Bellamy was acutely and painfully aware that she missed Bucky more than she should. No, not more than she should, per say, but more than what should have been normal.

His letter made sense, the parts where he said he needed to do it for himself, but it also made her conflicted. There was no way she wouldn't just not worry about him. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was her heart still seemed to throb at his absence. It still ached to see him sitting up and awake as she walked into the living room, and if he only were she would tell him the truth, the kind of truth so real you could only tell strangers, but she felt like she knew him her entire life already, so maybe this feeling was stronger. This truth was more.

June turned into July, and July turned into early August while she continued through what felt like purgatory. She grew determined over time to get up and go running, though she would take different routes each time, long routes she didn't take with him.

She stopped going to Susanna's Café again, not quite able to bring herself to face the familiarity, so she visited different places, cafes and shops she had never been to. It was almost fine if she pretended to be, but without fail, she would find herself searching for more news updates, either of him or more HYDRA bases being taken out. News of the Winter Soldier had seemed to completely die out altogether.

Several things were hitting her, these days where she could only reflect.

One, she still didn't who was she was supposed to be. She wasn't sure if she ever would. At the moment, she wasn't even a woman; she was a girl in the wrong sized pants—suddenly she couldn't drink coffee at all. It was bitter on her tongue and made it feel fuzzy. Suddenly, her entire wardrobe seemed to only fit another woman who wasn't her. All the pantsuits in the same monotone color family and silk blouses didn't belong on her.

Suddenly, she was afraid of being alone. Being alone only allowed her thoughts to scream at her as the silence used to, and she'd never heard the screams before until he came, and until he left.

Second, the dull ache never went away once she focused on it. Nothing alleviated it. Small victories were shallow; sure, she was now in the best shape of her life and didn't look ragged as Steve had mentioned now that she started eating regularly again, but that all felt meaningless. As meaningless as holding a yoga pose in her living room and pretending to meditate. Pretending she felt better after it. She heard his voice in her head when she stretched. She heard his low laugh when she occasionally lost her balance in a pose.

Lastly, the box of records received her long stare daily, because she could only remember the night she had found him digging through them. How he recalled the memory of dancing with a pretty girl once before. How she hadn't found "the one" and how she had said love at first sight wasn't real. She had been wrong.

Love at first sight was more real than anything she had ever felt. It had nothing to do with the very first time you laid eyes on that person, it was the very first time you really saw them. The real them, their souls shining through their eyes and their hearts on display carried by the words they spoke. It was the look she shared with Bucky the first time taking him to Susanna's Café with the McGraths, when everything had faded away and there was only him. And maybe it didn't strike her right then at that moment, but it left its impact evidently enough—it hit her every night.

Fate had once decided she was to be cursed, devastated, and ultimately destroyed by a marionette solider. Fate had been foiled, and instead they had chosen their own paths. And although he was gone, she knew it and she couldn't change it; she missed him. So, she continued trying to walk on. Pretending once again, in yet another way, exploring herself.

Bellamy went to the "self-help" section of the bookstore and felt incredibly self-conscious at looking at them, and even more frustrated that none of the ones she skimmed seemed to have the right answer. Books had never failed her before, but evidently there was a first for everything. For the first time in a long time, she took a bubble bath and didn't limit her time. She started drinking more tea, with lemon and honey. Opened the balcony doors and the windows and deep cleaned her apartment and washed the blankets she had left out on the couch and finally put them back into storage, albeit reluctantly. She was wearing shorts and loose tank tops and even t-shirts. Keeping her hair in ponytails and braids, not in perfect curls. Painting her nails pastel purple.

But there were still days where she stayed in bed, reading Charlotte's Web and wondering what his thoughts were as he read certain parts as Billie Holiday played in the background, the ache intensifying just a bit more.

It was nearing supper one night and Bellamy was wondering what she was going to eat, not entirely having the motivation to go all out while also knowing she was getting low on supplies. There was a quick blunt knock on her door and she frowned towards it, automatically wary. The feeling melted quickly into delicate hope.

"W-Who is it?" She called out with her hand hesitating on the lock. There was a pause.

"Pizza delivery." The feeling evaporated at the young voice and suspicion quickly took its place once more.

"I didn't order pizza."

"Yeah you did, it's already paid." She frowned, but still didn't open the door.

"I'm sorry, you must have the wrong place."

"I can read back the order if you want? I mean…this is the right place. A large pepperoni? For Steve?" Bellamy pursed her lips into a frown before she sighed heavily and reluctantly unlocked the door to see a mildly confused pizza boy. "You're…not Steve, I'm assuming."

"No, I certainly am not." She said as she took the box with a fixed smile. "You said I—Steve—already paid?"

"Yes, ma'am—handsome tip as well. Give Steve my thanks." She began shutting the door.

"Oh, I'll give him something." She muttered under her breath, sighing to herself and staring down at the box.

It was a nice gesture of course, but it was also an unwanted one. She didn't ask for Steve's pity and she certainly didn't want it. But, she wasn't one to waste anything, so she ate the pizza with a begrudging scowl.

The next time she was made aware of Steve's presence it was a bit more blatant. She had just gotten back from running and wished she had ran a little bit longer at the sound of polite knocking accompanied by a clear voice.

