A/N: I apologize for the wait on this, but I didn't want to feel like I was rushing it. Special thanks to Skylar Winchester and ML143, for your help and continued patience as I continue writing this story. Thank you for all you've done for me. :)

Kim started to apologize for the sub-par meal she'd prepared, but the moment Bucky started inhaling the food, she'd clamped her mouth shut. The man was clearly ravenous, and anything she gave him probably would have tasted like filet mignon at this point. She only wished she'd thought to feed him sooner.

Hell, if only he'd mentioned that he was hungry sooner.

In the dining room that had become a refuge of sorts for the past week, Kim sat next to Bucky at the table and paced herself through her container of leftover tabbouleh. Thankfully, her appetite had returned. The two ate in relative silence, but it wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable silence for Kim. Sure, she used to picture times when she and her uncle would have long, involved conversations around the dinner table, getting a chance to know one another one basis as they discussed the goings-on in each others' lives. This present situation, however, went against everything she'd once imagined. Heck, everything about him went against everything she'd once imagined.

But truth be told, it didn't bother her. No, not in the slightest. It was just…different, but that made sense. He was different. Bucky had been through a lot since World War II, and he wasn't the same man she once envisioned him to be. However, it didn't change the fact that he was still her uncle; that they shared common blood; that he was here with her now. With all that had occurred in the past week alone, something as simple as quiet time with Bucky was a welcome relief.

And considering what he'd had to come to grips with over the past couple of months, she was sure he appreciated not being pressured into speaking at great length.

While he ate, Kim stole glances at him as he took in what must have been strange surroundings in his mind. The wallpaper. The furniture. The picture frames on far end-tables and shelves. The knick-knacks displayed in the nearby China cabinet. He didn't seem agitated, just extremely observant. No doubt he was thinking about the fact that this was Rebecca's house, and everything he was seeing was a direct representation of her. And of her family. Their family. Kim frowned. If Bucky being alive was a lot for her to take in initially, she couldn't fathom how difficult it was for him to come to grips with all the memories and people he'd forgotten in life.

How would she react if placed in a similar situation?

"What are you thinking?"

Her attention snapped back to him when he broke the silence, and she realized that his plate was now empty. How long had she been staring off into space?

His gaze was intent on her, and for the second time that night, Kim noted that Bucky's eyes were greyish-blue. The color of wisdom. She liked them. She also realized he didn't even need to ask to know that she was lost in thought, and knew he might be more perceptive than others probably thought. In the back of her mind, she somehow knew she wouldn't be able to keep secrets from him for long, but it didn't occur to her to be bothered by the notion.

Grey-blue eyes. Wisdom. They suited him. Yeah, you're smarter than even you realize, Bucky. Slowly, she shook her head. "Your hair has gotten so long," she said at last.

Bucky blinked a few times, apparently caught off-guard by her verbal observation.

Kim excused herself for a moment, going out to the hallway leading to the stairs. When she returned, she placed a framed picture on the table in front of him. It was a photograph of Bucky from 1942, donning his army uniform and giving a small but dignified smile. He stared at it, saying nothing.

"This photo of you has been in the hallway for as long as I can remember," Kim said. "It's how I've always pictured you in my mind. See how short your hair was back then?"

He still said nothing. All he did was stare long and hard at the image of his former self.

Kim didn't push for him to verbalize his thoughts. "I talk to this picture sometimes."

That prompted him to finally look at her, his head tilting in that curious manner.

She smiled inwardly. "There were days when I would spend hours staring at it and talking to you, pretending you were actually here. I know it sounds stupid, but I would talk to you about anything. Mom and Dad thought it was just a cute game I was playing, but there was more to it than that." A pause. "I thought Grandma might make me stop doing it when I got older, but she didn't. She liked that I was making some sort of connection with you, and let me do it anytime I needed to. One of the last times I 'talked' to you was a few weeks ago." She sighed quietly. "But weirdly enough, I'm not sure what to say now that you really are here."

The atmosphere became silent between them again for a time.

"What would you talk about?"

Kim drew up a little, as she hadn't expected him to take the initiative and speak up first. "You mean with your picture?"

"Yes."

She chose to be straightforward with her answer. "Things that were difficult to talk about."

