A/N: Thank you Kane for your heartwarming review! To everyone else, thank you for continuing to read! xx

It wasn't as if the bad things ever went away. They never disappeared. In actuality, every second Bucky spent alone with himself it was as if he discovered more and more bad, riddled within himself and his past. Every piece of information just seemed to keep piling onto him, every heartless act he committed, until the infamous Winter Solider was burning in agony underneath ice. Trapped in hell.

But that was only part of his time, and that was the beginning; if you'd asked him while he was beginning to realize just how much his body was blistering, he would have undoubtedly believed it was all somehow going to get worse. After-all, he deserved it. But it didn't.

She was there, and she was the sun. It wasn't hot. The rays didn't sear his skin, they were fingers that dared to not only touch but warm the metal and paint it gold. It was the sensation he had been searching for the day after his first shower, standing out alone on the balcony. He felt so cold, he just wanted the sun to warm him up, to warm his soul, but it could never penetrate deeply enough. But Bellamy was strong and insistent, and that's what she was doing. Thawing him out.

At first, she seemed to be a distraction to his suffering, a mental block he could put up to foil everything traumatic. Every night when he thought he'd never see morning and would never be able to pull himself out, she came with the dawn like some angel sweeping her wings up and putting a stop to it all. And the bad things stayed, but it never got worse.

In a way now, he was trapped again. No longer in ice, he now found himself willingly in a cage she'd constructed. Cages weren't supposed to be synonymous with freedom, but Bucky wasn't someone who was supposed to be free. He was a threat, he knew it, but he also knew now that was only one part of him. He was capable of being something else, but only because she'd invited him into this cage, made up undoubtedly from the broken pieces of her own heart. And it wasn't confining; he had more than enough room to run and breathe and live finally. He looked at her and knew very well if he ever broke out, if the Winter Soldier forced him out, he could kill her. He would kill her if he were free. And so, he didn't want to be free when he could be chained to her. Bucky looked at his reflection and couldn't even see himself anymore. He was unrecognizable, but he had an identity now. He was no longer a ghost. And she smiled when she looked at him, so he began to look to her instead of a reflection.

The more he thought about it, staring up at the dark celling of her apartment night after night, he realized how lucky his circumstances actually were. It was nice now, sitting in the warmth of what felt like a low lamplight. Everything light, any kind of light, metaphorical like the kind people talked about seeing after a near-death experience or just the sunlight outside, it all reminded him of her. Someone with that kind of radiance…he couldn't believe he'd almost put that light out. Bucky always felt like he was missing half of himself lately, but with her, he felt like he didn't really have to be whole yet. He was who he was in this current wreck that sufficed for a state, and that was okay. And maybe he didn't have Steve, maybe sometimes he didn't even have himself, but he had her.

Living in the now was important, smelling the roses was what you were supposed to do. So, he couldn't dwell on his crimes, but he couldn't sleep. Instead, he began submerging himself in her book. How ironic, he thought; she had so many books and somehow still didn't realize how significant her own was. He knew the minor characters involved in her life, he knew she was lost—like him—but somehow she was still superior. She'd probably be even better off if she hadn't taken a wrong turn in her life and found him, but with him, it was almost as if needed her in his, to guide him as she was. It was entirely unfair to her, to be burdened and forced with that duty.

And that seemed to scare him the most. Her sympathy and help seemed so genuine, and if it wasn't, if she still held hatred for him he couldn't blame her, but the idea of it or perhaps even the idea of her lying to herself about him terrified him.

For a woman who only thought of herself as boring, as an agent riddled with a life of lies—telling them, receiving them—she was so much more that he couldn't even explain. He believed it when she told him most thought she could be a ballerina, what with the grace she held and the fluidity she walked with. Bellamy Burke could be anything she wanted, a woman that changed the world, the kind of woman that caused wars, a woman who stopped them, perhaps even a muse to an artist; she was the type of woman who would mean the world to the one man she chose. She was all that underneath a serious façade she sometimes still wore, when she pretended to prefer straight black coffee, and he had a feeling she had a lot of people fooled with her steel eyes and slacks.

Her entire life, her story, revolved around him. And that was the most unfair thing he could ever think about, how this woman had never been able to experience peace because of him and his actions. And Bucky hated it. It was the worst story he could imagine, but he couldn't stop reading.

