Author's Note: This chapter title comes from Four Quartets by T. S. Elliot.

Chapter Twenty - At the still point (there the dance is)

She awoke without the familiar sound of the twins' loud breathing. Danielle carefully kept her own breathing steady and thought through what she had available. Her head ached painfully and she couldn't remember ever falling asleep. Blunt force trauma? In fact, the last thing she could remember was the power coming back on and Strucker escorting her from her room and then . . . nothing.

She was on a soft bed. Far softer than anything she'd slept on in her time with Hydra. Not as soft as what she'd had at the Tower or in Malibu, but just soft enough to be unfamiliar and uncomfortable. There was a gentle hum to her right. Some sort of AC unit? Her collar felt too tight and she couldn't feel a drop of the Tesseract, despite the fact that Strucker had loosened control again once power was back on.

Someone had messed with her collar.

The air smelled stale and faintly . . . lemon. There was water running somewhere a little ways away but she didn't hear anyone near her. Danielle carefully opened her eyes.

Motel room, cheap with peeling wallpaper. The faux wood table was damp on the top and she figured that the smell of lemon came from whatever wipes had been used to clean it. On the second hotel bed sat an unzipped duffle bag. The sound of running water was coming from the bathroom. A shower. One other occupant, otherwise occupied.

Danielle folded back the blankets on top of herself and slid carefully off the bed. She stayed silent as she stepped across to the other bed, where she carefully peered inside. Guns, ammo, knives. Danielle frowned. Weapons, but none giving the identity of who it was that had her. Had Strucker handed her off for some reason? Why couldn't she remember what had happened?

The rumbling of water through the pipes shut down. Danielle snatched up a gun and hurriedly checked that it was loaded before slipping back into her bed and closing her eyes. She didn't know who it was, but at least now she had the element of surprise on her side.

After a moment, the door opened with a quiet squeak of the hinges, but she couldn't hear footsteps. Beyond where the footsteps should have been, however, she heard the strong, steady heartbeat of her captor. Off to her left, she heard the shuffling of the duffle bag and the clicking as clips and guns tapped against each other. A pause.

"Are you planning on shooting me?"

Danielle stilled, not because he'd realized she'd taken a gun or even because he'd spoke at all. She stilled because she knew that voice. It wasn't just the collar making it hard to breathe anymore.

"Well?"

Danielle hesitantly opened her eyes and sat up, clutching the gun like a lifeline. She stared at him. "Winter?"

He tilted his head to the side but didn't say anything. She raked her gaze over him, spending a little extra time focusing on how his left arm—hidden by the sleeve of the too-large hoodie—was limp against his side. Hands shaking, she held out the gun and let him take it from her. "They . . . they said you died. What— I—"

"Breathe," he ordered, returning the gun to the duffle bag. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Do I—" Danielle hesitated. "I don't. I haven't for a while."

He stepped in front of her and braced her chin, frowning at her collar. "March 19th. 2014. I haven't seen you for about four months."

"But—" She reached up and danced her fingers along the collar. "But what happened?"

"They wiped me. I forgot about you. It took me a little too long to remember. I started looking for you at the old base and tried to find your trail. Strucker figured out I was coming for you and decided to move you. I caught you in transport."

"But I don't remember anything."

"I'd be surprised if you did. They had you hopped up on enough anesthesia to keep down an elephant. It's taken you a whole day to wake up from it." His frown deepened. "Can you get this off? I stopped any outside signal so they couldn't track it, but I can't find the release mechanism."

"I— Yes. Do you have tools?"

He nodded and turned away to dig through the duffle bag again.

"My head really hurts."

"Probably because I cut it open." He turned back and held a small tool case out to her.

"You—" Danielle's eyes widened and she reached up for her head. After a moment, she felt the bandage across the right side of her skull, a couple inches above her ear. Her hair was short again, shorn like it had been when she first went to Hydra. "Why?"

"Tracker. I had to get it out. They think you're currently on your way to South Africa."

"Oh." Danielle brushed her fingers over the bandage one more time and then reached for the tools. "Mirror?"

"Bathroom."

"Got it." Danielle pushed herself to her feet and clutched the toolkit to her chest. Bucky supported her elbow and she heard his heart skip a bit when she stumbled forward. "I'm okay," she promised. "What happened to you? They said you went down with the helicarriers."

"I did. And then I got out and ran. I . . . still don't remember a lot of things. I remember that you're important enough to save, but . . . ."

"Right." She leaned against the bathroom sink and opened the toolbox. When she tilted her chin up to get a good look at the collar in the mirror, she frowned. Danielle dragged her fingers over it before finding a panel on the side. "Okay, here we are." She reached down and picked up the flat-head screwdriver. "Do you remember your name?"

"Yes, I'm—"

"James 'Bucky' Barnes?" she interrupted, slipping the screwdriver in the slot and prying the panel up.

"You . . . knew?"

"They wouldn't let me say anything. But yeah, I knew." She tossed the panel aside and turned her head to study the inner wiring. "Steve talked about you a lot."

"You know . . . him?"

Danielle lowered the screwdriver and met his gaze in the mirror. "My last name's Stark. Steve worked with my dad before he . . . . Um, before . . . ." The screwdriver slipped from between her fingers and clattered to the floor. Danielle clawed for purchase at the sink and her lungs constricted. Her knees gave out.

Bucky caught her around the waist and helped her down to the ground. "Breathe," he ordered again, pulling her hands so that they were pressed against his chest. So that she could feel his own breaths. "Breathe."

Obey, obey, obey. She clutched at the hand holding hers and rested her head forward against his shoulder, forcing air into her lungs. The world spinning around her slowed, and slowed, and stopped.

"There you go. That's better, Nell." His hand pulled away from hers and rested on her head instead. "Breathe."

