A lot had happened since the day he pulled Captain America, Steve, from the river. The Potomac. Washington D.C. The day he turned his back on what he believed was the only world he ever knew. A world where he existed only to be used and abused. The day he started to realize who he was, what he had been made into, what he had done - and what he hadn't done.

In coming to terms with the life he had unknowingly, unwillingly, lived for the past seventy years, he found out more than he could've ever possibly guessed. Seventy years. A length of time he had a rough time wrapping his head around. How could he have possibly lived for seventy years without realizing it? And he was still the same age he had last known himself to be.

It almost became like the stages of grief, but if only for the life that had been taken from him.

First there was the confusion: how had he ended up where he was, why had he done these terrible things, who had done this to him? Which led him to discovering what exactly had happened to him, and how he had ended up becoming the monster he was. The Smithsoian. Captain America. Steve Rogers. Best friend. The only Howling Commando to give his life for Captain America. Steve. Had he given his life if he was still alive? Yes. No. Maybe. Hydra took his life. Made him a new one. Fist of Hydra.

There were two lives he had lived - and now he was currently living a third. The first was when he was the Man. The boy. The one with a duty to serve his country. The second was when he was the Asset. The monster. The one with a duty to serve the cause. The two lives still existed inside of him, struggling for dominance. He wasn't sure which one was winning. Back in his body, but stuck in his head. While it felt like the Man had the most control, the Asset lingered, nipping at the back of his mind, encouraging him to do things, reminding him of what he had done - what he was good at.

For the past seventy years, all he had known was violence. All he had known was destruction and chaos and pain. So much pain. All at the hands of some very specific people. Those he would never forget, no matter how much he tried. Giving in a bit to the Asset, he made sure they didn't forget him either. They wanted a monster after all. Fist of Hydra.

While he had been intent on destroying the lives of those who had destroyed his, it was only a short term solution. That, and the longer he went on, the riskier it became. Someone would notice. Someone would find him. He'd lose his freedom. He never had freedom before. Or at least, he couldn't remember the last time he had. He didn't want to cause any more harm. Not even to people who deserved it. The Man reminded him of that. Devil and Angel on his shoulder. Each vying for control. He had to find a middle ground. Had to find himself again. Or whatever version of himself he could be in this time, after everything.

It was the woman he saved. The woman who looked like his younger sister, but wasn't his younger sister. Rebecca. Curls and short skirts that made their mother tsk. Not Rebecca. Barely standing on her own. The logical part of his brain reminded him every time that that wasn't possible. It was just a weird coincidence. Though it was enough to shake him from whatever stage he was in at that point. Remind him that he had the opportunity to be someone different. Himself again. Or as close as he could get to the Man he was before.

A lot had happened after he saved the woman. He wasn't sure why he chose Bucharest, Romania. There were plenty of places in the world he could go. But there were also plenty of places he couldn't go. Either out of fear of being found out or because there was a past life he couldn't go back to. Bucharest was the in between. Busy, but not too busy. Big enough that he could blend in, small enough where he wasn't overwhelmed. Not very quiet, but not very loud either, which was okay. Quiet meant there was something wrong.

His apartment was small, but big enough for him. He had chosen it based on the location of both the building and the room itself. Multiple exit points. Just in case. That was the motto he repeated to himself daily. Just in case. It explained why he had the apartment set up like he did. Why he kept his go-bag under the floorboards behind the kitchen island, which was right by an exit. His go-bag that had the important things. A journal he kept that was filled with the important stuff he remembered over the last two years. Two knives, a few protein bars, an empty water bottle. Just in case. The windows were covered in newspaper as makeshift curtains. No one could see in, but he could see out. Safer that way. Just in case.

For the first few months in Romania, he kept to himself. Didn't leave the apartment unless he needed more protein bars, or to do a perimeter check in the evening hours after the busyness of the streets had slowed. Just in case. He could blend in easily - leaning on tactics offered up by the Asset: wearing subdued tones, a hat to cover his face and making sure there was always gloves on his hands so no one would notice the metal glint of his arm. The literal fist used for Hydra. He spent most of his days trying to pull lost memories to the forefront of his mind, writing them down as they came to him. Mostly in bits and pieces, but it was better than nothing. There were plenty of sleepless nights - being plagued by nightmares of the life he had been forced to live and the things he had done. Splitting headaches happened almost every day, spurned on by him trying to remember the Man he once was. Hydra had made sure that was next to impossible, but it didn't stop him from trying.

Maybe he wasn't living, per say. Existing. That was the word. He was existing. Going through the motions of what a life should be. The bare minimum at least. It didn't sound like much, but compared to the alternative...he was okay with existing.

