A/N: Thanks for the review, Adalise! As for what I plan on doing with the two of them, that will continue to be revealed..

Everything was fuzzy when Bellamy awoke. Her eyelids had a mind of their own and didn't want to open, and she came to almost dazed. Her head was the fuzziest, and she couldn't figure out why she didn't remember anything recent. Her frown deepened when she felt textured thick cotton underneath her arm—a towel, she discovered—rather than thin smooth bedsheets. Her shoes were still on.

Bellamy sat up, her stomach turning uncomfortably, until, slowly, her memory began to dwindle back. It came like rewinding; drinking on the roof, conversation, and then the weight of the new knowledge she held. But that was it. There was no memory of how she got back in her bed. Bellamy kept trying to remember, her mind considering the possibility that maybe…but no. That didn't make sense.

It didn't make sense, she insisted to herself, but maybe…maybe it was him. It was either him, Bucky, who had taken her to bed, or she herself somehow had made it on her own. Her mind wasn't her friend in settling the matter, so she got up, only to realize the sun was beginning to set. She'd slept all day.

Her door was cracked, and she opened it quietly and peered out. Down the short hallway, there was only stillness.

"James?" She called, electing to speak rather than move.

"Here." His calm voice answered. Bellamy rounded the corner and saw him, sitting at the dining table with his file opened, his chin sitting on his fist. Only when she was close enough did he look up. They stared at each other. It felt different. Without hatred. Bellamy was reminded of sharing the same look with Steve, once they began to understand they were more alike than they realized. They were two people, looking at each other as such.

It was either speak of the files he'd peeled his eyes away from, or her momentarily lost memory, and she went with the latter.

"I don't remember getting to bed," she began after clearing her throat, and even still, she avoided his gaze, unable to come outright and ask.

"You passed out. That happens to you a lot." A frown grew on her face immediately with indignation, and she opened her mouth only to stop short. "I carried you back down, to your bed."

"…Oh. Well, if we're being honest, I've only blacked out so many times because…" His eyes were waiting for her to go on, they both knew where she was going but, she couldn't. "It's, uh…been a few crazy days—I'm not really used to this kind of thing…I mean, this last was self-induced blackout, at least." She held her breath and bit her tongue, her face crinkling as she continued to dig such an unnecessary hole. "Uh…why was there a towel in my bed?"

"Your shirt got stained from the wine. I didn't want it to stain your bed too." At his words, she looked down to her shirt, crisp white muddled with red, understanding now. It caught her off guard, the simplicity of the nice gesture. He looked back down to the file when she didn't reply, frowning more as if he had did something wrong. Silently, she walked closer and took the chair across from him.

"Thank you." She told him sincerely, waiting until he looked up. When he did, the extra lines in his forehead smoothed. His eyes glanced back down to the documents before going back to her. He was the one that brought the topic up, as if he felt like he needed to defend himself.

"I just…" His eyes were liquid and shining at the same time, like the ocean at night as it reflected the sky and the constellations above. "It's not that I want to know…but I need to."

"But you're letting it torture you. Consume you." He still said nothing, did nothing, his face sour and pained, tense with a weight she knew of, but couldn't hold. "I had a feeling that…the last thing this would do was help you."

"Does it help you any, knowing about your father now?" She felt a small twinge of defiance flash through her.

"I deserved to know."

"And I don't?"

"I, I didn't say that. It's different; you think it's your fault, what happened."

"And you don't?" They had come to a standstill, caused by his words, his oh so very right words. That was another thing she hated—being wrong—but there was no way she could even argue. Finally, she leaned back in her chair, letting out a sigh and easing the tension in her shoulders.

"Maybe we're both wrong, then." He wouldn't meet her gaze, but she stared despite the fact. He began blinking more, his face slowly shattering like cracks in a mirror lengthening until he shut his eyes and did his best to compose himself. His eyes opened again.

"I just want to be me. I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't want to be that." He closed the file shut and pushed it away from himself in disgust.

"You don't have to be that. I told you before, you have a choice. At any point in your life you can start over. You can redeem yourself—"

"Redeem myself." He mocked with a curt low laugh. She flinched as his chair squealed against the wood of the floor as he shot up, shaking his head sharply and pacing back and forth. "Goddammit, Bellamy, I don't understand you." Her name in his voice was a new sound that only made the moment more poignant. "I don't understand how you can just turn a blind eye to it all, all of those things I did, the blood all over my damn hands; I took your family away from you, don't you even mind? I can't just redeem all of that, I can't redeemany of it." She swallowed and took a slow breath.

"Look, you and I both know you're not the same man you once were back in 1945…Let's not pretend you didn't do the things you did." He'd been standing by the window of the kitchen, looking out. He allowed his eyes to flit to hers now. "But that's not the point. It's a good thing that you realize where you stand with yourself. That you want to figure yourself out. Because, really Bucky, right now is the most important thing to keep focused on. It's important to remember your values and the things you once believed in…but just because I call you Bucky doesn't mean you're the same person you once were."

