I hope you guys like this one. Bucky finally comes in.. [x

Frankie walked into her apartment, dead tired from today's activities. She sighs, still humming some tune that she heard on the radio.

Steve was still a bit reluctant on trusting her, and she understood that. She did talk to him a bit more as they strolled the streets, and she met one of Steve's new friends, Sam Wilson. He was pretty nice, and funny as hell. But, of course, she got the impression he didn't trust her much either.

She set her keys down, beginning to take off her jacket when she switched the light on.

"Jesus, fuck!" she exclaimed, taking a step back. A figure sat at her table, one hand on the table, the other against his chest. She relaxed slightly when he didn't move, not even to look at her. She took another step forward, and he still didn't move. She noted how beat he looked. He wore some old civilian looking clothes, and a hat was tossed to the side on the table.

"You can't be here, Bucky, S.H.E.I.L.D. will-" she began, but then just lost any thought to it. Bucky was here. He came to her. He found her, and came to her.

"Help." he mumbles, and Frankie let the jacket drop to the floor, walking over to him.

"What happened?" she whispers, pulling up a chair. He kept silent, beginning to pull his jacket off, but felt him tense with pain.

"Easy." she says, carefully slipping if off of his shoulders.

"My arm. It's broken." he says dully, like it was a disappointment on his part. She touched his arm lightly, gently, pressing onto it lightly.

"You need to tell me where the pain is."

"I don't feel it-"

"Bucky." she spat, looking at him. He wasn't even facing her, his face to the side, his eyes resting on the hat on the table. Every time she said his name he seemed to pull away, just for a second. Go off into his mind.

She continued to move down his arm, and when she got to his elbow and wrist he sucked in a breath. She sighs,

"The good thing is, is it's not broken. Just dislocated. How long has it been like this?" she questions, moving around on the chair to get a better angle on it.

"A week." he says, and Frankie looked at him.

"Jesus Christ. You've been in pain for that long?" she whispers, pity stinging her heart.

"No. I didn't feel it till two days ago." he mumbles, and Frankie looked down at his arm. She understood why he didn't go to a hospital. Police and S.H.E.I.L.D. would be on him in seconds. She took his arm in her hands,

"Alright, this is probably going to hurt. Grab onto something, alright? Try to not move your arm." she says, and he nods, grabbing onto the table. She nods, taking a deep breath.

"1... 2... 3." she says and pulled his elbow back, feeling a pop and it was back in place. He hisses in pain, his head leaning forward, his hair hiding his face.

"Alright, that was good... Very good. Okay, keep holding onto the table. 1... 2... 3." she says and twisted his wrist, feeling it set back into place. Suddenly Bucky whirled around and grabbed her by the throat, leaning her chair back on two legs, her feet off the ground. She seemed unfazed by it, and she held onto his metallic wrist lightly.

"Let me go. Bucky." she says softly, and his gaze softened, and he slowly set her down, letting her go. He stood up, grabbing his jacket. She stood up,

"If you think you're leaving, you better just stop, Like, right now." she says, raising her eyebrows.

"I can't stay." he mumbles, and she put an arm on his shoulder, the one she had just fixed.

"Oi, just calm it down a second." she says, and he froze. That phrase, that voice. He knew it. He had heard it before.

"Oi, just calm it down a second." the girl says, sitting at the booth in a dim little diner. She wipes her mouth off a sweet substance he had tasted only moments before. Red hair. Green eyes. A smile to die for.

"Can't I finish my ice cream first?"

"Bucky?" she questions,and he blinks, looking at her. He saw something flicker in her eyes, green eyes. It couldn't be the same. That memory was from two lifetimes ago.

"Do you know who I am?" she says softly, and he looked at the jacket and hat that he clutched in his hands.

"Frances Morgan. Age 28. Birthplace unknown. Parents unknown. Mission 1999. You were my mission." he whispers, remembering reading the file. She nods.

"And?"

"It was a long time ago. I failed."

Estonia. 1999.

Frankie stood in the hallway of a church.

She wasn't much of a religious person. Never was. But, she loved to walk into churches and see the arcitecture, the paintings, the glass windows, and feel the atmosphere. It was beautiful.

This one was just done with Sunday mass. There was no one in sight, and someone had left the doors open, presumabley for people to come in for confessions.

She was not one of those people.

She knew who was coming for her. She was waiting. She had led him here, and wanted to see him. She told herself over and over he wouldn't recognize her. He would kill her. Or try. She stood in the middle of the aisle, tapping her foot lightly on the stone floor, it echoed around the room. She heard him come in like a gust of winter winds in the fall.

"So you found me." she questions, turning around. He stood in the corner, the mask over his face, concealing everything but his eyes. The eyes that could bring her to her knees.

He didn't reply, and she didn't expect him to. She put her hands in her pockets, shrugging.

"Do it." she says, tilting her head to the side.

"Kill me." she offers, raising her hands.

He didn't hesitate. She was his mission, and he was going to finish it.

She felt one bullet, and that was all he should have needed. She fell back onto the floor, hitting it with a CRACK. She felt the blood seep through her jacket, onto the floor. She didn't gasp, or struggle. She wanted to die, but she knew that wasn't going to be the case, not today. She let her eyes flutter shut, and already the healing process was in motion. She heard him walk over, his heavy boots hitting the floor with a thud. She felt him stand over her, like a hunter looking upon his kill. He bent down, and put his cold metallic fingers to her neck.

"Winter Soldier. Target elimanted. Mission complete." he says into a radio that crackled slightly. She felt his fingers slowly lift and in that split millisecond she grabbed the gun that was clutched in his hands and opened her eyes, swinging it around and hitting him in the jaw. The force was enough to push him onto his ass, and Frankie pushed herself to her feet. The bullet fell onto the floor with a small tink. And she took the gun, opening the magazine and let the bullets fall. He looks up at her with hateful eyes and stood up, grabbing her by around the neck, bringing her close to his face. She was so close she could see the flecks of green in them, and the creases around his eyes. Why did they have to be so cold?

He shoves her onto one of the pews, her head making contact with the wood. She had her hand locked around his wrist, and her eyes never left his.

"It's okay, Bucky." he heard the words escape her lips like the soft whisper of a breeze. Another voice, phrase he's heard. He couldn't do it. He couldn't squeeze the trigger. He couldn't break her neck. He couldn't...

So he left. Like a ghost.

"And why did you fail?"

Her voice brought him back to the present. He looked at her, meeting those kind green eyes. The only kindess he's experienced in 50 years. Not since... was it a prison? Russia? He couldn't tell.

"Because I remembered."