Chapter 2

Well, she could scratch "Get kidnapped by an amnesiac-homicidal-maniac- time-traveler" off her bucket list. If she actually had a bucket list. And a death wish.

Sarah wasn't completely that surprised that her day had taken such a drastic turn. Her life had been spiraling out of control and into a big gaping pit of suckdom since Monday – so getting kidnapped was par for the course by that point.

She'd lost her job – the one that actually paid the bills, not the one that paid absolutely nothing because it was an intern position at the Washington Post that she needed to gain experience so she could get a real job. To be fair, she was a terrible waitress and she would have fired herself, too – probably weeks ago.

If that wasn't enough, her loser roommate chose that week to vanish with just a note detailing her need to move on with her life and travel the world and find herself and blah blah blah. Oh, and she was super sorry she was leaving Sarah hanging but finding oneself apparently means not paying your share of the rent. As if Sarah's job situation wasn't enough – now she had to scrape up more money in less than two weeks to pay the rent or wind up on the streets, or worse - back home with her parents. Plus, her loser roommate took the TV and the toaster. At least she left her the cat.

Taking a break from blanketing the better part of Washington, DC with applications, Sarah found herself in the Air & Space Museum, a place she'd always loved to wander around. Plus, admission was free and it got her out of her TV-less apartment for a while.

She'd been in the Captain America exhibit so many times that she'd practically had the whole thing memorized. She was contemplating applying for a job as a tour guide at the museum when the stupid saying that "things happen in threes" actually did happen and she found herself face to face with a guy who, according to the news, killed more people than she could count and who, according to her own two eyes and extensive Captain America knowledge, died during World War II.

"I should have just gone to the zoo," she muttered as the not-dead, possibly homicidal Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes grabbed her arm and pulled her out into the main exhibit area, swarming with cops and God knows who else.

XxXxXxXxXx

They'd almost made it to the exit. Almost.

The woman was trembling, obviously nervous, but she listened to him – sticking by his side, nodding and smiling as though they were close friends who had known each other for more than fifteen minutes.

He kept his metal hand on the small of her back, to guide her and control her if he needed to. She was expendable, at least that was what he told himself. Another part of him felt a need to protect, to keep safe, to shield. He wasn't sure which instinct would take over if things turned ugly.

They only had a few steps to the door when the first shot rang out.

"Get down!" someone screamed and then it was chaos. He pushed the woman onto the ground, pulling out his gun as he spun to face the crowd.

He had one of HYDRA's soldiers in his sights when a little boy got in the way. Frozen in front of him. Eyes wide.

"Bucky, no," the woman on the floor cried out, reaching up for him, for his gun. His finger pressed against the trigger. Collateral damage.

He took a breath.

And didn't fire.

Someone pulled the kid out of the way and the soldier was still standing there, grinning. "Going soft? Always knew all that shit they did with your brain would backfire at some point," the soldier said, raising his machine gun and letting loose a volley of shots. Three of the police officers fell – they weren't getting back up.

More screaming. More mayhem.

He used the confusion as cover, grabbing the woman's arm and dragging her to the exit behind the escalators.

The gunshots and the screaming became one horrible screech in his head, turning the world red. The door slammed behind them and they were in a narrow hallway. Safe. But not for long.

"Please, you can let me go now," the woman pleaded from the floor. She'd tripped when he'd pushed her through the door. He could leave her, he didn't need her anymore but the gunshots and screams could still be heard through the door. Chaos.

He pulled her to her feet. "Move."

He kept her in front of him, his attention over his shoulder, waiting for the door to inevitably open. The first man through the door died with a bullet between his eyes. The second, anticipating the shot, ducked but he caught another bullet in the thigh, high and probably fatal, but still managing to get some shots off.

The dying soldier's aim was off but, but the bullets still connected and he stumbled a bit, but shook it off. Something to worry about later, if there was a later.

He didn't know how many other HYDRA agents were in the museum, but he knew the place would be swarming with them shortly. The police, at least, didn't seem to be following.

They reached the end of the service hallway and he pushed open the heavy metal door, wincing at the bright sunlight that greeted them. It was so dark in the museum and he'd been so lost in his thoughts and the mystery of his past, that he assumed the whole world had gone dark along with him.

"We need a car," he said.

"We?" The woman stopped in her tracks next to a dumpster. "I helped you escape. I'm not going any further."

He took a step toward her and he pointed toward the building they'd just emerged from. "They saw you with me."

"So? I'll just tell them the truth."

