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"The past is never where you think you left it."

Katherine Anne Porter

Chapter Eight

Beep, beep, beep.

All that filled the air was the sound of the machines, and Steve's even breaths. Sam had gone to get them some food, though they both knew that hospital food was far from gourmet, it had been awhile since she ate, so it didn't really bother her.

Steve's unconscious body lay on the bed next to her, battered and bruised, definitely looking worse for wear. He was healing, slowly but surely, and she knew he would be back in action in no time. But that was no consolation for what she was currently feeling.

Never had she ever wanted to see him like this, and in his pre-serum days, it was a very real fear. Often she would see him covered in bruises given to him by some bully. But after he'd become Captain America, she thought that he was safe, that she wouldn't have to worry. And then him being frozen for seventy years only enforced the fear even further.

And to think, that Bucky had caused these injuries. It was unthinkable, but at the same time, it wasn't.

The Winter Soldier had done this to Steve, not Bucky. And maybe that distinction had begun to blur. But his memories were returning. And he was out there, somewhere, alone.

"You should get some sleep," Sam suggested, stepping back into the room, "He'll be fine. You need to look after yourself."

"I'm not tired." She protested, but it was a feeble attempt, the bags under her eyes being in direct contrast with her words, "Fine, just, a quick nap." She conceded, curling up in the chair, the tablet she was using, and the notepad she was writing on still laid in her lap

Sleep was quick to come, and even quicker to pass. Thankfully, filled with mundane dreams she couldn't recall, when she was drawn from her light slumber by the sound of people conversing.

"Clara." She heard a voice call out, her eyes snapping open at the realisation of who it belonged to

"Steve, you, you're awake." She said, wiping the sleep from her eyes as she sat upc "Um."

"I'll, give you two a minute." Sam said, a shit-eating grin on his face, as he practically strutted from the room

She turned back to an equally awkward Steve, neither knowing where they stood with other, and unable to think of what to say.

"What's that?" He asked, looking down to her lap

"It's, uh, it's nothing important," she said, standing up, dropping the tablet and notebook onto the chair, moving closer to the bed, "How're you feeling?"

"Better." He told her

"Liar." She rreplied, shaking her head at him, her eyes scanning over the wounds inflicted by a man they both loved

"It's not that bad," he assured her, "Really, I've had worse, you know that."

"Don't downplay it," she warned him, "Don't try and stop me from worrying, it's not gonna work. I'm always worried about you. I worried about you when you were a scrawny kid who got into fights, and I worry now that you're Captain America. Nothing will change that."

"Thanks, I guess." He said, but his lips were curving at the corners, and Clara could tell that he was glad that someone was worrying over him, "What about you? Can I worry about you?"

"Oh me, I'm fine, I always am". She said, though he believed her about as much as she believed him. Takinh a seat on the edge of his bed, facing away from him, she turned her head to raise her eyebrow at him, "So, are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?" She asked him, "Because by the looks of things, he packs a punch."

"Did you really expect me to not try?" Steve asked her, and she cocked her head

"I didn't expect you'd let him do this much damage." She said, lifting up her hand, to ghost her fingers over his cheeks, light enough that she wouldn't hurt his bruises, "Did you even fight back?"

"Of course I did."

"And when did you stop?" She asked, crossing her arms, frowning at him. Steve was a terrible liar usually, but he was especially bad at lying to her

"After the I inserted the chip." he said, his eyes dropping from hers. He never could lie to her. "I couldn't fight him Clara, I had to try and get him to remember who he is."

"I know, and I love that you refuse to give up on him," she said gently, dropping her arms to her side, "But I thought I specifically told you to refrain from sacrificing yourself. You matter Steve. You life matters. The world needs you. And I need you."

"Clara, we can't," he started but she stopped him

"I know," she said, "I know, that we missed our time, and maybe we were only ever meant to be friends. But that doesn't diminish what you mean to me. I lost you once, I can't lose you again."

"Okay."

"Good."