"Like what?"

Releasing another soft sigh, she breathed out one word. "Scotty."

"Your brother." There was another minute of silence before he asked, "Why was it hard for you to talk about him?"

She gave a half-shrug. "I wasn't comfortable talking about his death. There are times when I'm still not, honestly. People have said to me over and over again that it's best to talk about someone's death face-to-face so that you don't bottle everything up. But I've tried doing that several times, and it doesn't help me. I feel like it makes things worse. It's like ripping open a really painful scar…" She glanced down at the mark on her right wrist, "…and no matter how much time goes by, the pain doesn't stop. Even when I was younger, I knew I needed to deal with it my own way." It was impossible to ignore the underlying sense of loss clawing cruelly at her heart, something that had never truly left her since Scotty's death. The feeling had intensified following her parents' deaths, and intensified again when her grandmother received her latest prognosis…

"How did he die?"

She gave her head a shake to clear her thoughts. "He drowned; he was only seven."

"You miss him," he observed.

She nodded. "More than I thought I would. You would have gotten a kick out of him…" Her words faded, mainly because she wasn't sure what else to say. However, she also realized this was the most she'd talked to anyone about Scotty in a long time.

"I'd like to hear more about him," Bucky stated evenly.

She looked at him. Something in the way he'd just said that, the subliminal meaning behind those words: I'd like to hear more about him…but some other time. Was he possibly protecting her from going into detail about Scotty? Protecting her heart from the further pain it would cause? She couldn't be sure, but regardless of what might be his true intent, she found herself feeling grateful. "You will," she promised.

"Do you do that when you're upset?"

"Do what?"

He gestured toward her with a nod of his head. "Bite your lip like that."

"What?" She touched her fingertips to her lip, feeling the acute soreness on the left side where she'd been chewing on it. "Oh, didn't even realize," she muttered almost to herself. It had become a bad habit over the past few years, one she'd developed right after Scotty died.

Bucky hesitated before offering, "Rebecca used do that…"

Her eyes widened at this revelation. "She did?"

"Yes."

"How do…?" She stupidly started to ask.

"It just…came to me while…while I was watching you."

Another memory. Another one summoned by her. But… "She never told me about that."

He frowned. "She didn't?"

She shook her head, giving a dry laugh. "She always gets on my case for doing it. Keeps telling me it isn't a ladylike thing to do, and that I'll end up permanently scarring my lips." She ran a finger over her lip again, then found herself wishing she could ask her grandmother if she really did used to do that, just to confirm it.

But you can't get answers from her anymore, her mind whispered sadly.

She forced the thought aside. "What else do you remember about her?"

"I…" His brow furrowed deeply, as if he was searching the far reaches of his mind for something. Anything. But eventually, he released a defeated sigh. "Nothing. There's nothing."

Kim gave him a sympathetic look. "It's okay."

He huffed out a breath. "The things I see…it's like they...they're just…flashes of memory that I don't understand. They happen so fast, and I'm not sure if…I really don't know what's real and what's not."

She wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch his arm, to prove that she was real, but refrained from doing so. "She told me so many stories about you when I was growing up. Grandma was always going on about what a confident little kid you were, and how fearless you became as you got older, and the tales you told from the war, the way you used to protect her and Steve without thinking twice. All sorts of things. I think talking about you kept you alive in her mind. She loved you, Bucky."

The look that overcame his features—a combination of uncertainty and sorrow—was enough to break Kim's heart. She pursed her lips, but went on. "I'm not the only one who made you remember something. Steve did, too, didn't he?"

Ever so slowly, he averted his gaze, and though he sat mere inches to her left, Kim suddenly felt as though he'd drifted far away. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she detected the tell-tale shimmer of tears in his eyes.

"He was my mission," he whispered hoarsely, and she listened. "I knew him, but he was my mission. He tried to tell me and…he just kept letting me hit him…"

"He wouldn't fight back," Kim said just as quietly.

He didn't look at her, but slowly shook his head to confirm her statement.

"What did he say to make you remember?"

It took a few attempts of moving his mouth before he found his voice. "That h-he's with me…"

"'Till the end of the line," she finished for him, referring to her earlier conversation with Steve.