As time went on, he started to do a bit more. Still keeping the just in case motto in mind, he started small. Picking up a job at the docks at night so that he could continue to pay for his apartment and the protein bars he survived on - no need for anyone to become suspicious of him being in the building. He didn't mind his job at the docks; no one asked any questions, it was easy to blend in with the other men there, and it allowed him to get outside once in a while. If anything, it reminded him of one of the many jobs he did back in New York. Where he was born. Grew up. Before the war. Though if he remembered correctly (doubtful), he hadn't had to do many jobs to begin with; his family was better off than most. Really the only reason he worked was to keep an eye on Steve. Captain America. His friend. Brother. Who's father died and his mother was sick. His mother. Sarah.

There were good days and bad days when it came to what he remembered vs. what he couldn't. There was a day where he remembered training Steve at Goldie's Boxing Gym in Brooklyn when he announced he wanted to sign up for the draft. But a couple hours later, he couldn't remember his own mother's name. It was frustrating to say the least. And left him with nothing but headaches and a sour taste in his mouth.

Which was why he had picked up meditation. Unwillingly, to be clear. His Howling Commando brothers would give him so much shit if they found out how he sat on the floor in the middle of his apartment for an hour, focusing on his breathing. But it had happened. Again, accidentally. He had heard the tape through the wall from his neighbor's apartment. They had never met, but sometimes he heard the music she played or the baking show she watched.

One day, he heard another voice on the other side, underlaid by what seemed to be a calming score. He listened to the instructor's directions, not realizing he was following along until the recording ended. And weirdly, he felt a little better. Calmer. More focused. The Asset was silent.

Meditation wasn't a fix it all sort of thing, but it was a good thing to pick up. Just in case. Afterwards, his head wasn't so muddled and it allowed him to be more aware of what was going on around him. It just helped. Helped him get through the headaches. Brought him out of the panic that came after waking from the nightmares. Helped him center himself. Reminded himself that he was in his own skin, had full control of himself. He was free.

Though deep down, he knew he didn't deserve the freedom he had gotten. Not after everything he had done. He didn't deserve whatever sort of semblance of life he had began to build for himself in Bucharest. It all felt too good to be true. And it was bound to be taken away from him one day. Some day.

But for the most part, he tried to cherish the quiet, simple existence he had ended up building for himself. Just in case it was ever threatened or taken away from him. Just in case someone decided he had enough freedom and needed to pay for what he had done. He could understand if/when that happened.

So he kept to his routine: an overnight shift at the docks, going to the corner store for his protein bars, getting back to his apartment to do a security check before either doing some meditation or writing down whatever he had been able to remember in his journal, then trying to get some sleep. He kept to himself, not really talking to anyone unless it was necessary, but that was okay. Less of a risk if anything were to go sideways. He was beginning to remember more, but not everything. Sometimes several would come all at once, sometimes there would be nothing at all.

Most of what he did remember revolved around Steve. Captain America. He had apparently been an important part of the life he had before. His notebooks were filled with small notes of memories that felt like dreams. Never could he imagine being a person who went out dancing, or someone who would sit at a baseball game for a long period of time.

Sometimes he began to doubt his own mind. What if all his memories were just implanted by Hydra? The way he'd seen technology advance, he had no doubts that they could've done something like that. He only wished there was a way to corroborate the memories inside his head. Someone to tell him that it was all true.

Though there was no one he could reach out to. Not only did he not know anyone - he was certain none of the people he remembered were even alive, but that would put everything at risk. Again, not that there was much of an everything to begin with, but still. No one could know where he was.

And he had thought he had done everything possible to make sure that didn't happen. To make sure he could live out the rest of his days in a quiet peace. No longer wanting to hurt anyone or cause any more pain. He was wrong.

He didn't know he was wrong until he saw them. Well, her. He saw her first. He saw her a couple of times actually, but the pieces took a while to click into place. At first he thought he was just being paranoid. The Asset was threatened, the Man was paranoid. Before he realized who she was, he clocked her over several days - trying and failing to blend in. And while the Asset continued to hiss that this woman was a threat, that this woman needed to be taken care of, he blocked it out. Because there was something familiar about her.

Tire swing.

Spinning skirts.

Ow! That's too tight!

A butterfly hairpin.

Rebecca.

No, not Rebecca. The woman from the man's phone. The woman he had saved. The woman from the riverbank who was wearing his uniform. His uniform from the Howling Commandos. The war. With Steve. Not Rebecca knew Steve. Someone else. She had found him. How had she found him? Why was she looking for him? She had someone with her. A man. Who was he? Not Captain America. Not Steve. Someone else. He didn't look happy.

