Bellamy fought the urge to call out a good morning into the dark living room. Though it was morning, it was early morning, and the living space was next to black; even if she pulled open the curtains, the softest navy light would barely illuminate the walls. And then there was the matter of if Bucky had slept a wink at all. But she couldn't stay in bed.

She was curious, however, walking into the living room, and started towards the couch before doing anything else.

"Bucky…?" She whispered gently, squinting at the mounds of blankets. "Are you awake?" There was no response, but he wasn't the heaviest sleeper; he awoke at the lightest sounds of anything. His lack of response was concerning. "Bucky?" She took a leap and reached her hand out gingerly, tapping the blanket, only to realize it was hallow. There was no body to be found as she prodded harder. Uneasiness began to build as she hurried to the lamp and switched it on, seeing the blankets covering the empty couch.

His name came again from her mouth, but she didn't really focus on the sound as she backtracked her steps, checking the empty bathroom, checking the nooks in her bedroom, the study, the balcony. Nothing. He was nowhere. There was nothing to even suggest he had ever been there.

At a loss, thrown off completely in her first hour of consciousness, she stood aimless in her kitchen, the coldness of the wood beneath her feet the strongest sensation other than the uneasiness slowly turning to panic. Perhaps he had left again to visit the McGraths? Maybe he was finally brave enough to head out on his own. It was still early—maybe he was on the roof. That had to be it, on the roof writing in his notebook.

Just as she started towards the door, her eyes caught sight of a book strategically placed on the kitchen counter. It was Charles Bukowski, and there was a longer page, a note, stuck inside between the pages.

To you who made me laugh again,

I have to go. I'm sorry for leaving without a goodbye, but maybe it's for the better. I'll never be able to thank you for everything you've done for me. That's why I have to go after them, to make them pay for what they've done, to the world, to me, but mostly, to you. I understand now that maybe I didn't choose to do everything I did, but I'm making a choice now to stop them. I want to see every last one of them burn. But that's my burden now, not yours. I remember things now and I can still stop plans that they have. Prevent more wrong and undo it.

What you should do is move on. Keep figuring yourself out, keep figuring out what you want in life. Keep running. See more and do more. Don't isolate yourself. You've devoted your entire life to everything but yourself. You deserve to be happy. You deserve justice, and that's the one thing I know I can give you. So don't worry about HYDRA, or me. It's not worth it. I hope you understand.

Bellamy reread it over and over again, not knowing what to do. She pulled the note out of the book entirely, and her eyes caught sight of the poem on the page, "Love is Raw."

It was one she read to him that night before he fell asleep, speaking of remembering intimate moments that almost seemed to be written for them specifically; of a small room, of light, of warmth, of records, books, morning coffee, of nights and noons. There was the line near the end, "you who made me laugh again." She read the poem over once more, feeling her heart tugging inside her chest before she closed the book.

With dragging uncertain steps, she made it to the couch and sat in the dark room with the lamp on and stared at nothing in particular, wrapping the blanket around her body. It might as well have not belonged to her anymore; it only smelled like him and made the whole situation feel more surreal.

As she sat and the morning light began to fight harder to come in, she knew why now she never saw something like this coming; she'd forgotten he could get up and leave at any moment, the moment he didn't need to stay anymore, the moment he didn't want to stay.

All of a sudden, she didn't know how to do this again. She remembered after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell and she fell to her knees with it. It was hard to get up, it was why she focused herself on finally finding the truth, then finding Bucky, then…just trying to reconcile. But now, all of that was gone. She was even more lost than before.

This was a blank document, completely clear and she was hesitating with her fingers over the keyboard. She would search online for the best places to travel for soul searching, for solo travelers. Then she would try to imagine herself in this different places—where did she belong? The eastern coast of Ireland? New Zealand? Spain?

She never had time to travel leisurely before, but now she did. Time was what she had the most of nowadays. Money wasn't an issue. Obligations were nonexistent. But she never seemed to fit anywhere. And she knew traveling abroad was the best thing to do; whenever she met someone in a local coffee shop, usually a young student unsure whether they were on the right path, it was the first thing she encouraged them to try. Taking your own advice never quite worked though.

All the while, she tried not to think of him, but how could she not; just the other night they were holding hands. In each other's arms. She tried to focus again on passing days as they once had together, but they just went by slower. One night she was rereading the poem, and the others she had read to him, before she remembered the picture, the only one she had of the both of them.

It was supposed to be on her nightstand, but it wasn't. She searched for an hour, checking drawers, different rooms, bookshelves—everywhere. Finally, she came to terms that Bucky likely took it, either so it would be easier to move on, like he was never there, or…he wanted it himself. She didn't know why, but she knew she didn't have it. It didn't help, and neither did pretending she didn't feel emptier without him there.

