A/N: Most of you have probably seen by now, but I did go back and revise chapter 2 again. If you haven't gone back to read it, I strongly recommend you do, as I received some excellent pointers from some very helpful sources that inspired the changes. Many thanks to Skylar Winchester, who has not only been very patient awaiting an update to this story, but who has also been an AMAZING person to bounce ideas off of. Thank you for your reviews and for keeping in touch. :)

To her relief, Aunt Laura called to say she'd contracted strep throat and wouldn't be visiting that weekend; she didn't want to run the risk of infecting her already sick mother. Plus, Jen's shifts ended early on the weekends, which gave Kim more of an opportunity to be alone. For this, she was quietly grateful, since there was a great deal she needed to absorb, and a great deal think to about.

It was Saturday evening. Two days had passed since her conversation with Stark. Two days since his promise to give her the assistance she requested, and two days since he'd made good on that promise. He'd warned her, though; being familiar with her family history, he warned her that she wouldn't like what she saw, and that should have been enough to confirm her worst fears.

Down in the dining room, Kim had barely touched the tabbouleh and grapes leaves combo Jen had been kind enough to pick up for her that day. She knew she needed to eat, but it was difficult to conjure up an appetite because of what was currently displayed on her laptop screen. The information Stark had e-mailed was a series of confidential HYDRA lab reports that were previously inaccessible during her research, all written in a language she couldn't understand. Greek? Russian, maybe? She didn't know. Stark, of course, had the foresight to provide her with translated copies, and their contents didn't remain a mystery for long.

Название: Джеймс Барнс(Subject Name: James Barnes)

Дата рождения: 1917 г. (Born: 1917)

Род занятий: сержант, армия Соединенных Штатов Америки (Occupation: Sergeant, United States Army)

The pieces were slowly coming together. Bucky fell from that train in 1944, but he never died; he was found by the wrong people at the right time, whose intentions toward the world were less than honorable; and he'd been transformed into the dangerous adversary known as the Winter Soldier, whose deeds were no longer unknown to her.

Stark was right; she didn't like what she saw, but it wasn't because the documents officially confirmed the Winter Soldier's identity as her uncle. It was because of the grim details contained within those notes. Glossing over most of the medical jargon, she picked out the information that made sense to her.

…subject discovered in the mountains by members of General Karpov's ground crew…

…body partially submerged in waters of a small stream…

…mild symptoms of hypothermia and blunt force trauma to prefrontal cortex detected, but body recovering at an accelerated rate…

…severe tearing to blood vessels and tissues, otherwise upper arm remarkably well-preserved due to exposure to frigid waters. No traces of gangrene or frostbite present…

…subject will make ideal specimen…

Some of those notes were hand-written in yet another language, and she had to wonder if she'd stumbled across synopses scribed by Dr. Zola himself. Subject…specimen…the man has a name, she thought.

But it was the gruesome image accompanying the notes and diagnostic summaries that absolutely tore her heart in two: Bucky, after what must have been that fateful fall, strapped down to an operating table, a look of pained fatigue and terror in his eyes, a mangled, bloody stump where his left arm had been ripped off…

Фаза 1, the caption on the photo read. Phase 1.

A twinge of nausea caused her to look away. Even though she'd reviewed this report at least a dozen times, it never got any easier to see him like that. As horrid as it was, it explained the need for the bionic arm. Bionic, not prosthetic as she initially thought. No wonder it seemed more advanced than her own prosthesis.

When the ill sensation passed, she turned her eyes back to the screen. Scrolling down, she once again found a picture of him after the metallic arm had been successfully attached. One of her own hands absently rested on the knee of her prosthetic leg. It was unsettling how similar it was in appearance to his arm, even if their functionalities were somewhat different. She shivered at the memory of that arm wrapped around her. It had felt so, so cold. And so damn strong. HYDRA had turned Bucky into this. For a moment, the nausea returned when she realized that she could no longer blame HYDRA for Bucky's death. They'd actually been responsible for saving his life.