It was true, regardless of any romantic attachment, Steve meant a great deal to her. They had just begun to mend their relationship, she didn't want to lose him all over again.

The little amount of sleep she just had was not nearly enough, and her eyelids were beginning to become heavy. Tentatively, she laid down on the bed, hesistant not to push the boundaries they had yet to establish. Curling up next to him, on the cramped bed, she laid her head down on his chest, making sure that she didn't cause him any pain.

"Thank you." She whispered

"For what?"

"Coming back," she replied, "I need you Steve. I meant it, I can't lose you. Especially not now."

"I'm not going anywhere." He promised her

A comfortable silence fell over them, with only his even breathing filling the room. This constant reminder of his presence; a reminder of the fact he was alive, and here, with her; was enough to lull her to sleep.

After a few days of rest, Steve was back on his feet, and Clara was being called in to a Senate meeting, no longer able to use an injured friend as an excuse for her absence. Although, sitting through incessant questioning was not her favourite pastime, her appearance would make it easier for all the loyal SHIELD agents. If, she said the right thing.

Thanks to her previous involvement in classified missions for other American intelligence agencies, the media was barred from her meeting, and there was only two people questioning her. Though, to her, it seemed more like an interrogation. And a boring one at that.

"You mean to say, that you had absolutely no prior knowledge of Hydra's presence in SHIELD?" The woman asked, her name tag reading Julie Walters

"If I did, don't you think I'd have done something about it." She retorted, "Hydra fooled all of us."

"And how, exactly, should we gather intelligence now?" The man, by the name of Carl Sanders, spoke

"Is that not what the CIA are for? Or havd they grown innefective since I left?" She asked, "And what about the NSA, and all this other organisations. It's not exactly like America has a shortage of them."

"Would you be so humourous from behind bars?"

"Carl." Walters scolded, but her complaints remained disregarded

"No, I'd love to hear what Carl has to say. Go on, lay out your plan for the next time, the world's faced with a threat they can't face." Clara goaded, "Or, Carl," - leaning forward against the desk - "How 'bout I just spill all the classified information I have locked away inside my head. All those missions. I'd hate to think of the effect releasing that information to the public will have."

"You don't want to do that." Walters warned

"Oh, I might. But I won't. Not if you give me what I want."

"And what's that?" Carl spat

"Immunity, for all SHIELD agents with no affiliations with Hydra."

"We can't guarantee that."

"Oh, well, I guess everyone will love to hear about - "

"Fine." Walters relented, "You win."

"Nobody wins here." She muttered, standing up, "Can I leave now? I think we're done here."

"Sure." Walters replied, waving her out with one hand, and pinching her nose with the other

Must be a stressful position, Clara thought to herself, as she strolled out of the building, with such confidence, it appeared as though nothing could touch her. But, of course, appearances could be misleading.

Despite knowing the direct way to the cemetery, Clara found herself driving around in endless circles. It was a nice day. The sun was bright. The sky was blue. The grass was green. It was too nice a day for this.

Through the rows upon rows of headstones she walked, a familiar path she had taken many times before. Stopping, she knelt down, laying the flowers atop the plaque, laying her hand on the engravings.

"Hey, uh, sorry, for not visiting, it's been...hectic, lately," she said, "I, um, I really wish you were here, Charlie. I miss you, and, I could use, some of that great advice of yours."

"Things, are, so complicated, right now, and I have no idea, what to do." She continued, "Bucky's alive, but, he doesn't have his memory, and, Steve and I, almost, I don't know. I don't know what I should do, or how to feel. I, just wish someone was here, that could, tell me what to do. Nobody really understands, except, Steve, but, I don't know what to do there either."

Even though she knew she'd never get a reply, but it was cathartic almost, to be able to spill her guts out. To reveal her inner turmoil, to someone, but to no one.

"Are you gonna visit my grave?"

Turning her head, she rose to stand, looking up at her old boss, "I think I've visited enough fake graves in my life." Clara sighed, "Besides, I can always just call you. Unless you're really going underground."

