I make it a rule of thumb to only post a chapter when I have at least half of the next chapter done, so I've had this chapter done for a while. Sorry about that. Things got a bit busy when I got back to school.

Shout out to everyone who noticed the Connie/Clara Doctor Who reference. Jenna Coleman played both Connie in Captain America: The First Avenger, and Clara in Doctor Who. So I decided to name my OC Clara after her :D There will be no Who crossover, though. Sorry.

Review and let me know thoughts, questions, concerns, predictions, etc.

Chapter 9

"Someone is going to recognize the arm," the Winter Soldier grumbled as Clara sat on the bed, pulling on her shoes.

She just tossed him the jean jacket he'd worn before. "It'll be alright. Just wear that to cover the star. Stick your hand in your pocket if it bothers you that much, but I honestly don't think it's that recognizable."

He pushed his arms into the sleeves. "What do you mean?"

"News footage for the….attack on the bridge was limited. They didn't catch any clear footage of the actual fight—only blurry shots of a man with a mask, goggles, and a metal arm. And you were gone by the time the big news chopper got there."

"You're sure?" He followed her out of the room and down towards the bottom of the building.

"Positive. I was watching the news loop at the hospital before I met you, and I didn't recognize it," she said. They were silent walking out to the street. "So let's go get you a couple changes of clothes, a haircut, and it's still early so we can get a late lunch. Sound okay with you?"

"It's fine."

Clara hailed a taxi and they were both silent as it took them to the location she had directed the driver towards. It was a comfortable silence. One the Winter Soldier made no effort to fill. He was immensely confused. He didn't know what to do, and the possibilities swam in circles in his head.

He wasn't used to having so many decisions to make for himself. They were typically made for him, in most of the memories he had. From being forced into a war, to being captured by Hydra.

Who was he?

"So, did you guys have stores like this back in the 40s?" Clara asked once they got into the large department store.

"Something like it," he mumbled, looking around.

"Men's is this way."

He followed Clara down an aisle and then into rows and rows of racks. She stopped in front of shelves on a far wall and looked down at his waist. "Hm—pant sizes have probably changed in the last 70 years—you don't happen to know what size those are?" He shook his head and she held up a pair to his waist, and then picked out a couple of different sizes. "Go try these on in the fitting rooms to your left. I'm sure you know how to do that much." His eyebrows lifted, lips twitching. "I'll look for some shirts."

Moments later he came out to find her across the aisle, clothing draped over her arm. "Too big," he said, holding up one size, holding up the next size down, "too small." She took the pair that was too big and checked the size.

"We'll get like three of these. We'll pick up a belt, too." She passed over a bundle of hangers. "Try these on?"

He nodded and took her armload, heading back towards the dressing rooms. A major part of him recognized that she was making decisions for him, just like Hydra had done. And it nagged at him. But the more logical part, a part that was growing more and more prominent, rationalized that it was insignificant and they just needed to get it done.

He hung the shirts on the wall and couldn't stop the small smile from making itself present. She had picked out button ups. He had flashes of himself and Small Steve, from memories he had visited to things he'd never seen before. He and Steve were always in button-down shirts and slacks.

"Steve always wears these kinds of shirts when he's not battle-ready, so I figure it was because they're the most familiar to him," Clara explained when he'd returned, hanging back up the shirts that didn't fit. "Alright. We've got three sets of clothes and I picked out a belt for you. Boxers or briefs?"

The Winter Soldier blinked. "What?"

"Underwear. Boxers or briefs?" she asked again. His eyebrows rose, but he didn't respond. "What are you wearing right now?" Again, silence, and then a small smile spread slowly across her face. "Are you wearing anything right now?"

He was suddenly fidgety like he was back at the tower.

She grinned. "I'll let one of the boys help you out with that later. We need to pay and get going. You alright with all this?"

His jaw clenched and unclenched, but he nodded. "Yeah. It's fine. It's just clothing."

"Alright, well, let's go pay and then we'll get your hair cut."

He watched as Clara grinned and dumped the clothes onto the counter, Stark's card ready in her hands. He could feel the cashier's eyes on him and pushed his left hand into his pocket, right hand running through his hair to get it out of his face.

The Winter Soldier stood there, feeling awkward and out of place. A couple of days ago he'd been chaos incarnate in the streets. Today, he was buying clothing and getting a haircut. How had things changed so drastically in such a short amount of time?

Then again, in his life, this was not the first time things had done a one-eighty on him. The moment at the top of his list: getting drafted. Or maybe it was falling off a train to his not-really-death.

