I hope everyone is enjoying this story :D Got lots of favorites and followers last night…Can't promise this will be updated regularly, but I'll definitely try to get a couple chapters out on the weekends…

Chapter 2

The Winter Soldier managed to get into the cab Clara hailed with a little unnecessary help on her part. She leaned forward and gave the driver instructions on their destination, and the address nagged at his mind for a second, a bit familiar. He wondered shortly if another memory would surface.

"So, you don't know your name," she started conversationally. "What do I call you?"

He didn't answer. How could he? What could he tell her to call him? Bucky, like Steve did? Winter Soldier, like Hydra did? No. Right now, he didn't know who he was. He had no name.

"Okay," she finally drawled after a few minutes of silence, looking out the windows. "So you don't know your name—I'm pretty sure you don't work for SHIELD." He kept quiet still. "Where are you from?"

"I don't know."

The taxi stopped and Clara glanced out the window to ensure they were at her apartment complex before she leaned forward to pay the driver as he got out.

"Good luck with him," he heard the driver mutter to her as she got out.

The Winter Soldier stared up at the building. No. He didn't need a memory flashback. He remembered this place. He glanced behind him at the ledge of the building across the street where he'd stood, one boot up on the edge of the building, unregistered gun in his hands, taking aim on a mission. He stared back at the broken window on one of the higher floors.

"There was a shooting a couple days ago." Clara joined him in looking at the window. "Luckily I was at SHIELD when it happened. They shot the director of SHIELD, actually."

"I know."

She shook her head. "It was all over the news." She gently tugged on his hand. "Let's get you inside and get you a shirt or something."

The Winter Soldier glanced down at his bare chest and followed her to a room on the bottom floor. As soon as the front door was shut, a heard nails scratching on the wood floor as something tore down the hall towards them. Instinctually, he pressed his back against the door and flipped the deadbolt quietly.

"Sorry, I should have warned you," Clara said, scratching the small brown and white spaniel behind the ears. It was a small dog, perky and excited to see people. "I'm watching her while a friend is on assignment overseas. She's really friendly." She picked the dog up and headed down into the apartment. "I'm just gonna lock her up in my bedroom for now."

He stood awkwardly in the living room looking around. Things had changed. A large, flat TV sat against the far wall, a light colored couch against the wall across the room. A bookshelf stood next to the window filled with books and small photo frames.

And out the window he could clearly see the building he'd stood on top of days earlier. That was the first time he'd seen Steve—though he hadn't known then that he knew the man.

He whipped around when he heard her come back into the room. "Here," she said, tossing him the shirt she had in her hands. "That should fit you. Sit." She gestured to the couch. But he didn't move.

"Okay, so, didn't want to start this in the car because I work for SHIELD—you never know who's listening," she started, moving to the small kitchenette and pulling two glasses down from a cabinet. "But I'm a doctor."

"I got that much," he muttered. She filled the glasses with water and walked back into the living room slowly, placing both glasses in the table before sitting in the armchair next to the couch.

"Yeah, but it's more than that," she told him. "I've dealt with enough mentally damaged operatives to know one when I see one."

"I don't work for SHIELD," he finally admitted to her, still standing.

She offered up a small smile and tucked some of her dark hair behind her ear. "I know."

"Then how do you know I'm not a threat?" he challenged.

"You're not armed." He eyes traveled down across his still bare chest and down to his empty holsters.

He felt his jaw twitch. Something in him did not like how comfortable she was around him. He didn't like that she wasn't intimidated, that she wasn't immediately submissive to him. She wasn't as in control as she thought. Reaching around to the back of his pants, he pulled out a knife and flashed it to her.

The instant look of slight fear on her face was slightly gratifying for him. No, he decided. This is wrong—she wasn't his mission. But then again, the other people in the hospital weren't his mission but he'd still ended up hurting them.

No, he shouted in his head, no more of this. He dropped the knife onto the table.

