. I also slipped on a particular patch of frozen ice and fell onto this guy who later punched Steve in a back alley...hmm, pretty sure that was back in '37. Or '38."

"Okay, oldie, I don't need to hear every detail about the Great Depression, told by one James Buchanan Barnes."

Bucky placed his metal hand over his heart. "Ouch, you've wounded me, Wanda! But seriously," he got up and sat next to her, "I can tell something's troubling you."

Bucky waited for her to speak — let's just say that he has a lot of patience. "I- I saw something. Last night, I mean."

"Oh?" He grabbed an extra fork and stabbed at a piece of Wanda's pancakes.

Wanda sighed. "It's complicated, almost like a memory. I saw you and...a bunch of other girls." His face paled and his fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "Everyone was dancing and then—"

"Was there a girl with red hair?" Bucky suddenly asked.

"Yes? Her name was Natalia wasn't it?" Wanda hoped she got the detail right. She wondered why the redheaded girl was so important to Bucky and how he remembered her. He dropped his fork and it clattered to the ground loudly. "It was your dream though." Wouldn't you know if Natalia was there or not?

Bucky didn't answer, but Wanda knew he understood what she was asking. He hesitated before talking.

"Yes, well...kinda." Wanda must've looked confused, so be continued, "It was a memory of mine, but it wasn't on my mind last night."

"Meaning..."

She looked at him more closely. Noting the guilt build up in his eyes, Wanda remembered how Natalia had been trained by the very same man. She mentally cursed for thinking that. This wasn't the Winter Soldier she'd seen — this was Bucky Barnes: the kind-hearted person who ate other people's pancakes and rested on kitchen tables.

It wasn't his memory.

"Yup," Bucky snapped her out of her thoughts.

She blinked. "Did I say that last part out loud?"

"I just took a guess." He shrugged with a playful smile lighting up his face. It disappeared as quick as it'd sprung up, being replaced by a solemn expression. "I'm sorry you had to see that. That was..." Bucky struggled to find an appropriate word.

"Strange? Creepy? Haunting?" Wanda offered. "I can't imagine anyone going through that and living long enough to tell the tale."

Bucky, who'd picked up his fork and was about to take another bite, lost his grip again.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Nothin'." He slowly added, "I can tell you have questions...but you're going to have to ask the other person that was there with me."

Wanda blinked. "One of those girls survived?"

"Of course," Bucky had the ghost of a smile on his face, "she does live in the same building as you, after all."

And that was the moment when the pieces finally clicked. The red hair. Assassin training. Natalia. Russia.

That small redheaded girl was Natasha Romanoff — and the memory and buried pain belonged to her.