"I told you," He said, his tone suggesting he was already disagreeing with her words. "I don't remember everything from back then."

"Maybe it will come back to you, now that you have the chance to remember." His eyes were downcast. "And if it doesn't then…you can figure out what you believe for yourself. You can do that now. I mean the past it's…it's there, but…but the now is what matters right?" He was silent, but his attention was on her. Even still, her words weren't only meant for him; Bellamy realized she was talking to herself too. "My father always used to tell me I lived in the future. Because I was always busy and planning ahead. I told him I had to, I didn't have time to stop and smell the roses. He said one day…I would. And I'd understand finally how important the present is."

Bucky watched her stand and join him to look out the window. With her eyes focused on the buildings, studying the old architecture, she spoke.

"Apologizing and letting things go is what helps you move on. Dwelling on the past is what keeps you stuck." Fitting, really, that she found herself stuck now at the moment, trying to continue on with her words. It was hard to get it out, like peeling at a Band-Aid, but she hoped the relief would be just the same and as instant as ripping one off. "I'm sorry that I didn't give you your files. I'm sorry I kept that from you, because I didn't understand your position. And I am sorry you were put through the things you were put through." It was easy to keep going once she had stated. When she looked at him, his eyes were raised, but they darted away as they met each other.

She wasn't sure if she was expecting his relief to morph into hers, or if she would somehow receive her own inner relief. It ended up being the latter. For once in her life, saying sorry seemed to actually pay off, like everyone always said.

"When you were asleep…" He spoke softly only when she turned her back to walk back to the dining table, and she paused now to listen. "I told you that I was sorry. Because I couldn't do it when you were awake. I mean…" He snorted. "What good will an apology do. It'll never be enough, it'll never sound like I mean it."

"Do you," she asked calmly as she leaned now against the table. He swallowed.

"Yes." And with that, she suddenly started to feel not only relief from herself, but from James too. She had assumed it would only be one or the other, not that it would feel this alleviating.

"I…accept your apology." Speaking only seemed to unlock more of the distinct kind of lightness, filtering out from somewhere inside her, brightening the dark. Bucky only stared at her with disagreeing eyes. "I know you're not the same man, you're not just some machine, not anymore. Expressing remorse and apologizing, you want to take that path of redemption. Don't you? You want to figure yourself out right?"

"I don't know if I can redeem me—"

"Do you want to move on, to find yourself?" He hesitated, his mouth halfway open but his words growing shy and retreating.

"I…I want to." He murmured, a bit dejected and half-hearted.

"Will you try?" Her question wasn't one expecting a normal answer, but expecting an pledge of some sort, she was sure he knew that. It was made better to see him nodding.

"...Yes." His words confirmed it. She started to nod too.

"Me too." She tried to smile, but it felt forced and he didn't see anyways. She had to force herself to move and check the fridge as well, looking for any type of breakfast food, but the effort was in vain. The eggs and bacon were all gone, but, there was plenty of milk.

"I guess its Honey Nut Cheerios today." Bellamy realized, glancing over her shoulder. "Is that okay? Cereal?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Fine." Slow moving limbs brought him back to sit at the table, where she brought them their quick breakfast. While she was pouring her milk, he stared down at his empty bowl, still.

"Do you..." she stopped pouring as he spoke and he swallowed, disrupting his stillness. "Do you really believe I'm worth forgiveness?" Her eyebrows began to pull down at his question, and she decided to wait for him to go on. "Steve was right about one thing." It wasn't much of an explanation.

"What do you mean, are you saying you don't trust me?"

"I don't know." He leaned backwards, undecided and crossing his arms. "I'm not always sure when you tell the truth. Sometimes I knew you were lying, but other times...I would never know."

"Sometimes I believed the things I told you over the past few days. Sometimes I didn't. But I do believe you're worth forgiving." He wasn't convinced, but then, she wasn't certain if he ever would be. "And from this day forward I'll always be honest with you, you have my word—as long as you can be honest with me too." He stared down at his bowl still before he looked up at her and nodded in agreement.

"Okay." Her lips formed a small smile this time easier, without having to try, and he saw it this time too. He blinked, almost appearing flustered, and suddenly reached out hastily for the cereal, nearly knocking his spoon off the table, though Bellamy pretended she didn't see. In silence, she began to eat, but for the first time the silence was still. Calm. Not exactly comfortable, but bearable.

"Can I ask you something else?" He asked, holding the spoon of what would've been his first bite before putting it back down.

"Sure." She agreed.

"You started off only calling me James. Sometimes, you'll call me Bucky. Why?"