A shuddering breath passed through his parted lips, his hands tightening into fists on either side of the framed picture before him, a pained, almost tormented expression crossing his face as a couple tears streamed down his cheeks.

This time, she felt herself bite down on her lip. He obviously needed some space, so Kim rose from her chair to—

She gasped when his right hand shot out and grabbed her arm for the second time that night. Frozen in place, she waited while he held her there, not struggling against the firm grasp on her limb. Neither moved, neither spoke. She simply stared at her uncle while he coped with whatever was currently running through his troubled mind.

"Don't go," his voice was suddenly quite strained.

She blinked. "You sure?"

His fingers tightened around her arm, causing her to clench her teeth. It didn't hurt, but the intense pressure was a mere demonstration of how strong he was.

"Don't go," he repeated, "please stay."

She was taken aback by how he sounded just then, almost…imploring. Like a timid child making a request.

"You and Steve," he murmured, "are the only ones who've made me remember anything. Steve made me remember something about myself, and you…you make me remember things about my family." His brow furrowed in thought. "Family must have been important to Barnes…because I can feel how important you are when you're near." He finally locked eyes with her. "Stay and talk with me. Please."

She felt her face soften. Unable to deny his desperate plea, she slowly sank back down into her chair. "Okay."

When he was convinced she was going to stay, he visibly relaxed and carefully released her arm. The faint red marks from his fingers gradually faded from her skin.

She rubbed her arm in a soothing manner. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything," he replied. "I just want to hear you talk."

Pleasant warmth filled her chest. No matter how mundane her conversation might be, he wanted to hear what she had to say simply because she mattered to him. It was a trait comparable to Steve, and she found that very comforting. "That day at the museum: was that the first time you ever saw me?"

"Yes."

"You really didn't know about me before then?"

"No. I wouldn't have known if I didn't hear you talking to the boy."

Thank God I was with Sammy that day, she thought. "Must have been a hell of a shock to find out the truth about yourself."

He lowered his eyes. "It was more of a shock when I found you."

She didn't doubt that. "I'm actually surprised you talked to me that day."

"I almost didn't, but I had to," his voice shook. "When I realized who you were, I couldn't…" He trailed off, his brow furrowing.

She leaned a little closer toward him. "What?"

He released a sigh, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "I couldn't lose you."

Beneath the table, her fingers tightened on one knee. When she was five-years-old, her father had said the exact same thing when he'd lost track of her at the mall one day. Only those who loved and cared for her deeply would make such proclamations. Did that mean that he already…? "It's been over three months, Bucky. Where have you been all this time?"

He simply said, "Not far."

Her ears perked at that. "How'd you find me?"

"Your shirt had a web link printed on it."

Her Iron Wings shirt. Of course. HYDRA probably trained him to utilize multiple resources—including the Internet—in order to gather information on their enemies, so he used similar tactics to find her.

"I saw you leave the Candleman Center last month," he said.

Her eyes went rather wide. That was her therapy center in downtown D.C. "You were there?"

"Yes. I kept my distance, but I saw you. I followed you…" His face hardened. "Anyone could have found you, Kim, and I had to make sure I found you first."

Her stomach sank. He was right: anyone could have found her. It didn't matter how cautious she was about disclosing personal information in her blog. The addresses for all the Iron Wings facilities were listed on the organization's website, and if someone knew she lived near D.C., it wouldn't take long figure out where she was. Anyone could track her down if they really wanted to. That was a chilling thought. "I didn't think about that," she admitted.

"I did, so I had to make sure nothing happened to you. Consequences be damned, I will protect you in any way I can," his tone was absolute.

She gazed at him without speaking, letting his statement really sink in. Then she pulled something from her back pocket and slid it over to him. "You should have this back."

He hesitated as he stared at the item, recognizing the folded, wrinkled envelope immediately, looking at her uncertainly. "But that's your letter," he pulled his hand back a little.

She pushed it even closer to him. "I wrote it to you; it belongs to you. And after what you just said about protecting me, I want you to have it, Bucky. No arguements."

Slowly, the uncertainty in his face melted away, morphing into something akin to immense appreciation. Uncurling the fingers of his right hand, he reached out to cover the envelope and pull it towards him, almost as though he was keeping it guarded. "Thank you," he whispered.

