She thought she was ready to see him again. She thought that enough time had passed between that the hurt and anger had buried themselves deep enough inside of her. She thought wrong. His face still had the same goddamn five o'clock shadow that she had grown to hate. His hair was still cut in it's long, greasy way. And his fucking eyes still had the same taunting gleam in them. She thought that she could do this. She thought that she could face her biggest fear and only see the love they shared. She thought the memories of bath water turning red around her would stay beneath the facade of passive aggressiveness. But he saw through it. She knew he would. He always does. The scars on her body stung as she fell to her knees, the hardwood floor a welcome stabilizer. Her head spun and tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn't breath. Two arms wrapped around her tightly and she breathed in the smell of sanitation and cigarettes. His smell. She focused on that, the too-fast beating of her heart and the cold wood under her. He was here. Him and not the Winter Soldier. It was really him, just like he was when they met in that shit hole. As her head slowly stopped spinning and the world came into focus and she took in the face of her lover. To her he wasn't the Winter Soldier or Bucky. He was James. Her James. And she could never forget him, no matter how hard she tried.