"Oh." Her spoon chased a Cheerio. "Well, James is your name, and I felt that I didn't know you well enough to call you Bucky, but I know it's what you went by. I don't know…" his head was still tilting in question. "What would you prefer I call you?" He readjusted himself in the chair.

"Just call me what you want." That was harder.

"But what do you want me to call you?" He took a moment, appearing to be thoughtful, but had to speak to seemingly get his thoughts straight.

"James is my name." He frowned delicately. "But none of my friends ever called me that. My parents didn't either. But Bucky…I don't know if that really fits me anymore."

"You can still be you." He was already shaking his head, but she stopped him. "Not the old you. Just you…you just have to find out what exactly that means." Instead of disagreeing, he began frowning more, as if somehow what she'd suggested was worse, harder—maybe it was. Gently, she put her spoon down. "Hey, listen." He blinked, and focused in on her. "You're more than just a file from yesterday, Bucky."

A long moment passed and he was still, before his eyebrows began to relax, his eyes growing rounder. Peaceful. He ducked his head, turning his gaze downward and away—she swore his cheeks were looking warmer. Suddenly, he didn't look so cold and pale anymore. His hand raised to reach for his spoon, as if he could finally eat, no longer quite as troubled.

That day and the days that followed, Bucky had begun to busy himself with fixing her old apartment. It started with her grandmother's armchair, when he had caught her rubbing the broken wooden arm of it, forlorn.

"You can fix it, you know." She looked over at him, and he gestured to the arm of it, moving closer to kneel down and inspect it. "…I'm, uh, sorry." He murmured as if the damage was worse than he realized, turning his head slightly to look at her without fixing his eyes on her completely.

"It was my grandmother's." She wasn't sure why she had to tell him, it was a petty thing to do and she didn't like the consequence of him looking down at the ground in guilt.

Leaky faucets, the odd hum of the refrigerator, old toilets, the draft from her bedroom window—all things she had gotten used to just ignoring. She wasn't sure if he had always been a handyman, when she had asked he had only told her men in his time were expected to be the foundation, to know all the answers. Nothing too personal.

Bellamy didn't stop him from helping in his own way, even if she was certain it was partly out of guilt. It seemed to ease his mind, and he was familiar with the aged objects. Even when it took longer to figure out, he never got frustrated, he simply worked his way around it. She helped where she could, waiting close by for him to tell her something to do, and she'd oblige, but mainly, it was a solitary job. He never stopped startling her with his intelligence.

One day, as he worked in her bathroom on the stubborn showerhead, she stepped out to her balcony to make a phone call.

"Bellamy," Her mother's voice greeted her warmly, trilling in unexpected delight. "I added your number to my contacts after you called. I hoped it was one I could continue to expect. I never could before, it was always a different number."

"Yes…well, you can expect more calls from me from this number from now on. More often." It felt good to add, and she smiled as her mother laughed.

"How are you doing, dear?" Her voice softened. "Are you doing okay?"

"I'm better, actually. I think I just needed a couple nights of sleep and time. I'm sure it'll get easier. Eventually."

"You know you can always come visit Ellie and I." Ellie, her old black Labrador she'd been forced to give up, lacking the time to care for a puppy. She'd only gotten it because she was alone so much, until she realized she'd always be too busy for things like a pet. "I'm only an hour's drive away."

"I promise I will, someday soon." It was enough to satisfy her mother.

"Sounds like a wonderful plan."

"Actually, the reason I called was to ask you for Grandma's apple pie recipe."

"Ah, yes. Old comfort? That was always your favorite."

"Yes. It's been a long time since I've had it." Her mother paused, and Bellamy hoped her mother wasn't about to ask her to just come over so they could make it together. She just couldn't, not yet.

"I'll send you the recipe and ingredients. Let me know how it turns out, okay?"

"Okay, mom. Thank you." Her voice was mellow once more, relieved.

When she walked back inside, Bucky was standing in the kitchen. He glanced down at the phone in her hand.

"It was my mother." For some reason she explained, not that she felt the urge to. He nodded once.

"I wasn't listening."

"I know." Her eyes scanned the area. "Um…I have to make a quick run for groceries." He stared at her, and she wasn't sure how to go on. Did she invite him? Despite knowing he had to lay low still, a couple of hours out—especially with someone good at hiding in plain sight—would be accomplishable. It somehow didn't feel right leaving him there, alone. Would he leave? Would he follow her anyways?

"I'll be here." He told her, nodding once. "I won't mess with your things anymore, if that's what you're worried about."

"No, no. Um…okay. Well, I won't be gone for long."

"If you want," she stopped in her tracks as he spoke up. "You can get a few things and I can fix the armchair. Maybe even that bookcase." Again, they stared at each other and he looked down before mumbling, "S'least I can do."

"Yeah. Yes, of course, just tell me what you need and I'll get it."