"They won't care about the truth. They'll hurt you until they get all they need and then they'll dispose of you." He walked up to the dumpster and pushed it up against the door, creating a barrier that would barely hold for a minute, but it was better than nothing.

"And what will you do? Buy me flowers and read me poetry? I'll take my chances with the cops."

"Cops? This is HYDRA," he said as he stalked toward a car parked down the alleyway. It was a sedan, non-descript. Smashing the window, he reached in and unlocked the door, opening it. "You're nothing to them. They don't leave behind witnesses. They don't interrogate. They torture and they kill."

"And you're one of them"

Stepping away from the car, he turned toward her, his eyes meeting hers. "Get in the car."

"So you can chop me into little pieces? They always tell you to NEVER get in the car." She looked over her shoulder for an escape, but the only way out of the alley and away from him was back into the museum.

"I won't hurt you." He didn't know if he had the capacity to lie – it didn't feel like a lie.

"There are no keys," she said, flailing now for excuses.

"I can hotwire it. I know how."

"Bucky, please."

"Get in the car." The museum doors rattled and he started to mentally countdown from sixty. They were out of time.

She must have realized that as well, scrambling to get inside the car. He crouched and pulled out the wires below the steering column.

The museum door slammed open, the dumpster rolling and almost tipping over. The woman had her eyes on the soldiers that poured out of it as he worked to start the car.

"They're coming," she said.

"Almost got it …"

XxXxXxXxXx

It was raining and the base was knee deep in mud. They weren't going anywhere anytime soon and Bucky was bored out of his mind. He'd dragged Steve to one of the Jeeps parked behind the barracks.

"Pay attention, Rogers, 'cause I'm only going to show you how to do this once." He proceeded to give a very fast, half-assed demonstration of how to hotwire a car.

The engine sparked to life and Bucky sat back, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Your turn."

Steve shook his head with a laugh. "Buck, you talk faster than that guy down on Fulton when he's taking bets on the horses. No one could follow those instructions."

"Are you sayin' you can't do it? It's okay if you can't. I mean, we can't all be perfect."

"Oh, that's how it's gonna be?"

Bucky shrugged, hoisting himself out of the Jeep and sauntering over to another one parked nearby. He gestured to the driver's seat. "Your chariot awaits."

Steve joined him. "So, what do I get if this works?"

"Respect? Bragging rights? I'll buy the first round tonight?"

"The Commandos have a running tab. The Army's paying for every round."

"I'll pretend to buy the first round tonight," he said without missing a beat. "Come on, Steve, you've punched out Hitler a thousand times, you got this."

Steve shouldered Bucky out of the way and climbed into the Jeep. The angle was awkward as he ducked to get under the wheel to the wires, but he managed. The car started on the first try.

"Of course." Bucky shook his head, laughing. "Thought they were shitty instructions?"

"Maybe they weren't so bad after all," Steve said with a good-natured smile.

Bucky slapped him on the shoulder. "You're a natural. You know, once we get home, if this whole Captain America thing doesn't pan out, we could always boost cars for a living."

XxXxXxXxXx

The car started but Bucky sat there, staring straight ahead. "What are you waiting for?" Sarah asked, panic rising in her chest.

He didn't respond.

She swallowed heavily and said, "Bucky?" He blinked slowly and looked at her and for a second she saw a world of emotion in his eyes.

"Stop calling me that," he said, but it wasn't the same tone as all the other things he'd barked at her – those were orders. This was … sad almost. Sad and lost.

"We have to go. They're going to catch us," she said, pointing through the windshield at the men swarming the alley.

"Go?" He shook his head, like he was trying to wake himself up. He stared at her, an almost wild look in his eyes, but then his gaze shifted, like he was looking through her. "Get down!" he shouted, pushing her head down as he shifted the car and threw it into reverse.

The passenger's side window exploded and glass rained down on her. Bucky whipped the car around in a U-turn, barreling out of the narrow alley, gunshots denting the trunk and shattering the back window. His fingers were digging into her scalp as he forced her head practically under the dashboard. They cleared the alley and he loosed his grip, removing his hand, but she didn't get up.

"It's clear," he said, the flat, emotionless tone back.

Her eyes were shut and her hands were shaking, it felt like her heart was going to beat right out of her chest and she was never going to be calm again.

"We need to ditch this car and get another one before they catch up."

"Of course we do," she said through chattering teeth. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was turning the wheel with precision, not a single wasted movement, his eyes darting from the windshield to the rearview mirror to the side windows, not missing anything.