"Alright, point made," she murmured, taking a sip of water, her demeanor flipping to professional right before his eyes. He'd seen it in his handlers—the scientists in charge of him when he was at base. They flipped between scared and professional enough in front of him. "You can sit." She gestured again to the couch.

After a pause, he pulled the shirt over his head and sat on the edge of the couch. She wasn't making demands like Hydra did, he noted. She was offering. Letting him decide. This little bit of mental freedom felt…good. To be able to think and do things for himself. To not have to listen to orders.

"So, seeing as I don't have a workplace anymore what with the destruction of SHIELD's HQ, it looks like I'm getting some much deserved vacation time," she laughed. "But I'd really like to help you."

"Why?"

"I'm a doctor—you don't go through years of training and a lifetime of debt unless it's your calling," she explained.

She had a calling. Did he? Did the Winter Soldier have a calling? Is that why he was the way he was?

"I grew up in the UK until I was fifteen," she began suddenly. "I moved to North Carolina with my father when his mother, my grandmother, was having some trouble living on her own in New York. Mum died when I was little. When my grandmother died when I was eighteen. I went on to study medicine at Duke University. Dad moved back to the UK, I moved to DC where Nick Fury recruited me for his medical team. Over time, I worked my way up the ladder."

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked finally, quietly.

"Because I want you to tell me about yourself, what you know. I don't expect you to do anything I wouldn't be willing to do." He just stared at her. Again, she was giving him options. She wasn't demanding anything. She didn't demand a mission report. She was waiting for him. It was all in his hands.

"I don't know."

"You say you don't know your name, but when you first saw me, you called me Connie. Do you remember Connie?"

He licked his lips. He did remember Connie. "I met her in a bar."

"What does she look like?"

"She had dark hair, long—past her shoulders," he whispered, remembering. He saw her then, standing in front of him. She was laughing as the music played. They were at some sort of fair. He was in a military uniform like he was last time he remembered her, but she was in a white dress with a matching sweater, colorful embroider across the top. He blinked and it was gone. But the face of that woman was still in the room. "She looked a lot like you."

Clara smiled. "Well that's something. You knew a girl named Connie. You met her at a bar. Do you have any other memories of her?"

"No. That's it."

"Okay. You don't know your name, if you know what year you were born in, we can look up common—"

"1918." It was out of his mouth before he knew where it came from.

"I'm sorry?"

He looked straight at her, a new resolve bubbling inside himself. No more games "There are things about me that if I told you, you would turn me in to SHIELD," he began. "And I cannot afford that. I barely remember who I am, but the things I do remember—"

"I can't turn you into SHIELD if SHIELD doesn't exist," she interrupted, irritating him. "But if you want me to help you like I want to, you need to tell me everything. Doctor patient confidentiality. I can't legally tell anyone anything unless it could harm you, others, or is a threat to national security."

"I may fall into one or more of those," he grunted, standing. "This was a bad idea." He made his way to the door, but she jumped up and rushed to place herself against the door, careful not to touch him lest he have another violent reaction like he did in the hospital.

"Look, I will respect that you don't want to tell me about yourself right now, but like I said in the hospital, your arm is really interesting—if you'd just let me and a friend take one quick look at it, if you want to leave, I'll let you."

"You want to study me?" he ground out.

"No," she swallowed. "Just your arm. I know a guy with some hi-tech equipment and I know for a fact he would love to see how it works." The Winter Soldier stayed silent. "Please? I'll trade you—you can stay here in my apartment as long as you like—no questions about you or your past—just let me take you to him for a once over of your arm."

"Why?" he managed after a second.

"An arm like that—you can move it on your own—that kind of technology can help thousands of people," she breathed, letting her muscles relax when she saw the storm in his eyes soften.

He took a step back and nodded once, moving so she could walk back into the house.

She grinned. "Thank you," she said earnestly, words he hadn't heard in a long, long time. Something inside him warmed and he felt slightly embarrassed. He heard her messing around in her room before she came back out with a duffle bag in one hand and a phone in the other pressed to her ear. "Stark? Yeah, I'm on my way—I have something you're gonna wanna see."