"I think you'll always be able to contact me."

"Do you know where they are?" Clara asked, "All of them. Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone's fine," Fury assured her, "And before you offer, no, I don't want you going to them."

"What? I can help them."

"They're fine. You're not." he said, "I'm putting you on leave until further notice. You need some time away from all of this. You can't ignore your problems and throw yourself into work."

Clearly Fury hadn't been paying attention, because that had been her game plan for most of her life.

"Take some time to yourself," he suggested, "You're not a SHIELD agent anymore. You free of all of it."

I wish, she thought to herself. She wasn't free from the shackles of her past, and she didn't think she ever would be.

"I've got something for you," she said, pulling out a piece of paper from her bag, "The names of any agent I suspect could possibly be Hydra."

"How did you do this?" He asked, taking the paper from her,

"I've had some spare time." Clara shrugged, "You know I used to do the pyschological assessment for SHIELD agents. I've had agents at risk flagged for years. Wasn't too difficult to compile a list of names." She explained, "Isn't my thoroughness and over preparedness the reason you put up with my all these years."

"One of them." He admitted, "I'm sorry, for pulling you back in, all those years ago. You were happy, and I took that away."

"I chose to come."

"You came because I said I needed you." He pointed out, "Not because you wanted to."

"When do I ever do something I don't want to?"

"Always." He replied, "Take a break, be selfish for awhile, might do you some good."

"Not likely."

Fury smirked as he turned, sparing her one last glance, before leaving her alone at the grave. But her solitude did not last long, as Steve approached her, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Sorry, to interrupt, do you want to be alone?" He asked, "Because, I can leave."

"No, we've, I finished, what I was doing." She said, spotting the file in his hands, raising her eyebrow, "Did Natasha give you that?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going after him?"

"Will you help?" He asked, nervously, "You don't have to. I'm just offering."

"I...I don't know." Clara admitted, frowning at her own confusion, "I, I don't think I can do that right now. But, keep me updated."

"It'll probably be awhile, anyway," he shrugged, "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know." She confessed, letting out a laugh, "I have absolutely no plan, whatsoever. That's new."

"Is it good?"

"I haven't decided." She replied, "But I have awhile to figure it out."

"So, this is goodbye?"

"For now." She responded, opening up her arms, reaching them out to him. Slowly, he reciprocated, enveloping her in his arms, "Thank you."

"For?"

"Everything." She answered, pulling back, having reached the time limit of appropriate hugs, "I mean it. I know, that things are, complicated. But if you need anything, I'll be there. And I mean anything, I'm only a phone call away."

"Same goes for you."

"Well, goodbye, Steve Rogers."

"Goodbye, Clara Howard."

The walk back to he car was heart wrenching, every step a struggle, a constant battle to keep her composure. The drive back to her apartment was even worse. It was the first time she'd been back since the whole fiasco, and it was a mess. Hydra had ransacked it, leaving the furniture overturned, the contents of her wardrobe and cupboards strewn on the floor.

Clara didn't have the energy to clean up, besides, she wasn't planning on staying long, or coming back after she left. She'd pay someone to put the furniture in storage, take the clothes to another of her residences.

Start afresh. Maybe. If that was even possible.

Her carefully calculated composure finally started to crack, at the sight of her bedroom, or more specifically, the smashed glass of the photographs, knocked onto the floor. Leaning down, she picked up one of the frames. It was a picture of her and Bucky, taken on their wedding day. They were so young, and so in love. And now, he was alive, out there, alone. In possible danger. A possible danger.

Sliding down onto the floor, he back against the bed, knees curled up against her chest, she clung to the photograph. And, for the first time in a long time, allowed the tears to freely fall.

A bit of a downer ending, but that was to be expected. The next instalment will be up soon, and I'll post another chapter to announce it.

I hope you all enjoyed the story, please review and tell me what you think, as well as what you hope to see next.

Also, don't forget you can vote on my poll, you can find it on my profile.