They were sitting at a table at a restaurant that was on the route he took home from the docks. Though on the opposite side of the street. Neither of them noticed him though (they never did); he took a hard turn to go down one of the alleyways - quickly realizing he needed an alternate route. He couldn't let them see him until he knew why they were here. What did they want from him? He hadn't done anything wrong. He had saved her. Not Rebecca. He had saved her. Why was she here?

He managed to get back to his apartment without any other roadblocks. Though he kept checking over his shoulder to see if he had been followed. By her or by anyone else he hadn't seen before. He hadn't.

Setting to work, he tried to trace back his steps to how she could've possibly found him. Flipping through his journals, trying to jog a memory he had forgotten and tried to remind himself what else had happened the day he had saved her. There wasn't anything he could think of that could've brought her to him.

Then his eyes landed on the dresser drawer he kept the phone that belonged to the man in the apartment. The man who was working for Hydra. The man who had been keeping the woman hostage. Not Rebecca.

With two quick steps, he yanked the dresser drawer opened so hard that it flung out of the dresser itself. He paid no mind to it though, reaching in for the small phone-like device, then letting the drawer clatter to the ground. The device was light in his hand, but felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Heavy with the implications that came from taking it.

In retrospect, he probably never should've taken the device. There was no reason he needed it - hell, he wasn't even sure what it was. At first look, there was a tug toward the back of his head, but not one that usually came whenever he could remember something about his past. No, this one came from the Asset. The Asset had recognized this device. Whispering in his ear at how useful it could be, how it could be used to their advantage. If only he gave in. He had tried to ignore it; he wasn't the Asset anymore. He could figure it out for himself.

Once he had figured out a way to power up the device, he found message exchanges to numbers that weren't saved. Like sending an electronic, instant letter. Those and various photos of random places and things - including Not Rebecca. A photo album that could fit in the palm of his hand. The advancements in technology were amazing.

Wanting to know how exactly the device worked, he took to taking it apart. The pieces had been spread out across his floor in a careful way; he didn't want to lose any of them. Most of it looked like it was right out of Howard Stark's lab. Howard Stark. Scientist. Inventor. Hover cars. The Modern Marvels of Tomorrow. Where Steve had tried to sign up for the draft again. The last time he had seen Steve until...he couldn't remember when he saw Steve again. Though he wondered if Howard had ever gotten close to creating something like the device he had laid out on his floor.

Now, as it rested in his hand, he realized how dangerous the device had been. He must've done something wrong when he put it back together. Forgotten to do one thing or triggered something within the device that sent out some sort of alert. God, he was so stupid. The Asset agreed. The Man did too. Never were they ever in agreement. He should've never taken the device to begin with.

With a satisfying crunch, his metal hand wrapped around the gadget and crushed it easily. He stared at the pieces that remained, wanting to feel some sort of relief, but it never came. The fingers of his hand twitched with a human-like quality that was almost ironic considering everything. He had been so careful. He had flown under the radar, hadn't done anything to raise any sort of interest. And all it had taken was some sort of stupid modern technology to get him caught. He should've known better.

Acting on instinct, he turned from the dresser to cross quickly to the kitchen. He pried up the floorboards behind the island where his go-bag was hidden. Where was he going again? Croatia. Croatia. The Croatia plan had been in his back pocket for this specific reason. Not because of Not Rebecca specifically, but because he had been found out. He didn't know why she was in Bucharest - and he wasn't going to risk anything. If she found him, he wouldn't have his freedom anymore. Fist of Hydra. The Asset was thrilled at the idea of being used again, the Man was terrified of losing control again. He was terrified.

But before he could make it out one of the exit points, there was a careful knock on his door. Tentative. Like whoever was on the other side was nervous of what they were going to find. And he hesitated. He fucking hesitated.

"Bucky?" an unfamiliar, yet familiar voice called out in the same careful way her knock had been. A name he hadn't been called in a long time. No, that wasn't right. The man on the bridge called him that too. Bucky? He knew him. How did he know him again?

Just like he had on the bridge, he hesitated at the name. Even though he knew he shouldn't. He knew he should just leave. Pretend he was never there. Start over again. But he didn't.

This was it. His quiet, simple existence was over. He had been found. And he was certain this wasn't going to end well.

Still, he found himself moving toward the door.

A/N: Long time no update! I'm sorry it took forever and I know this isn't too long of one to begin with, but I hope it's okay! I love/hate writing Bucky so please LMK your thoughts/reactions/comments. I appreciate you all!