But she mentally sneered at the thought. No; they might have saved his body, but they'd completely ruined his mind. She'd seen some of the other files describing the various techniques they'd used to warp his psyche. Hypnosis. Isolation. Sessions of physical abuse that lasted for days at a time. Experimentation with different doses of LSD. Varying degrees of electroshock therapy. Clicking on another folder, she re-read a report that was dated 1963, the year President Kennedy was killed: Administered 240 volts. Subject still uncooperative, increased voltage to 250. Submission achieved. Activated neural-conditioning program #9 for cognitive recalibration. Reprograming complete.

Brainwash, she whispered to herself. It was no wonder he had such a tormented look in his eyes. They'd been wiping his memory after every mission over the past seventy years. He may have committed those acts, but based on the information she'd gathered from HYDRA's documents, his actions were never of his own volition.

Steve was right; they had destroyed his mind, and in doing so destroyed the man he was. In a sense, they were still responsible for the death of Bucky Barnes.

You…bastards, her mind hissed. Death would have been more of a blessing than the life they'd forced him to take on.

Did he have any memories before HYDRA corrupted him?

Very softly, she sighed. There were other photos of Bucky contained within the files. Haunting black-and-white photographs that showed him receiving bionic upgrades in a crude lab setting, though with surprisingly advanced looking equipment; sparring with members of an organization called the KGB, according to the caption; honing his firearm skills amongst rough-looking terrain. They were old images, and appeared as though they belonged in a bygone handbook on combat methods.

But the most striking image of all was the lone color photograph she pulled up once again. An archival image of Bucky locked away in some sort of freezing chamber—cryotube, the term from the latest Star Trek movie came to mind. According to the files, HYDRA kept him imprisoned in cryostasis between missions, holding him captive until the next time they required his services.

It's no damn wonder he's hardly aged, she thought, remembering his youthful face from days ago. Youthful, and yet one that had clearly seen a great deal over time.

She continued to stare at the sleeping man trapped beneath the thick layer of glass, his skin blue-toned from the freezing process he'd undergone. Uncovering the truth about the Winter Soldier had been a major shock to Kim's heart, but so much of her already knew what she was getting into when she decided to pursue it further. As such, she'd already been through every possible emotion a person could feel, had already shed sufficient tears for his fate, had mourned that which had been lost long ago to her so long ago. That was enough for her. Enough tears, enough crying. He might no longer be the same person she thought she knew, but ever since Bucky came to her, she knew she'd stop at nothing to find him again. Even if it only meant finding him through the research that had only begun to scratch the surface. It was better than nothing at all.

Reaching out, she brushed two fingertips over the image of Bucky's frozen face in the cryotube. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she could almost feel the biting cold through the screen. At least I know the truth, she thought to him, and I know you're out there…Uncle Bucky. She could finally say to herself it without the notion twisting her heart.

Uncle Bucky, she repeated in her mind, you've always been part of my world, and I didn't know…

A vibration in her pocket pulled her from her thoughts. She'd been ignoring calls from her friends at the physical therapy center all week, so she wouldn't be surprised if one of them was calling now. When she pulled out her iPhone to glance at the caller ID screen, however, she froze. An acute wave of anger rolled through her, and she initially was tempted not to answer Steve's call. But Kim quickly thought better of it. Regardless of how mad she might be, Steve was still her friend, and she cared about him. She would have to face him eventually.

Taking a deep breath, she accepted the call and brought the receiver to her ear. "Hey."

"Hi, Kim. I know it's only been a few days since I last called, but I wanted to check on you and Rebecca. How's everything going?"

She didn't answer his question right away.

"Kim? You there?" He persisted. "Kim? Are you al—"

"I'm here," she interrupted.

"Oh. Hey, are you alright?"

"Steve."

"Yeah?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

It was now or never. "That my Uncle Bucky is alive."

It was his turn to go silent for a time, and she could almost hear the gears in his head come to a grinding halt. Obviously, that was the last thing he expected to hear.

She took advantage of his silence and went on. "He's the friend you're looking for, isn't he." It was more of a statement than a question. "It's Bucky."

More silence. Then, "Kim, I—"

"I've already been mad at you, Steve," she interrupted, keeping her voice relatively steady. She had a tendency to sound deceptively calm when she was angry, which Steve was well aware of. "Part of me is still mad at you, but I didn't answer your call just to pick a fight. I want to hear the truth, and I want to hear it from you."