She felt herself relax a bit more beside him.

Then it was he who changed the subject. "What did you call that food you gave me?"

"Hot Pockets."

"They were good."

She half-smiled. "I kind of figured you liked them: you plowed through four of them in less than seven minutes."

He gave her a very confused look. "Was that wrong?"

She couldn't help it: despite the somber tone that had permeated the past few days, she finally burst out laughing. "No, it's fine! I was just impressed, is all."

His gaze was fixated on her, head tilting again. "You look different when you smile," he said.

It was her turn to tilt her head in curiosity. "How so?"

"I don't know, it just…" He seemed to be having trouble coming up with what to say, but Kim waited, giving him a chance to say what was on his mind. After a moment, he settled on, "You…look happy. It's good to see."

No matter how simple his explanations might be, the meanings behind them struck Kim's heart so strongly that she couldn't help but smile wider in response. "Having you here gives me something to be happy about."

Though he didn't reply, he kept his eyes locked with hers—and for a second, she thought she detected the barest hint of…a smile? Was it possible? But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, his expression returning to the stoic mask she'd become accustomed to so far. Still, she clung to the idea that what she'd seen had not been an illusion.

"Here, let me get these out of the way," she rose from her chair and began stacking their dishes together. "Oh, hey, I never asked if you wanted anything to drink besides water," she picked up his glass. "You still thirsty? You want some milk or something?"

It didn't bother her that he suddenly went silent again; what unnerved her was the dark expression that suddenly overtook his features.

Her smile faded. "Bucky?"

No answer. He turned away, the rise and fall of his shoulders indicating that his breathing was becoming labored. His hands flexed and tightened on the table's surface, resulting in a harsh grating sound as his bionic fingertips dug slowly into the wood.

Her pulse quickened. Something was wrong. "Bucky?"

Eyes snapping shut, his muscles went rigid as his head jerked once—twice—and he released a strained groan through gritted teeth as his fist slammed down on the table with a loud bang!

Startled, Kim jumped back, a cry catching in her throat. What was happening? Just a minute ago, he seemed fine…

He pounded his bionic fist on the table again, making the dishes rattle from the impact. All she could do was gawk at him. This scared her; she wouldn't deny that. Not understanding what was going on scared her even more.

Bucky, what's wrong with you?

In the back of her mind, Steve's insistent plea haunted her: I think you need to exercise extreme caution when it comes to him…you know how dangerous he is to anyone he perceives as a threat…

He struck the table yet again, and this time, Kim snapped out of her frightened trance, knowing she had to do something. "Hey…hey, stop!" Without really thinking, Kim lunged forward and grabbed his right arm. "Bucky."

His eyes snapped to her, and she gasped at the wild, animalistic expression set deeply within them. The eyes of a complete stranger. For an instant, she half-expected him to lash out in retaliation, even braced herself for the inevitable blow from the former HYDRA agent…

But it never came. As soon as he recognized her—and it was almost instantaneous—that look in his eyes was gone. Vanished. Once again the wise grey-blue eyes she'd already come to admire, but now filled with shock and confusion. He looked at her. Truly looked at her, looked into her. Just as he had that first night. All the while, her hand still held onto him, her gaze never breaking from his as she willed her breathing to return to normal.

I think you need to exercise extreme caution…

No. I'm not a threat to you, she mutely conveyed to him. You know that, Bucky. Come on, pull yourself together. Pull yourself together…

A few shaky Russian words passed his lips, then he tore his eyes away and abruptly stood, walking away from the table and disappearing into the adjoining living room.

Kim watched him go, not objecting to his departure after the episode that had just taken place. Glancing at the table, she drew in a breath as she saw the rough dent that had been left behind by his metal hand. That was not going to be an easy one to explain to Jen or Aunt Laura. She glanced once more in the direction he'd gone, then sighed as she began clearing the dishes from the table.

The ding of the microwave sounded, announcing that her tea was done. Kim carefully clutched the hot mug in her hands, blowing across the liquid's surface before taking her first sip. The aroma and flavor of chamomile filled her senses as it slid down her throat. Minutes later, she could feel its soothing effects beginning to take hold, and she exhaled appreciatively.