Danielle pulled back and sniffled, rubbing her hand against her nose. "I, I need to finish getting this off." She struggled to her feet and took the screwdriver he'd picked up for her. "Thank you." She leaned forward again to resume studying the wires. "What happened to your arm?"

"Damaged while getting you out. It's fine."

Danielle frowned and glanced at him. "I'll fix it." Then she picked up the cutters and clipped two of the wires. Her collar hissed and spread apart, loosening and revealing the hinge hidden inside itself. She released the latch and pried the collar open and off. "Oh my god," she rasped, finally able to breathe properly again. She squeezed her eyes shut at the rush of energy into her body, hissing at the way it ground against her bones

It took a minute for the nausea to pass. Danielle opened her eyes and stared at herself in the mirror, lifting a hand to gently touch at the raw, red scarring encircling her neck. "It's gone," she breathed. Her eyes were heavy and the energy inside her was swirling aimlessly, dragging her down. "It's gone."

"Nell? Nell, look at me. What— No, no. Breathe. Look at me. Nell!"

She awoke to someone holding her hand. She froze, frantically trying to figure out what was going on. She couldn't breathe, and yet she couldn't feel her collar constricting her neck either. Her heart sped up, tattooing itself on her ribcage.

"Whoa, careful. Breathe." The hand holding her squeezed. "You're safe. It's just me. You're safe."

"W-winter?" Danielle opened her eyes, wincing against the expected light but instead being greeted by darkness. "Wha— Oh." She clutched at his hand. "S-sorry. I think that . . . . Just getting all of the Tesseract back all at once . . . ."

"You should eat something," he said, pulling away. When she tightened her hold on him, he said, "I'm getting you a granola bar." When she finally let him go, he turned on the lamp at her bedside and moved to dig through the duffle bag. He came up with the granola bar and awkwardly unwrapped it with one hand.

Danielle sat up and took it, eying him. "Get the tools," she murmured.

He frowned. "Why?"

"I'll fix your arm." She bit into the granola bar and wrinkled her nose at the way her stomach turned. Danielle watched as Bucky moved to collect the tools from the bathroom. By the time he'd returned, she'd forced herself to swallow the rest of the bar. She reached out and makes gimme hands for the tool kit. "Turn on the main light and sit down," she ordered. "I need to take a look."

He did as she asked and slipped off his long sleeve shirt so she could see his arm. Some of the metal was a bit dented and tarnished. But she focused in on the area that was missing a panel and exposing wires.

"You have a couple cut wires," she murmured. "Give me a moment and I'll have you good as new."

She'd eaten seven bowls of oatmeal in the time it took him to return. Bucky closed the motel door tightly behind himself and turned, only to eye the empty oatmeal packets across the table. He raised an eyebrow. "Did you go through an entire bag of brown sugar?"

"I like sweet things." She tossed the styrofoam bowl in the trash. "Whatcha get me?"

"Makeup to try to disguise you and some clothes so you're not stuck forever in Hydra grey." He set the Walmart bags on the table. "Also, a backpack for your things."

"Sweet." She snatched up the bag of makeup and moved to the bathroom. "Where are we headed?" she asked, leaning into the mirror and working on concealing the scar collaring her.

"Depends on what you want to do."

She paused, studying the way that her hands were steady against her throat despite the trembling in her head. "Hydra. I want them gone."

It was quiet for a moment while he considered that. Then Bucky nodded. "I know there's a base somewhere in Montpellier. We're close enough to there. I'll pull out the computer and get started."

"Do you have enough guns for me?"

"And knives," he assured her. "We'll be fine."

She finished hiding the collar scar and the ones on her hands. Then she packed the makeup away and moved back into the main room. She dug through the clothes he'd gotten, packing it all away in her backpack and keeping out one set of clothing. She changed into the jeans and boots and stripped off her shirt. She'd just finished pulling on the bra when she felt a cold hand against her back. Danielle stiffened and looked back at him. "What?"

He was frowning down at her shoulder. His fingers moved to press into the sensitive skin there and she hissed. "When did they do this to you?" he demanded, voice as cold as his hand.

It took her a moment to realize that he was tracing the brand. "Oh. After they took me from you. I tried to run away."

He pressed his fingers into the burn, putting pressure on the entire outline as he traced it. Then he leaned his head forward and rested his forehead against her shoulder. "Sorry. It won't happen again. I promise."

She hummed in response and waited patiently until he pulled away. Then she tugged on her sweater and turned to face him. "Winter, what—" She paused with a frown. "Um . . . do you want me to call you Bucky now?"

"No," came his instant response. "No."

"Oh." She smiled. "Okay." Danielle tilted her head to the side. "What do you remember from being Bucky?"

"I . . . ." He frowned deeply. "Not much, yet. Bits and pieces. I'm not sure if most of it is memory or just from being at the museum."

"You're in a museum?"

"Steve is."

"Oh. That makes sense. Well, what are you absolutely sure is you remembering?"

He contemplated that question for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Dancing. I think I— Yes. I definitely remember that, and it wasn't in the museum."

Danielle light up and reached for his hands. "Dance with me!"

He took her hands and stared at her.

"C'mon, please? I was learning how to dance for when Steve came back for New Years, but I . . . guess I wasn't there anymore. I've never actually gotten to dance with anyone."

"We don't have any music."

"Remind me later to put Spotify in your arm."

He gave her a confused look and adjusted to curl his right hand between her shoulders. "Alright. Let's start slow, then, since you've never danced with someone before."

Danielle smiled and followed his slow footwork, letting her head rest forward against his shoulder. "Hey, Winter?" she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"You aren't gonna leave me, right? I don't want to be alone again."

"I won't. Never."