His silence lingered on for at least another minute before he finally spoke. "What do you know about him?"

Not a confirmation or a denial. Clever move. She took a deep breath before replying, "That he's the Winter Soldier," she hesitated a moment. It was the first time she'd acknowledged it was him out loud. "That he's the one who tried to kill you in D.C."

Steve became quiet again. It was the first conversation they'd ever had with that was peppered with awkward pauses. "How did you find out?"

"Someone I know came forward and said I should look into it." Technically, that was true; someone had come forward and suggested there might be a link between her great-uncle and this HYDRA agent. She just omitted the fact that that someone happened to be her Uncle Bucky, and he'd ambushed her in the backyard a few nights ago. No need to set him on edge with that news.

"What else do you know?"

"More than enough," she said quietly.

Eventually, she heard him release a slow breath on the other end. "We need to talk."

"You're damn right we do."

He let that slide. "I should have guessed you'd find out sooner or later; I just wish it hadn't been sooner." At least he wasn't trying to play dumb with her. "What is it you want to hear from me?"

She rested her elbows on the table, gazing at the color image of Bucky on her laptop. "I want you to tell me everything that happened in D.C., and not just the overview you gave me last time. I want to know everything that happened with him."

For the next hour or so, they talked, expounding on what they'd come to learn about the Winter Soldier—about Bucky Barnes in the twenty-first century. Steve elaborated on what had taken place during the week he'd been labeled a fugitive by enemies within SHIELD. He discussed the first night he ever encountered the elusive Winter Soldier; the discovery of Dr. Zola's conscious mind in the computers of a hidden lab, and the real purpose behind project INSIGHT; the day he, Natasha and Sam were attacked on a D.C. freeway by a group of HYDRA agents, who were led by none other than the Winter Soldier; the moment he unmasked the assassin and recognized him as his best friend; coming to the realization that the experimentation Zola did on Bucky in 1943 helped him survive that fall; the gut-wrenching details of their battle aboard the last Helicarrier, when Bucky nearly beat him to death with that impossibly strong robotic arm; and the moment of clarity he had once Steve referenced a promise made between friends long ago…

Without her permission, more tears had squeezed free during his account. Amazing; she figured she'd be all cried out by now. Perhaps it had to do with the sound of Steve's voice, which was laced with notes of regret. It affected her more than she wanted to admit.

When he'd finished, she let out a shaky sigh. "He remembered you," her voice was a bare whisper.

"Yes. That was the moment he realized he couldn't bring himself to finish his mission. Whether he remembered anything beyond that, I don't know. When I came to in the hospital, he was long gone."

No, he was at the Smithsonian bumping into me, she mutely countered. "He remembered," she echoed, feeling a tightness in her chest. This time, it wasn't an uncomfortable sensation. "He couldn't kill you."

"No."

Something Steve said had jogged his memory, and she wasn't sure why the thought it made her heart pound a little faster. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she attempted to ward off anymore oncoming tears. "What I don't understand," her voice wavered a bit, "is that you've known about this for over three months, but you never said anything to me. That man is my great-uncle, and you of all people know exactly how much I've looked up to him over the years. He's not just a memory of my family's past anymore; he's alive. Why would you intentionally keep this a secret from me?"

Another pause. She really wished she was talking to Steve face-to-face right now. "My only objective was to protect you, Kim."

She almost gave a harsh laugh. "Protect me…"

"Yes, protect you," Steve stated firmly.

At that, it was she who became quiet. She knew better than to cross him when he used that tone.

Judging by his strategic pauses, she could tell he was trying to gauge her emotions, as well as gather his own thoughts before speaking. "I do know what he means to you, because he meant just as much to me. This wasn't how I wanted to carry things out, and I'm sorry if my secrecy has hurt you. That wasn't my intention at all. But you need to understand that I won't apologize for doing everything I possibly could to keep you from harm, whether physically or emotionally. I really felt I was doing what was best for you, especially with everything you have going on with your grandmother. You have enough to worry about right now, and I didn't want to add to your stress or your grief with the truth about Bucky."