Really, her whole life just halted. She would lace up her tennis shoes and only make it outside and stand frozen, like a scene in a movie while everyone else moved around her as though she were just an obstacle in their path, not a person. Suddenly running didn't feel right, just like everything else. Bellamy just tried her best to keep her mind occupied and reread books. It was an escape. It passed time.

She was sitting on the couch one night, the same blanket wrapped around her when there was a shuffling noise. Immediately she turned her head towards the front door, towards where the sound came from.

With slow motions, she stood suspiciously. There right in front of the door on the floor was a yellow legal envelope. Bellamy blinked at it, before she opened the door. There was no one there. As she shut the door again, she stared back down at the envelope. It was all suspicious, but she couldn't keep herself from picking it up hopefully; she couldn't keep her mind from hoping it was somehow from Bucky.

It was blank on the outside. Inside, she recognized classified documents, pages of information, all with S.H.I.E.L.D. seals. As she skimmed through them briefly, she realized it was explaining how S.H.I.E.L.D. was being rebuilt again and kept underground, all headed by Phil Coulson, the new director picked by Fury himself. Of course, she knew about Project T.A.H.I.T.I., none of the details only that Phil was brought back to life. The rest was of need to know basis, but a new S.H.I.E.L.D. was news to her.

It was hard not to feel a little betrayed. Jealous. Even angry. She had been second-in-command—if anything, she should be at the helm. But she wasn't. Bellamy scoffed and tossed the envelope with a flick of her wrist onto the kitchen counter, intending to dismiss the information, before she noticed a piece torn paper fly out. It was a note, a small one inside that she had missed.

Fury has it.

The words were written in rushed cursive and didn't match the handwriting in the note Bucky had left for her. With such an abrupt note, she wasn't sure who could've left this information for her, or what "it" was. Nonetheless, she stewed over it for the rest of the night.

After thinking, she pulled out her old phone from S.H.I.E.L.D. and sent Fury a private message.

Meet me at the Starbucks on 47th two days from now at noon. I know you have what's mine and I want it.

She sent the message and waited for his reply.

Yes.

She stared at the message, only affirmation rather than questions. How she dealt with Fury's lies before on a daily basis she wasn't sure, but she hoped she was on her way to finally ending it.

Bellamy had been inside the Starbucks many times for work; it was the closest to the old New York S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Personally, she liked spending time at locally owned businesses and never got the hype of the chain. Nonetheless, she ordered a green tea, unable to bring herself to buy coffee, and sat down at a table in the back.

She kept her eye on the door and was caught off guard by the sight of Phil Coulson himself walking inside. When he saw her his expression didn't change, and she stood to meet his extended hand.

"I wasn't expecting you, Phil. For more reasons than one." He shook her hand firmly, letting his other hand rest over it, before he inspected her closely.

"It's great to see you too, Bellamy. I would imagine you have a lot of questions." His eyes gave her another once over, and his eyebrows pulled down slightly. "How have you been?"

"Where is Fury?" She took her seat, and didn't bother wasting any time. "That was his personal number that I've always used to contact him." Phil's polite pursed smile never wavered as he sat in front of her.

"A lot of things have changed." She wore her lips pursed into a frown. "Fury, at the moment, is off the radar. Even I don't know where he is, but he contacted me when he received your request." Phil continued to sit in front of her with his hands clasped neatly on top of the table, not moving. "Can I ask you a few questions first?" Bellamy leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms.

"You're going to anyways, as we both already know; I can't leave when you're using whatever belongs to me as leverage and therefore I can't say no." Phil's smile upturned a little more.

"Of course you can. We always have choices." Bellamy felt her hands making fists.

"Please, do not patronize me. Go on."

"You've been hiding away for months now. How?"

"Fairly easy. In plain sight, where I wasn't exactly trying to hide. Everyone knew my name and qualifications, but no one put a face to it. I didn't know I was being looked for."

"See, that was more of a rhetorical question. You can't believe you just got away with that. That you hid that well. That would be a bit naïve for a former deputy director, wouldn't it?" Though his words worried her, she felt a spark inside her chest that she hadn't felt in a long time.

"Depends on who you ask, I'm sure many would think I were ignorant enough to believe that. But maybe I didn't believe that, maybe I was just hoping S.H.I.E.L.D. was done and gone and I could just dust my hands clean and move on like a normal person. Maybe I tried my best not to think about S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore after I've given up so much to it." She replied through gritted teeth. "After being lied to about damn near everything. After HYDRA."