From the living room, she heard the chimes of the old clock on the mantelpiece, indicating that it was a quarter after ten. Feeling more relaxed, Kim turned and made her way towards the archway leading to the living room. She took her time, passing by the dining room table, which was now covered by one of Rebecca's larger tablecloths. It would hide the damaged spot for the time being.

No lights were on in the living room, but there was enough of it spilling from the dining room to illuminate the area, and her eyes immediately spotted Bucky standing at the far end. He was gazing intently out one of the windows, bracing himself against the frame with one hand, his long hair forming a curtain across his profile.

He didn't react when Kim flicked a on a nearby lamp. Quietly, she came further into the room, never taking her eyes off him, but keeping her distance as she moved to sit in the large green chair she'd designated as "hers" a long time ago. His back remained to her, but by the way he angled his head, she knew he was listening to every sound she made. She didn't speak; just sat there and slowly sipped her tea. At the very least, she hoped her presence would be reassuring.

She let her thoughts drift back to what had taken place in the dining room. It wasn't just Bucky's troubling behavior that she focused on. It was also the fact that he'd gotten her to laugh. Even if he hadn't meant to, he'd made her genuinely laugh. Plus, he'd given her the first glimpse of what a smile might look like from him. That light-hearted moment held such promise for the two of them, and she needed to believe it could potentially be a repeat event.

It had to be a memory, she thought. What else could have triggered a reaction like that? HYDRA put him through all that torment to wipe his mind, and spells like that are probably going to be side effects. It might be something that happens a lot, and you need to be ready for it.

She took another slow sip of her tea, remembering that this was a man who had been horribly broken by his true enemies. One evening in her presence was not going to magically cure him, or turn him back into the person once was. As much as she wanted to believe she could help him, she had to be realistic about the situation.

Just remember to give him his space when it hits him, she instructed herself. The last thing you need is to do is push him beyond his limits. He might actually hurt you if you try—

"I'm sorry."

Her eyes flicked over to Bucky, whose back was still turned to her. She didn't respond.

Apparently, she didn't need to. "For earlier; I'm sorry."

She kept her gaze fixed on him, memorizing every detail of her uncle standing there, flanked on either side by the sheer white curtains framing the window.

"I didn't want you to see that," he faintly whispered.

The guilt in his voice jarred her heart, but she still kept quiet.

Taking a deep breath, he went on to explain himself. "There are faces in my head. So many faces…that I don't know. They come to me, whether I want them to or not. I see them, but they're just…glimpses. Then they disappear, and are replaced by even more strange faces. They…they're afraid, and I don't know why…"

He slowly shook his head. "But only one of those faces is constant, and I see it over and over again…" He lowered his eyes from the glass. "Pierce."

Kim drew in a quiet breath. She recalled the name not only from her research, but also from Steve's account of the battle in D.C. Pierce. Alexander Pierce. HYDRA's leader., and the man responsible for Project INSIGHT, which would have eliminated the lives of hundreds of thousands of people if Steve hadn't intervened. Damn. Kim's fingers tightened around the rim of her mug. She wanted him to keep talking, to get this out of his mind.

"He…he offered me milk…" One hand tightened into a fist at his side.

So that's what set him off, she thought: I asked if he wanted milk. Amazing how something so trivial could be such a significant trigger. One to cause him to remember someone like Alexander Pierce, no less.

He released a shuddering breath, bringing his other hand up to brace himself against the window frame. "It's not just his face and name that I remember. When I see him…I remember pain," his eyes squeezed shut, shoulders tensing. "There's pain every time his face comes to mind, but I can't understand why…" The strain in his voice was clear as he clenched his teeth together.

Kim could sense him descending into that chasm of despair yet again, and felt herself sit up tall in her chair. "Sergeant," she called out calmly but firmly.

He sucked in a breath, his spine straightening at her voice.

Somehow, that had gotten through, and when he said nothing further, she knew she had his attention. Something in his stance told her he was relieved to finally hear her. Good.

In an even softer tone, she said, "Pierce is dead. They found his body at SHIELD headquarters after the Helicarriers crashed; he was shot through the heart."