Damn him for finding logical reasoning behind his actions.

"Besides," he continued, "after everything that's happened, there were questions I needed to find answers to. Believe me when I say it was as much of a shock to me as I'm sure it was to you."

You don't know the half of it, she thought dryly.

"I didn't want you knowing that side of him; it would have broken your heart. It was hard for me to accept, and to be honest, it still is. My life-long best friend has been alive all these years, and he's been working for the very organization we vowed to take down back during the war. He took out several SHIELD agents in order to get to me."

"Because you were his mission," she quoted one of the reports.

"Because I was his mission. A lot of people died because of what they made him do. And anytime I looked at him…" He broke off, then huffed out a breath. "I know he's still in there, but he's not the same man."

It was that statement in particular that struck her, and made her think of Bucky's eyes again when he looked at her. His pain-filled eyes…"Will he ever get all his memories back?"

"I don't know, but that's why I need to find him. I need to do what I can to help him."

She found herself wishing she could do the same. "Steve," she said softly, "I have a question for you, and I want you to be honest with me."

"I'm always honest."

"I know," she stood and moved to the sliding glass door, where she stared out at the trees in the backyard. All was still and quiet in the golden light of the evening. "You were actually with Bucky that week, so tell me something: should I be afraid of him?"

When he went quiet again, she could almost sense the tilt in his head as he mulled over what she just said. "Kim, have you seen him around? Is that why you're asking me this?"

Somehow, she knew that one was coming. "No," she lied carefully. "I'm asking because I need to know what to do in case I ever do see him." She spoke very casually in order to avoid suspicion, and hoped she sounded convincing enough. "Since you had a run-in with him, you'd be the best person to ask." Please believe me. Please believe me. "Should I be afraid?"

Luckily, he seemed to accept her explanation. "I don't want to say it, Kim, but yes; I think you need to exercise extreme caution when it comes to him. You've read HYDRA's reports, so you know how dangerous he is to anyone he perceives as a threat. Even though you're related to him, I have no way of predicting how he'd react to you, but I can guess what would happen if he ever sees you as a target. He could hurt you—or kill you—without a second thought, and if I can prevent that from happening, I will. I don't want you or Rebecca to get hurt."

She briefly pressed her lips into a worried line. "Steve?"

"Yes?"

"What do I tell Grandma? He's her brother, so doesn't she have a right to know about this?"

"I'm not sure if knowing would do her any good at this point, but I'm going to leave that up to you to decide. You're her granddaughter, and you know what's best for her."

Figure it out for myself, she reflected on her Grandma's words to her. Looks like that'll be happening sooner than I thought, she mused, and there will be other decisions I make for myself, too. All she said in reply was, "Okay."

"Hey, we're okay, right? You and I?"

She couldn't help it; the slight worry in his voice made her smile softly. "Yeah, Steve, we're fine. I just have a lot to think about right now. I might get mad at you once in a while, but it doesn't mean I hate you."

"I'm just making sure," there finally seemed to be a smile in his voice.

"Well, you're as stuck with me as I am with you."

He gave a chuckle. "Good. So what's next, Kim? You obviously know what I'm doing in my absence, so what about you? What's your next step now that you know the truth about Bucky?"

She gave a half-shrug. "Just keep doing research, I guess. See what else I can find on him and HYDRA. Better to keep myself informed as much as possible, right?"

"Absolutely," Steve said. "Keep in mind, though, that HYDRA's done a lot of things over the years that'll be hard to digest at first, so be prepared."

You and Tony should talk, she thought.

"But just promise me one thing," he said. "Promise you won't go out and try looking for him yourself. That could be asking for trouble you don't need. Leave that to me, okay?"

She was glad he couldn't see her slowly raise an eyebrow as she contemplated his statement. "Yeah," she said, her gaze never leaving the trees. "Yeah, Steve. I can do that."

"Promise me," he stressed.

"I promise," she repeated sincerely.

A sigh of genuine relief came from his end of the phone. "That's all I ask. Thank you, Kim."

Glancing over at the clock on the wall, she saw it was close to seven-thirty. "I should probably get going so I can check on Grandma."

