New chapter ;) I hope you guys like it. A little longer chapter this time, but not too much happens. Next chapter you will get some action, I promise.

I took a few scenes from the Marvel movies and changed them a little. See if you can figure them out and comment if you think you have them. There's two main scenes.

As always, please R&R if you enjoyed.

I don't own ANYTHING Marvel related.

In three days, the wounds were scars. On the fourth day, Steve insisted upon walking around and getting on with his life, despite the pain he still felt. Putting on pants was the easy part. It was getting the shirt up and over his head that was the problem.

Tony had given him his own floor, since the tower had plenty and because Steve had no where else to go.

A soft knock sounded at Steve's door and he spun around, the shirt stuck on his hair.

"Who is it?" he questioned and tried to shimmy the shirt down.

"Natasha. Let me in, Steve," she said. Her tone sounded urgent.

"Fine." The door cracked open and Natasha smirked as she saw his state.

"Need some help, Captain?"

"Maybe," he replied sheepishly. She came up behind him and slid the shirt down his arms and off his head with nimble hands. He adjusted it quickly before looking at her again.

"I can't tell you how many times Clint has had to help me with clothes after a fight. It's no problem. Your 1940s modesty is showing." A blush crept up his cheeks.

"You had to tell me something?" he pressed.

She took a deep breath before explaining further. Her red hair seemed to blaze in the morning light, even more so than before. He shook the thought away.

"We have a lead. A camera picked up a suspicious looking man at the Smithsonian a few minutes ago. It could be Bucky, but we have no idea."

Steve walked to his dresser and pulled out a hoodie, grimacing as he slid it on.

"What are you doing?" she asked as he walked out of the room.

"What do you think?"

"It may not even be him. He may not want to be found," Natasha stated.

"It's him. I know it. If you let me leave, maybe I can still catch him," Steve replied as he got into the elevator and Natasha got in with him.

"It will take you hours by car. He could be gone by the time you get there"

The elevator dinged and Steve smiled as he got out. "See you later, Natasha."

The drive to Washington DC took Steve a little over three hours by motorcycle. When he finally stopped at the museum, he found a parking space and pulled his hoodie up, walking inside.

He refused to look at anyone while he was getting his ticket and slipped in without a second glance.

Captain America, going back to the museum where his exhibit was. Steve had to admit, he did feel strange when surrounded by all the memorabilia, his life.

The exhibit was crowded with people, young and old. He simply looked around, admiring what the museum had been able to collect of his old life. His entire existence, all in one place. Before, during, and after the war, it was all there. In heart-wrenching accuracy and detail.

"Can I help you, sir?" someone asked. Steve turned around and saw an elderly security guard with a small smile on his face. He had a snow white mustache and his hair was hidden beneath a security cap.

"No, thanks," Steve mumbled.

The guard leaned closer and whispered something. "Don't worry, I won't tell anybody, Cap." When he pulled away, he winked. The guard made rounds in the room and left.

Steve wandered around for a moment, smiling at the children doing action poses in front of their parents' camera. He stopped at the exhibit that held the Howling Commandos' uniforms. A man was seated at the bench, looking at the uniforms.

Steve watched him for a moment and soon the man got up. A clean face and deep brown eyes. Steve's heart fell. Where was Bucky?

He walked back to where Bucky's information was in the exhibit, displayed on glass panels. Another man was looking at it intently. A cap covered most of his long hair and his hands were hidden in the long sleeves of his jacket.

The man turned from the exhibit and Steve caught a glimpse of him.

"Bucky," Steve whispered.

Bucky did not see Steve and exited the museum. Naturally, Steve followed Bucky as he walked down the sidewalk. They exited the museum and turned down one of the streets that led to a winding sidewalk in a park. Steve still followed with quiet footsteps.

"I'm not coming back," his voice rang out, making Steve stop in his tracks. Bucky turned back and looked at Steve with sad eyes. "Every time I see you, I will be reminded of what I did. I need to figure this out," he said and turned back around and started walking.

Steve ran up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Bucky tensed under his grip and turned around again.

"I'm not letting you go," Steve said forcefully.

"You let me go once. You can do it again," he replied. His eyes were pleading, his features tired and almost confused.

Steve shook his head as Bucky stood with a quizzical look on his face. "I never let you go. Never," Steve said.

He pulled out a picture of him and Bucky from his jacket pocket. It was the image he carried with him wherever he went. He even carried it in the compartment belt on his uniform when he went on missions. The picture was old and the paper was yellowing. It was an image of them and the Howling Commandos, taken during the war. Everyone was serious and warlike, but a smirk played on Bucky's lips. Steve's face was set hard in a commanding way that Bucky found hilarious since people were usually giving Steve the orders.

Bucky looked at it for a moment, intensely studying it, before pushing it away. He could see the memory in front of his eyes, but it was faded. He struggled to remember the other men in their unit and eventually became fed up with himself. His ability to not remember the men that had saved his life multiple times, and he theirs was painful. "That's not me. Not anymore. I'm broken."