"You weren't the only one lied to, Bellamy. We all were. If you want to get personal, I died and was brought back to life with a lie. I'm sure you knew about that." Bellamy stared back at him.

"You're just as guilty, Phil." He tilted his head. "Did you know about my family? About me?" He stared back at her, his smile finally disappearing into a more serious expression.

"I knew about you." She smirked at him ruefully.

"It doesn't matter anymore; I don't care."

"Don't you?" She raised her eyes from the floor to him. "Why else are you here?" Stubbornly, she held her silence and stared back at him and raised her chin. "What have you been doing these past months?"

"Who's asking?"

"I am."

"Well, Phil, we were never much more than work associates. I'm not really sure why you would care."

"Let's be honest with each other." She chuckled without humor and gestured with her hand.

"After you."

"Would you be interested in knowing S.H.I.E.L.D. has been rebuilt?"

"By you."

"Yes. You knew that?" She inspected Phil closely and had no way of knowing if he was the one who had left her the envelope of documents, but something wasn't telling her it wasn't him. She chose her words carefully.

"Through the grapevine." Was her answer and she received an even stare. "And no. It doesn't interest me." He didn't look like he believed her, but he shifted in his seat, regrouping.

"You took both the Winter Soldier and Sergeant James Barnes' files. Why?"

"I was looking for the truth. Alexander Pierce told me my father was…exterminated." She spat, remembering with venom the same exact tone of his voice. "I was always told he died on a mission. The rest was "classified." And that's, frankly, bullshit." Something like softness developed in his eyes as he leaned closer.

"I would've helped you, Bellamy." She watched him with seething narrowed eyes, angry, not exactly at him, but angry nonetheless.

"How kind of you. I'm sure we all would like to believe we would do the "right" thing, if given the chance."

"Bellamy, have you ever thought if you weren't so cold and withdrawn, more people would've helped you?" She stared back at him.

"I only ask Fury and he should've told me. That's all that mattered."

"And you found what you needed?" She swallowed.

"Yes."

"That's what you were doing these past five months?" She said nothing. "You didn't once wonder why you didn't run into trouble? We erased your name from the database. We've all been given clean slates, but Fury wanted to make sure you were protected from any agency, from congress, from anyone. He wanted to keep unwanted parties off your trail."

"Thoughtful. I'm charmed."

"Bellamy…I can't fix the damage between you and Fury. I'm here not only because he asked, but because I've been meaning to seek you out, after Fury made me the new Director."

"You know, he should have always picked you over me." Bellamy uncrossed her arms and pushed her palms against her pants firmly. "Technically, I should have been his first choice, but he's trying to correct his mistake. He has the chance to do it all over again, and he picks you. I always heard he was deciding between me, a fairly young woman with minimal field experience, and you. I never understood why he picked me, until I learned Pierce goaded him into picking me; I was the perfect candidate for HYDRA."

"No. That's not why." Phil disagreed with her quickly. "You were level-headed and calm. Poised. Moldable. They both saw potential, albeit for different paths. You proved your worth, I found out, after the battle of New York, taking care of all that damage seamlessly. Like the battle never happened. You handled every question thrown at you with grace on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s behalf and reassured the public perhaps better than anyone. Bellamy, I want you to be my Deputy Director, my second. I can guide you and we can work together." Bellamy inspected his face for a moment before she turned her head to the side and watched the baristas making drinks hastily.

"I'm not interested, Phil."

"You took an oath when you joined S.H.I.E.L.D. I remember you telling me your moment of commitment to fighting for peace was the day your brother passed and I know you didn't make that promise lightly. Coldness aside, nothing meant more to you than peace. We are the shield that protects the people, protects that peace. What happened?"

"What happened was my life was built around an entire lie. I…" She thought of Bucky suddenly, and her words trailed off, before she picked back up again with new words. "…I devoted myself to everything but myself. You can call me selfish, I suppose it would be true; I can't work for an organization that couldn't be straight with me."

"I will." She looked at him for a long time before she sighed and swept her hand through her hair before she leaned her elbows on the table.

"I picked up baking, Phil. I went to a Broadway show. Volunteered, got drunk, sat listening to war stories at a quaint coffee shop. I went to Coney Island, I had a hot dog in Brooklyn…" Her words faltered and she shook her head fiercely to set it straight again. "I healed. But I'm learning…that doesn't finish in five months. It's going to take the rest of my life to build a new one. Without S.H.I.E.L.D. in it." Phil stared back at her before he finally reached down towards his briefcase and opened it, pulling out two files. Bellamy knew what they were instantly and snorted as he managed an apologetic look.