"Yeah, we have been talking for quite a while."

"I'm glad we did."

"Same here. Are you going to tell Rebecca?"

She shook her head out of conversational habit. "I don't know yet."

"That's okay; there's no need to rush into any decisions tonight. Just remember that I will do everything I can to protect you, but you have to let me know if and when you need my help."

"I'll remember, Steve. Thanks."

"Anytime. I'll give you a call in a few days to see how you're doing, but until then, you take care of yourself, okay?"

"Likewise."

"Love you, kiddo."

"Love you, too."

Pressing her thumb to the end-call button, Kim let her gaze linger outside for a little while longer, eyes fixated on the green leaves of the trees. The place where Bucky had come from only days ago.

Yes, I can promise that I won't go looking for him, she thought, but that doesn't mean that he can't come looking for me.

She sighed gently. There were many things to consider after her conversation with Steve, and one of the most important things he'd said was regarding the potential harm Bucky could cause her. She wasn't so sure that she agreed with him. Slowly wrapping her arms around herself, she envisioned his metallic arm encircling her, recalling how tightly it had squeezed. But when Bucky realized he'd hurt her, he'd loosened his grip. And when she told him to leave, he'd left. In her heart, she knew he didn't mean her any harm. Was that really something to be feared?

I don't know, she thought as she watched the outside world in contemplative silence.

In Rebecca's room, Kim quietly placed the needle on the record, turned the volume low, then came to her grandmother's bedside as notes from Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" gently played. She liked this one; it calmed her.

Much like that morning, the sight of the elderly woman made her already aching heart swell with immense sorrow. It seemed like every time she saw Rebecca, she became frailer and frailer in appearance, even with the mere passing of days. Kim chewed on her lower lip. It was becoming apparent that she didn't have much longer left with the woman who had helped change her life, and she felt her chin start to quiver at the thought. But she steeled herself against the urge to cry. She couldn't fall to pieces in front of Grandma. Not for any reason.

Exhaling softly, Kim came to run a gentle hand over her grandmother's brow. It took a moment, but once she detected the contact, Rebecca's eyes slowly peeled open, revealing the tired green pools beneath her eyelids. Her chest rose prominently beneath the comforter when she saw her granddaughter.

"Hey Grandma," Kim gave her a smile, hoping she'd be forgiven for skipping their sessions the past few nights. "We're going to dance tonight," she declared, moving to pull her chair up to the bed. "But first, there's something I want to read to you."

In her hands was the letter she'd written to Sergeant Bucky Barnes. The one that had been left in their backyard the other night. The one that had been read so many times that is was as soft as tissue when she pulled it from the envelope. She remembered re-writing it so many times, never truly satisfied with how it sounded. Even now, she didn't think it was good enough, but considering the condition it was now in…Bucky must have considered it worthwhile enough to subject it to so many readings.

She blinked at the strange warmth that suddenly blossomed within her chest. Pleasant warmth compared to the incessant burn of heartache she'd felt all week.

Letting the thought pass, she went on. "I've been thinking about Uncle Bucky a lot lately—" boy was that the understatement of the year, "—and I didn't tell you about this, but I wrote a letter to him a few months ago. Both you and Dr. Lakewood used to tell me that writing can be very therapeutic, and you guys were right." As she carefully unfolded the wrinkled pages, Rebecca subtly arched her right eyebrow, and Kim knew she was genuinely interested in what she had to say about her brother. "I was just going to keep it between me and him, but now I want you to hear what I wrote. I think you have a right to know what's been on my mind."

And even though I'm not saying it right out, this is my way of telling you that he's here, she thought. He never really left.

Maybe it had to do with the angle she was seeing her from, but Kim seemed to detect a smile hiding beneath her grandmother's still face. That alone hit her hard, but she pushed the emotions aside for the time being, placing a hand atop her grandmother's right one. She knew she'd be able to feel it on that side.

"Okay, here goes." With the notes of the sonata continuing as her background accompaniment, she began reading the contents of the letter aloud, all the words written back in April, all of them straight from her heart. "'Dear Uncle Bucky, I'm not sure what's compelling me to write to you, but I feel it's something I need to do…'"