He lifted his head to stare out the window again. "You know this?"

She watched him for a moment longer. Before she knew it, she'd placed her mug on the coffee table and came over to him, placing a hand on his right arm. He looked at her then, his eyes completely focused on hers. "He's gone," she repeated. "He can't hurt you anymore."

He was staring at her hand on his arm, and there appeared to be a degree of fascination in his face. "So different," he whispered. "It's so different…"

"What is?"

"This," he said, still looking at her hand. "I've known nothing but pain for so long, but…" He lifted his eyes to meet hers again. "It's different with you, Kim. I remember things since my last mission…and since I first saw you, everything about you has been kind. Your words; the way you look at me; your touch; all of it has been the kindest I can possibly remember."

Kim closed her eyes against the burning in her heart. "I wouldn't hurt you, Bucky."

"I know," he sounded sincere.

Opening her eyes, she said, "Just like I know you won't hurt me."

His face changed then, though it was not nearly as drastic as the moments leading up to his spell. This time, it appeared as more of a shift in mood, a very pensive look coming to his eyes. "How many have I killed?"

She blinked at the change in subject. "What?"

"How many have I killed, Kim?"

Erased memories, she reminded herself, removing her hand and crossing her arms. Pieces were going to resurface from time to time, and she felt an overwhelming ache on his behalf. "Bucky, is it really necessary to—"

"Kim," he cut her off with a wave of his metal arm, turning to face her fully. "Please. I wouldn't hurt you, no, but I've obviously been capable of it before. Every time I close my eyes, those faces haunt me. They look at me in fear, and I know it's because I've done something terrible to them. I don't remember how many have died because of me, and I don't know why HYDRA wanted them dead, but as much as we both want to deny it, the Winter Soldier is me." He took a step towards her, but she didn't back away. "I know you've done a great deal of research on the Winter Soldier these past few days, which makes you the only link I have to my past. It's nothing but a chaotic mess in my head, and I need to find answers as to what I've done." His voice dropped to a harsh whisper, and she almost faltered when he gave her what could arguably be one of the saddest looks she'd ever seen. "I'm asking you—please, Kim—help me understand what I've become." His lip trembled, but he asked again, "How many have died?"

She swallowed hard, but found the strength to answer. "Over twenty assassinations that I know of. Maybe more, I don't know, but at least twenty major names."

Oh God, the tormented look that crossed his face when he heard that…Her heart broke all over again.

Still, he managed to ask coherent follow-up questions. "You've seen proof of this?"

She nodded.

"You have it?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He angled his head down, keeping his eyes locked with hers. "Show me."

She was quiet for a moment, glancing at the metal of his left arm. "Before I got these files, I was warned that I wasn't going to like what I saw. That turned out to be more than an accurate assumption." She exhaled gently. "But as awful as it was, I'm glad I got to see them."

"Why?"

"Because it gave me a better understanding of what happened to you. You won't like it, either, but this should at least begin to answer some of the questions you have." Then she lifted her chin to look up at him. "Just promise me one thing: you won't use what you're about to see as an excuse to run away." She hesitated before adding, "I don't think I can handle you disappearing on me again."

He tilted his head, those steely eyes of his softening just a degree. "You're my mission now, Kim. Leaving you is not an option."

Something about the way he said that caused her breath to catch in her throat, for she knew he meant every single word. God, how she wished she could hug him…Even though there was the faintest prick of heartfelt tears behind her eyes, she managed to keep her expression carefully controlled as she led him back to the dining room.

It took mere minutes to power up her laptop once again. Bucky hovered over Kim's shoulder while she showed him how to access the files she'd saved to her flash drive, which contained both her online research, and the classified documents Stark had sent. Most importantly, she pointed out the separate folder containing exclusive information about the Winter Soldier, which captured his immediate attention.

No surprise there. "Nothing more complicated than that," she said. "If I happen to get any more of HYDRA's confidential files, I'll tell you, but that's everything I have for now. Think you can take it from here?"

His eyebrows twitched together, then he gave a short nod.

"Alright," she vacated the chair at last, "I'll leave you to it, then. Oh, and um, just be sure to use your right hand, okay?"

But he didn't move to sit down. Angling his head, he said, "You like to jog."

