Things were going so well, and then suddenly they weren't. It still amazes me how fast the ups and downs in our relationship happen. One minute we're on cloud nine, and the next it's like we've sunk with the Titanic. It was about five months in before anything really bad happened. Before that it was the usual night terrors and the occasional screaming match because Bucky was having a hard time coping with something and I wasn't feeling patient. I was fully convinced we were on the right path though, he was staying over more and more and we talked about making his residence permanent. He expressed his concerns that we weren't married, I reminded him it was the 21st century and it was okay for us to not be married and live together. He finally got a learner's permit so he could start driving himself over. I guess all of those things blinded me to the fact that Bucky hadn't really ever talked about the trauma he'd been through. If I'd remembered that, I wouldn't have been so caught off guard when it all came out at once…

It looked like a bomb went off. There was broken pieces of glass everywhere, the sofa was in two pieces, the pot rack in the kitchen was hanging by one of four chains and the pots were scattered across the living room. The retractable nozzle for the kitchen sink was dangling from a lamp in the hallway…

He was cowering the corner of the kitchen, behind the island, in the crook of the cabinets and oven. There was a smear of blood on his arm and he was hiding his face in utter shame and terror. When he finally looked at me there were tears streaking his face, and his eyes were a sullen deep color I hadn't ever seen them. He didn't say a word when I sat down next to him and placed a hand on his knee. He just stared at me, like he was lost and I was the first person he'd seen after being stranded for years.

"What happened, Buck?"

His eyes watered and he shirked away from my touch, curling into the fetal position.

"Please. just tell me what happened."

His body throbbed as he cried into his knees. There was more blood on his shirt, and a shard of a broken dinner plate was stuck in his lower leg.

"I'm not going to yell at you, I just want to know what happened. Please, just talk to me."

I should have seen it coming, I should have known he was going to have a moment of release. I'd promised in the very beginning that if he ever lost control I wouldn't judge him, and I wasn't going to. I felt for him, I really did. I only wished I'd expressed my concern sooner, so he wouldn't have had to resort to this.

"Whatever it is, I understand."

We sat for what felt like hours in total silence. The sun had set and the kitchen was growing darker by the second. I thought about getting up to put on a light, but I didn't know if any of them would still turn on.

"I'm so sorry," came the softest voice I've ever heard, at around 7:00 PM.

"It's okay," I replied, "Just talk to me, what happened?"

He fell silent again.

"Bucky, you can't keep this all inside of you, please just talk to me."

"I just… I just wanted… I was just trying to make dinner…"

I almost laughed. In my mind the voice I was hearing belonged to an innocent child who had just wanted to do something grown up for once. But that was so far from the case that instead of laughing I started to cry.

"Oh Bucky…"

"You don't understand," he said quietly, "It's like there are pieces of me that I can't hold onto no matter how hard I try… I forget how to do the stupidest things. I have to remind myself every morning that I've always known Steve, that I don't like scrambled eggs… Every single day I have to calm myself down when I look in the mirror because I forget that I have a metal arm, and that's supposed to be normal to me… I thought I was finally getting better, I was starting to retain more every day. It was getting easier to wake up and feel like Bucky and not have to give myself the whole biography… I was going to make dinner, I thought I could remember how to make at least something… I stood in the kitchen for an hour and my mind was just blank. I can't remember a single thing I used to like eating. In Russia they just made me eat the same thing everyday, some sort of soup, and I didn't even care about the taste because there was no point…"

I don't know what to say so I offer him my hand and he sits up, interlacing his fingers with mine. We sit for a moment and then Bucky continues.

"I don't know what happened, it was like I blacked out… But I've blacked out before and it was different. I knew what I was doing this time, I just couldn't stop myself. I was so angry… It felt like I was feuding with myself from the inside out. I wasn't even angry at anything in particular, I was just… I don't think I'm ever going to remember who I used to be, at least not all the way. Whatever they did to me, there's fragments that have gotten lost along the way. I can see a lot of my memories but they look like a film reel in my mind, not like my own memories. So, I don't know if I'm really remembering anything at all, or if they're just stories Steve's told me…"

He's rubbing my palm with his thumb, tracing the lines like a maze. I reach over and rest my hand on his cheek, and he turns to look at me again.

"You need to let me go," he whispers, his eyes red and sorrowful.

"I'm not going to," I say firmly, "You might not have all of your old memories, but I'm sure as hell not going to let you walk away from your new ones like they never happened."

"It is not safe for me to be here," Bucky replies, "What if you had been home? I would have killed you. I don't belong in a civilian's world, Maria. I'm not a civilian…"

"I trust you," I tell him sternly, taking both his hands in mine. "Bucky, you don't have to pretend like everything is perfect, because when is anything perfect? And I'm not going to blame you for losing control, I would be stupid to think you had Mal-intentions, but I will blame you for giving up control. This is your life, you have it back, and I cannot let you throw it away because you're scared you're going to hurt me. I can manage, and if it gets really bad we will figure this out like two level-headed adults. I can deal with broken dishes and sofas, I can buy new ones, but I can't buy a new you. So please, I don't care how greedy I'm being, don't leave me."

"You don't mean that," Bucky says shaking his head, "You're being irrational Maria. You need to think this through a lot more, because it's not greedy what you're saying, it's suicidal. You have no idea what I'm capable of. Hell, I have no idea what I'm capable of!"

"I know you're capable of being loving, and caring, and gentle… When I'm with you I feel safe, I feel complete. I wake up and I know I'm going to have a good day because I'll get to see you smile."

He pulls away from me and stands, his voice shakes as he speaks. "How could you possibly feel safe around me? Do you realize that my brain was rewired to find killing people rewarding? I am not safe, I'm so far from safe… I was starting to think I was doing okay, I wake up next to you and I don't instantly regret being alive, but if this…" he gestures around the broken room, "If this is what I do when I'm not intending to kill? Then I'm not doing okay."

Everything he says stings and I have all I can do not to vomit, but I know I'm not going to convince him of how wrong he is unless I can stay strong and speak my mind. I rise to my feet and clear my throat so my voice won't waver, "If you want to leave, then fine. The door is open. But I am not going to leave you, nor am I going to ask you to leave. What I will do is call you a cab to the hospital and walk you to the door if you're insistent on walking away. Or, if you're going to try to work this out and stay with me, then I will gladly take the shard of dinnerware out of your leg and then put clean sheets on the bed so you can stay the night and have your favorite silky sheets too. You have five minutes to decide. I'll be getting the first-aid kit set up in the bathroom. Come find me once you've made your decision."