"You know," Mrs. McGrath smiled at Bellamy but lingered looking at Bucky. "Food is the way to a person's heart." The finally perfect apple pie was sitting on the table between them, still warm and wafting cinnamon. Bellamy only smiled as though the words were small talk before walking away to order their drinks at the counter. On the other hand, Bucky felt prickly.

"Not Bellamy's, dear." John quipped beside her. He inspected Bucky with narrowed eyes before he leaned closer to him. "Has she told you she adores Broadway shows?" He treated his whisper as though it were a careful secret. Maybe it was.

"No." John nodded slowly, thoughtful.

"She's never even been, never treated herself to it, but she talks about them as if she's been a lifelong enthusiast. There's something grand about it, I think she adores the idea. Dressed to the nines with interesting company." He smiled again, a slow-moving grin. "Any man after her heart will find success with that." Bucky pressed his palms against his jeans to let the fabric take away the clamminess they held.

"…I don't really have nice clothes." Bucky dismissed the idea, but glanced over his shoulder to Bellamy as she stood waiting by the counter, chatting with the young girl in an apron who made the coffee. As he wondered what intricacies of her life she was sharing with this stranger, his mind drifted to imagining what she'd look like in a nice flowy dress.

"Well…" Bucky turned back to John and saw the narrow-eyed gaze back. Beside him, Flora looked to be growing giddy. "Look no further." Bucky blinked, realizing it was an offer.

"Oh. Uh…" He glanced back to Bellamy and realized he'd been caught. She smiled at him, an easy one that came like the breeze, straight at him. It made him turn back around to face the McGraths quickly again. A bit regretfully, he said, "I can't really afford Broadway tickets right now." He expected awkward condolences, but the couple only continued to smile at him, as if they had expected his answer to be that.

"Where there's a will, there's always a way." John said, clasping his hands together in front of him on the table. It hit him right there in the coffee shop that Bellamy's story was still in progress, with him in it, and while he wanted her to find her own peace, he knew he was a piece involved in that now. It was a gift, an opportunity in front of him for him to take if he could only do it. He wanted himself to change, he wished peace for this poor girl he had destroyed, and it finally dawned on him that maybe both were accomplishable.

The only way to describe Bucky's behavior was weird. Ever since they'd left the coffee shop, he appeared perpetually embarrassed. Every time Bellamy would ask a question, he seemed to jump out of his thoughts. She touched his hand briefly, accidentally, when she passed the salt and he nearly dropped it on the spot.

"Careful, they say that's bad luck." It was her attempt at breaking the crackling ice between them that turned out to be poor; he stopped chewing his food immediately with a panicked expression. Needless to say conversation was nonexistent the rest of the night.

"Well, um…goodnight." Bellamy told him hesitantly, lingering awkwardly in the living room after the night dragged to a close. He had his back to her, sitting on the couch with the notebook in his lap, the pen tapping against it, before the motion stopped. Barely looking over his shoulder, with a low voice, he answered back.

"Goodnight." But it didn't sound complete like it normally did. Even still, once in her room, she forced herself to shut the door, though she remained right behind it, staring at it. Of course, she didn't think herself entitled to know every single emotion he was feeling, or every problem he was having, but it did bother her, not knowing. And somehow it felt like it involved her, whatever was on his mind.

She made herself walk to her bed and even pull the sheets back, after-all it was ridiculous to think his thoughts could be that centered on her. As soon as she tried to get in bed, though, she could only grimace and paced back to the door as though her body was on autopilot. Her hand reached for the door knob, but with a shake of her head she pulled back and turned back to her bed. But as she stared at it, empty, she knew she wouldn't be able to fall asleep in it until she at least tried to talk to him.

"Dammit." She muttered as she turned on her heel and yanked open the door, only to gasp at seeing Bucky standing there, his hand raised to knock. At the sight of her, he jumped, his eyes wide and mouth popping open.

They stared at each other with a delay of shock.

"What—"

"Let's do something Friday night." He blurted out, cutting her off and stunning her back into silence.

"…Okay." She agreed blindly when she could speak again. "What do you need to do?" This had to be it, the cause for his behavior.

Bucky struggled to swallow, and took a breath.

"Something I…" He swallowed again, and blinked as he looked down, before he looked up again and locked eyes with her. "Something I want to do." Her eyes narrowed as she tried to comprehend his request. "But I can't tell you." She frowned now. "Just trust me, okay?"

"But…" She began, but trailed off at the sudden plea of desperation on his face.

"Please?" He asked.

"Okay." She agreed, staring back at him and not having any idea what she was getting into. It made her wonder just how much more she would agree to if he only asked.