"Would these help?" He slid them towards her, and she kept her eyes on him but couldn't keep from looking down at them. Scott Burke, one read. The other was her own.

"Fury had these?" Phil nodded. She took another glance at them but resisted to the urge to open them. Instead, she picked them up and stood from her chair. "No. They can't help."

"Is there anything else I can do?" She was expecting Phil to go on with trying to convince her to join him, but his simple question only sounded sincere. She glanced back at him, watching her earnestly.

"I'll let you know."

When she got home, she stared more at the unopened files. Bucky was right. He never lied to her; he never took the files. It had been Fury. They were what she had always been searching for, and if she'd found them five months ago, maybe she never would have needed to take Bucky's files. Maybe she never would have run into him.

Somehow that thought alone made it feel even more right for her to tuck the files away into her closet without ever opening them. Inside, she would find the full and complete details of her father's death, but did that matter? She would probably find out things she didn't know about herself in her own file, but that didn't matter either. It only mattered what she discovered of herself, and that was going to take more time.

Maybe it was starting to get a bit better, but she wasn't really certain. A routine was beginning to build, a meager one, but she had that going. Some days, she regretted ever allowing her heart to rule over her mind; what happened when you lost both? There were a lot of questions she couldn't really answer. Everything was uncertain.

One morning as she stared out at the city from her balcony, unable to see the beauty she once had fallen in love with, her phone started ringing. Her first reaction was hope that quickly faded to feeling foolish when she realized it wasn't Bucky. Then panic when she realized it was Steve.

"Hello?" She answered on the last ring when she was sure she sounded normal.

"Bellamy, hi. Listen, are you still in New York?"

"Yes," she hesitated. "Why?"

"Is it at all possible for us to talk? In private?" Bellamy frowned, before she turned her back to the buildings. "Maybe I come to you, to your place?"

"Is it important?"

"Yes." Bellamy bit her lip.

"Fine. Sure. Do you have a pen and paper? I'll give you my address."

Steve didn't take very long after their phone call, meaning she had just enough time to look decent and clean up the area, which included draping a blanket over the broken TV screen and moving the broken painting into the study. A good move too; Steve was very observant as he walked in.

"Very...quaint. It's inviting though. I can't say this is what I was expecting your place to look like—not that it looks bad or anything. It's nice." She said nothing as she sat in the armchair and he sat on the loveseat. It was an odd sight. She caught him staring at the record player before he turned to her with a small smile. "Getting good use of those records?" Bellamy ducked her head.

"Every now and then." He nodded, his smile faltering, before he shifted a little. "So, what was so urgent?"

"Well," he sighed. "Recently there was a huge HYDRA base taken out overseas. It wasn't us, we don't know who it was. I was wondering if you knew anything about it." Bellamy blinked and was careful not to betray anything she was feeling or thinking outwardly.

"You think I did it?"

"I think you might know who did."

"Steve, a lot of information was leaked that anyone in the world can get their hands on. HYDRA is likely to have as many enemies as S.H.I.E.L.D., as the Avengers."

"It couldn't have just been anyone that took down that base. It's not a walk in the park. That's why we're concerned." Bellamy shrugged her shoulders, though she felt her heartbeat picking up.

"What makes you think I know?"

"Just, be honest with me, alright? Was it Fury?" Bellamy stared at him, realizing Bucky wasn't even in the equation.

"All I know is Fury is off the radar. It very well could have been, but I wasn't his accomplice and I don't know anything. I haven't been focused on that as of late." When she looked back to Steve, suddenly his face was full of pity. It was almost overwhelming and forced her to look away.

"How have you been, Bellamy?" The sudden shift in conversation wasn't one she wanted to take. When she didn't reply, he continued. "You don't look good, I mean, you've always been on the leaner side and all, but…have you even been eating?" She sent him a firm look.

"I'm fine, Steve."

"Really, are you doing okay?" He insisted with his own soft stubbornness. "I know we aren't exactly the best of friends, but after everything we've been through, I—"

"Yes, Steve. I'm fine. But I've got some errands to run and I really have to get to them. If you don't mind." Immediately, he stood with a nod and she walked him to the door where he hesitated.

"Well…I'm around. If you need anything, you can always call, okay?" He waited until she made eye contact with him.

"Thanks." With that, she closed the door on him. And now, thanks to him, all she could think of once more was Bucky. Taking down the base had to be him. Steve was right; it wasn't a job for just anyone. Bucky was more than capable. And though she worried, she also couldn't help but feel a small wave of pride, along with the conflicting feelings of shame and jealousy. At least he was out there with a goal and apparently doing well, while she was still here, wasting away.