He looked down at her, as if he could sense her looking at him. "I can teach you how to hotwire the next one."

His voice was completely different and the corner of his mouth quirked up into a grin. "What?" she asked, confused.

"Taught Steve. It's a piece of cake."

"Bucky?" she asked and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He turned suddenly, cutting off a car, the loud, angry honking following them down an abandoned street.

He stopped the car in the middle of the road, resting his head on the steering wheel. "Stop calling me that," he said through gritted teeth.

Her number one rule should be "never touch a brainwashed assassin having a mental breakdown in the middle of a car chase" but she wasn't that great at following the rules anyway. She placed her hand on his shoulder, hoping to offer some comfort. He shrugged it off and she flinched, pulling her hand away.

There was something warm and wet on her hand and she looked down.

Blood.

Bucky's dark jacket hid it but now that she knew what to look for, it was the only thing she could see. Lots of blood, soaking the back of his jacket and staining the seat behind him a dark, sickening red.

"Oh, no," she whispered.

XxXxXxXxXx

It looked like World War III had broken out at the Air & Space Museum when Sam and Steve pulled up in Sam's SUV.

"This doesn't look good," Sam said as Steve jumped out of the car, jogging to the entrance, cutting a path through the crowds of people. Emergency personnel were everywhere, comforting and treating scores of people. "Not good at all," he muttered to himself.

Steve had already found the person in charge when Sam caught up to him. "What's the situation?" Sam asked.

"There was a 911 call. A man called in a tip that the suspect being sought in the overpass shootings last month was in the building," the officer explained.

Steve glanced at Sam and they both knew exactly who he was talking about. "And then what happened?" Steve asked.

"Police were dispatched to the scene. We're not clear exactly on what happened. Several officers were killed and we're getting statements from the others and from witnesses." The cop look frazzled and Sam was afraid to see what the inside of the museum must look like.

"Apparently there were other gunmen on the scene, dressed in tactical gear, and they opened fire on everyone, cops and civilians."

"Jesus …" Sam said under his breath.

"And the man you were looking for? The man the call came in about?" Steve prompted, a stricken look on his face. The cop wouldn't have noticed it, but Sam did. Steve was wound so tight he was about to burst.

The cop shook his head. "Either he was never here to begin with or he got away. At this point, I have no idea which it is."

"Can we look at the surveillance footage? We're looking for the same man."

The cop looked them up and down and Sam could tell he was weighing his options. Protocol was probably that he should say no, but when dead cops are involved, protocol could take a flying leap. Plus, who could say no to Captain America?

XxXxXxXxXx

The security guard eyed them nervously as he rewound the footage. "It happened roughly thirty minutes ago," he supplied and Steve nodded to him, thanking him silently.

The Captain America exhibit was the one that had the most carnage, so they started with those cameras. The shooting started and it was mayhem. People were running and falling and the men doing the shooting were moving through the crowd like a pack of machines. It was like watching that cyborg movie Rumlow recommended to him a few months ago – the coincidence wasn't lost on him.

The chaos made it hard to focus, but then Steve noticed him. Bucky – he couldn't bring himself to think of him as The Winter Soldier – was standing in the midst of the violence, pointing a gun at one of the assailants when a kid got in the way. Steve held his breath, waiting for the inevitable. But then it didn't happen. Bucky turned and he and woman disappeared through an exit while the shooting continued.

"What the hell …" Sam said, watching over his shoulder.

"Go back further, before all this happened," Steve said to the security guard.

Now that he knew what to look for, it wasn't hard to spot Bucky. "Change of clothes. That's a good sign, right?" he said to Sam as he watched Bucky stop and stand in front of one of the stations in the exhibit.

Sam shrugged. "Sure. I mean, he might want to consider adding a pop of color to his wardrobe, but all in all, this is an improvement over Mindless Assassin Chic."

Steve tapped on the monitor. "What's here? What's he looking at?" he asked, even though he knew the answer – as though hearing it from someone else made it more real.

The guard leaned closer, squinting. "That's the section on Sergeant Barnes."

"Cap …" Sam started, using his don't get your hopes up tone.

"He's remembering, Sam, I know he is."

They watched as Bucky ran into a woman and they appeared to talk and then he pushed her into the screening room.

"That's the same woman from later," Sam said.

Steve nodded, as he pulled out his phone and started dialing. "We need to find out who she is." He put the phone to his ear as it rang.

"What's the status of the situation?" the voice on the other end said.

"Natasha, we need your help."