"I can help-"

Bucky cut him off. "Until I hurt you again?!" he yelled. "It's just a matter of time. I can feel it. You'll be sleeping one moment and dead the next. Your blood will be on my hands, Steve. I can't control it," he said. "This is the one thing I can control. How far I am away from you so that I won't be tempted to hurt you. I'm sorry Steve. I need to do this alone." He left without a second glance, his eyes trained on the grass below his feet.

"I'm with you till the end of the line," Steve called out.

Bucky kept walking, shoving his hands into his pockets as he went.

Steve turned around to walk back to the Smithsonian, knowing that pursuing Bucky was futile. Still, he turned around one more time, hoping to see Bucky as he walked off into the city. There was no Bucky.

The ghost had done what he knew best. Vanished.

"How did it go?" Natasha asked curiously when Steve got back to the tower late in the afternoon. She noticed that he was the only one and her face fell. "I'm sorry, Steve."

He sat on the sofa and ran a hand through his hair. "He's in there. He can get out. He just doesn't know how," he replied quietly.

Natasha took a deep breath and sat down next to Steve. "I swear, if you tell anyone else what I am about to tell you, I will kill you," she said. Steve looked at her questioningly, not doubting that she would keep her promise.

"I was tortured much like Bucky was. It took some time alone for me to right myself. Then Clint found me while I was still a little "off" and he saved me basically. Bucky just needs time. He'll come back soon," she said comfortingly. Natasha was mentally smacking herself. Was this all it took for the world's best assassin to open up and start conversing with a man she barely knew? She chided herself to keep her mouth shut next time.

"Thanks, Tasha," Steve whispered.

Just then the doorbell rang. Steve jumped up and made his way to the elevator. He still held out hope, although he knew there was no chance.

"Pizza," the delivery man said.

"Pizza!" Tony yelled, walking across the room. He paid the man and took the pizzas, setting them down in the kitchen. "You hungry, Cap?" he asked, already shoving a piece into his mouth.

"I'm good," Steve replied. He got into the elevator and went up to his floor.

"What's his problem?" Tony asked as Natasha grabbed a piece of pizza.

Natasha rolled her eyes at him. "What?" he asked.

"Even if I told you, you wouldn't understand."

Clint and Thor walked into the room, having smelled the pizza.

"This midgardian delight is most tasteful!" Thor exclaimed as he took a slice.

"You have never had pizza?" Clint questioned?

"Pizza," Thor whispered to himself. "No," he replied to Clint.

"You have to get out more," Tony said, motioning to Thor with his pizza.

"Bruce?" Natasha asked.

"In the lab. He said not to bother him," Clint replied.

Natasha finished her pizza and went down in the elevator, looking for some targets to shoot down on the training floor.

When she got down to the training floor, Natasha already knew what she wanted to do. She had her game-plan set in her head. She headed for the targets first and emptied five magazines into a target, only missing the center once.

Natasha scowled. One stray bullet could mean the difference between a completed mission and a failed one.

"If you even think about not completing the mission, much less you fail, you are already dead. Understood, Romanova?" a thick Russian voice asked.

Natasha nodded, knowing better than to verbally respond. She was sent on mission after mission, killing people she didn't even know because she thought it was right in some manner. Maybe her reward for five hundred kills would be freedom. he wasn't that lucky.

When she did sneak away and tried to think for herself, they caught her and tortured her like never before. Until she once again broke under their control.

But she had been broken so many times. Each new time just made her stronger.

Natasha's fist connected with the punching bag. She shook the dazed look from her eyes and wondered how she got to the bag in the first place.

"I always was good at multi-tasking," she whispered to herself and smirked. She steadied the bag and wiped a few strands of damp hair from her face. Natasha punched the bag again and smirked as it flew backwards and creaked as the bag came back to her.

She threw a quick volley, her knuckles striking the bag in multiple points. When she was finished, her breathing was heavy, the bag was moving, and her knuckles were sore, but her demons were gone.

Something flew against the wall in the training room next to hers. Approaching cautiously, she peeked around the door and saw Steve, looking helplessly at the broken punching bag lying on the floor before he picked up another one and continued with his routine.

Natasha entered the room and Steve snapped around, startled at her sudden appearance.

"At ease, soldier," she said jokingly. Steve stopped punching the bag and looked at her, chest heaving.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied in a gentlemanly fashion, although a smirk graced his lips.

"You come here too?" she asked.

"Obviously. Working out helps you stay in shape and ready for a fight," he replied and began unwrapping the bands from around his hands.

"You know what I mean," she pressed.

Steve looked up at her with his blue eyes, sweat dampening his forehead. "Better me take out my demons here than have them torment me all day long," he answered honestly. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go see if Stark saved any pizza."

He walked past her, his footsteps slightly heavy. He was still mad about Bucky. Steve also knew well enough that Tony would never save any pizza. He just wanted an excuse to leave the room.

Natasha looked at the four punching bags all leaking sand onto the floor and decided to not ask him about the matter any more that night.