She was somewhat taken aback by his sudden observation, trying to determine if that was a question or a statement. "Yeah."

"What does it do for you?'

She cocked her head at his inquiry. Not an inquiry about HYDRA, or the Winter Soldier, but an inquiry about her. She wasn't sure why he was asking, but didn't want to discourage him from asking about topics unrelated to HYDRA. Hopefully, they could build on that later. "It's good stress relief. God only knows that with everything going on, I need to get rid of it once in a while."

He nodded subtlety. "Promise me you'll go for a jog tomorrow."

Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"

He lifted his eyes to hers. "It seems to be one of the few things that makes you happy; I don't want you to lose that. Please, promise me you'll do that tomorrow. For yourself."

As those words sunk in, the edges of her vision began to blur from unshed tears. Blinking them back, she cleared her throat. "Okay."

"Promise me," he stressed.

"I promise." And she meant it.

His eyes shone as he looked at her. "Spaseeba," he said warmly, then swiftly sat down to begin his research.

Kim didn't know the Russian phrase, but based on the way he'd looked at her, she felt she understood its meaning.

Without another word, she left him to his research, returning to the living to sit in her green chair. In her hands was the framed picture of Bucky she'd taken from the table. Gazing at it, she thought about everything that had taken place over the past few days. Grandma's health; Steve's concerns about her safety; Stark's assistance with her questions…

Bucky's presence. She released a deep sigh. The man she'd always wanted to be in her life was finally part of it. Though his experiences had changed him in many ways, she knew she had the ability to help break through the chaos in his mind. He was here, and that was where he belonged. She conceded that they had a long way to go, but at least now they could rely one another, and just as he was protective of her, she was going to be protective of him in return.

You're in my world now, Bucky, and you're in it forever.

Occasionally, she heard the tapping of computer keys, but he was otherwise silent in the next room. Kim didn't mind; he needed this time to himself.

Resting her chin in one hand, she listened quietly as she stared at the black-and-white photo, her eyes memorizing every detail of James Buchanan Barnes' face all over again. When she was young, she'd always wondered what color those eyes were. Now she knew.

At one point, she became aware of the clock sounding off eleven chimes…

"Hey, chicky. Hey," a hand shook her shoulder. "You need to get up."

Drawing in a deep breath through her nose, Kim's eyes flew open, only to squeeze shut again as a strong light hit them.

"Mmph," she groaned, rubbing a hand over her face.

There was a gentle laugh. "I know," Jen soothed, "but I think you've slept in long enough."

Jen? Peeling her heavy eyes open, Kim squinted against the daylight pouring in through the windows. Morning. She knew Bucky was probably long gone by now. "What time is it?" She asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Just after ten. I only got here about ten minutes ago; it's unlike you to sleep this late, isn't it?" She asked absently, hoisting a basket of linens in her arms. "You should get up before the day is a total waste, though."

She was right. Besides, she needed to bid her grandmother a good morning. She began to stretch beneath her blanket, but then froze when a realization dawned on her.

"I swear, you're like a cat," Jen said, not noticing her pause, "you can sleep just about anywhere, can't you?" Her cheery voice faded as she exited the room.

Kim sat in silence, her waking mind sharpening with each passing second. The blanket. It was the one typically draped over the back of the sofa. She hadn't gone to sleep with this on. Who…?

Bucky, she answered her own question. Bucky had covered her with it while she slept. Anyone else might not consider it a big deal, but for her, it held a great amount of significance.

It was a sign of caring on his part.

She felt her heart clench gently at the notion. Lifting the blanket, it came as no surprise when she saw that her other arm still clutched Bucky's picture to her chest. Part of her worried about his state of mind after last night, since she wasn't sure how much he'd delved into the details of his past. Perhaps the trauma of the truth would cause him to keep his distance for a time, and she could only hope that she'd see him again soon.

But she remembered what he'd said about the impossibility of leaving her. He'd been completely honest when he spoke those words.

She lifted the picture to look at his proud face again. She'd kept it close all night. In a way, he hadn't gone far from her at all.

Remembering the promise she'd made several hours ago, Kim rose from the chair and headed for her bedroom. It was a nice day outside, and it was time to get ready for a jog.