"Hello," Clara chirped as she walked past the soldier holding the door to the hair salon open for her. The shop was mostly empty, save for a man in his mid-thirties sitting behind a computer to their left. He looked up at Clara and smiled.

"Welcome, I'm Travis," he grinned, standing up. "What can I do for you this afternoon?"

The Winter Soldier jammed his left hand further into his pocket self-consciously as Clara explained that he was in need of a haircut. "Nothing special," Clara was telling him. "Just shorter."

"Alright, follow me, Hun." Jacob led him to a chair and motioned for him to sit. "Can you take off your jacket?" The Winter Soldier gave Clara a look, but complied. Travis lifted an eyebrow, but he didn't stare, just threw a cover over his shoulders. "So what brings you in to get a haircut today?"

"He's having surgery in a few days," Clara explained softly. The soldier kept quiet and wondered how much she was going to tell this stranger. He was beginning to wish he'd just told her he would cut it himself.

"Well, that's unfortunate." Jacob gently tipped the Winter Solder's head back and ran his fingers gently through the tangles. "When was the last time you got it cut, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Don't remember. 1940-something," he mumbled sarcastically. He felt Clara whack his flesh arm.

"He's kidding," she excused stiffly.

Travis laughed.

XXX

"Finally, let's go get lunch," Clara announced as she hailed down another cab. She looked over to the Winter Soldier, his fingers running through his much shorter hair. She offered up a small, reassuring smile. "It looks good short. I mean, it looked nice long, but this suits you, too."

"I remember getting it cut right before I left for Europe," he told her as they got into the cab.

"Oh yeah? Did you remember this in there?" She gestured back to the salon.

"In the chair. It wasn't like the others, though," he explained quietly. "It wasn't like it replayed in my head—I just realized that I had done this before and when I thought about it, I could replay it in my head."

"Totally normal," she assured him after giving the driver instructions. "Getting back memories after having amnesia of any form is always different for everyone."

"How long could it take?" he asked, voice barely audible. He kept his eyes away from her and out over the city.

"It varies," she responded sadly. "It's not what you're going to want to hear, but you may never get all of your memories back. Especially not with the way they were forcefully repressed."

"I just want to know who I am."

"I know," she sighed. "It's not going to happen in a week, I can assure you. But we'll figure it out."

He glanced at her. "Thank you."

"It's what I do," she shrugged.

The taxi pulled to the curb a few minutes later and they stepped out, the soldier looking up at the strip of buildings in front of him. He could see the tower not far away to his left—they were within walking distance of it.

"What are we doing here?"

Clara grinned and nudging him towards a door. "New York Style pizza," she announced. "I figured there had to have been pizza in the 40s—and who doesn't like pizza?" He didn't share her enthusiasm right away and he saw her deflate just a bit, but her smile never faltered. "It's good. I promise."

"I'm trusting you," he said finally, following her into the tiny restaurant.

Once he had the pizza in his hands, a sense of familiarity took over and he immediately folded it in half without thinking, and took a bite.

"Well, you are from Brooklyn," she giggled, cutting hers to pieces.

"That's how we do it here," he stated firmly with a smirk.

Clara smiled behind her napkin. He may not have noticed himself, but he was changing. She knew the changes would slow down as time went on, but he was slowly finding himself without realizing it. His expressions, his words—all unique to him.

But without someone who knew Bucky, who knew if he was reverting to his old self, or forging a new one. Either way—it was better than being the assassin phantom.

"What if we spent to day tomorrow traveling around New York?" she asked suddenly, placing her napkin on the table next to her empty plate. He'd finished his third slice long before she'd finished her second.

"What?"

"Well, since you're from Brooklyn, we can visit there," she offered. "Maybe visit some of the places Bucky has seen—of course, we don't have to. It's completely up to you."

"Completely up to me," he muttered to himself. To Clara, he said louder, "Are you doing that on purpose?"

"You have to be more specific."

"Giving me options—letting me decide. Are you doing that on purpose?" he demanded quietly.

"Kind of," she said. "I mean, part of it is, in the back of my head, I know Hydra didn't care what you wanted and disregarded any opinions you might have had, but part of it is human decency to ask what you want."

His eyes watched her carefully, eyebrows pulling together in that way that made him look lost and sad. He ran his tongue between his lips and pushed his empty plate further away from him. "Can we go back to the tower?"

Clara pulled out Stark's credit card and stood up, collecting their bags. "We sure can."