"Bellamy?" She heard Steve call and she stared at the door incredulously before she wiped the sweat from her forehead and opened the door with a stern face. Steve smiled in greeting before his face fell a bit and he cleared his throat. "Er…good morning?" She only blinked at him, and she watched him try to recover, scratching the back of his neck. "Oh, were you…early morning workout?" He assumed, gesturing to her workout gear.

"Running, what do you want?" Steve winced, raised his eyebrows, and tried to keep going.

"Oh, great. Say, you know, I go running every morning and now that I'm back living here maybe we could go running together, if you wanted a partner—"

"No thanks, now why are you here, Steve?" He chuckled at her now and gave her a knowing smile.

"Well, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd stop by and invite you to lunch." Bellamy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms as she leaned against the door frame.

"You know, Steve, just because you have my address doesn't mean you can just show up at my house uninvited. Or order pizza."

"Well, I knew if I called, you would've likely just said no, hung up, and ignored my calls. It's harder to turn someone down face to face."

"Try me." He chuckled.

"I don't doubt it. But I'm not taking no for an answer." She heaved a long sigh and rubbed her temple. "It's funny, most times if you send someone free food you become closer."

"It was unsolicited." She retorted, shooting him a look.

"I was trying to be nice. But, I won't do it again unless you ask, alright? Unless you refuse to get lunch with me today. Then I'll send one every week." She only glared and he grew serious. "Okay; I actually wanted to talk to you. In person. I figured over lunch it would be more polite and comfortable. I'll even pay." Bellamy inspected Steve for a moment before she shut the door on him and went to grab her purse. She came back and opened the door and he smiled hopefully.

"Just lunch, if we can make it quick." Steve watched her lock up her apartment.

"Busy schedule?" He assumed and she couldn't answer; truthfully, her schedule was completely open.

Bellamy looked around the small sandwich shop, noting the knick-knacks and huge plaque on the wall explaining how the store was passed down through generations along with its humble beginnings. She'd never actually been in despite eyeing the shop every time she passed, and it made her realize she and Steve might have the same taste in places.

"Why are we here, may I finally ask?" She spoke up after they had ordered and taken their seats in the corner. Steve made a slight face at her across the table.

"Do you not eat this kind of thing?"

"That's not what I meant. I mean, what did you want to talk about?"

"I don't exactly want to just drop it on you…"

"I would prefer if you would." Steve eyed her hesitantly now.

"I invited you here assuming we were friends, but for some reason I feel like I'm wrong now. It's harder to ask." She studied him for a long moment before a waitress came and dropped off their plates, trying to see the same man Bucky had often told her of. All she saw now was the picture-perfect Captain America, not the sickly asthmatic who only wished to fight the war. "I'm sorry." He finally blurted out. Bellamy blinked.

"Why?"

"I get it now, why you're being so standoffish again. We all lost something after everything was said and done, but I didn't realize you were completely alone. And we were friends, but now I understand if you don't see me that way, after not making sure you weren't okay." For some reason, a lump was growing in her throat. "So, the sandwich is on me. Forgive me? We can just start over and I promise, I'll be—"

"Steve, no. I…It's okay. I never stopped considering you a friend." If anything, she knew more about him now than she ever did. She swallowed and just wanted the lump to go away. "I don't expect a free meal. I actually needed the time to myself, so there's no reason to feel bad."

"Still. The sandwich is on me." He smiled at her across the table as she looked up. "That's what friends do."

"You're one hell of a friend, Steve." She said. "I don't think really I deserve that."

"Don't say that—"

"Or want it." She interrupted him, and stared down instead at the sandwich. Steve was silent for the moment.

"We're not talking about sandwiches anymore, are we?" Bellamy watched him evenly before she looked away. "That's your problem." She looked up, and he crunched down on a potato chip. "You're afraid of ending up alone, but you're too afraid of actually depending on people in any kind of relationship."

"I'm not afraid; I don't want to depend on anyone—"

"Exactly. But you can't do that, you can't just live off of random strangers you meet and live vicariously through their life and experiences. You have to have your own, you have to make your own." She opened her mouth, but she couldn't speak, and Steve raised an eyebrow as if he had made a point. And, frustrated with her hands tied, she had to shut it. It wasn't that she couldn't find the words, she couldn't say them. She had her own memories, she made them—created them—with Bucky. So, she looked down.

"Look, Bellamy, I'm just going to be honest with you; I think you're alone too much. Especially now, without S.H.I.E.L.D." She sighed. "I know what you've lost in life, and I know, maybe from experience, that it makes you not want to get close to anyone. It'd be too painful to lose more people. And I'm luckier, because I still have the Avengers. I still can serve and feel like I have a purpose. Do you have that? Other than pushing yourself to run that extra mile in the morning?" She glared back down at the table; someone had finally found her sore point and it stung, like someone poking an open nerve underneath a tooth. "I'm letting you know you can depend on me. And I want you to move into the Avenger's tower." She looked up quickly, incredulously.

"Why would I ever do that, are you out of your mind?"

"Hear me out, okay? This isn't easy for me to ask. But I figured I'd just give it a shot, so here goes nothing. I want you to consider helping me out again, and I know you said maybe in the future, and I'm just hoping that's now." She settled back against the booth seat.

"…About Bucky." Steve looked up at her with an odd look on his face, before he continued on.

"Yeah. With everything going on, I'm getting busier with the Avengers and HYDRA, and now it's just Sam looking for him. He's doing his best, but…and then there's you. I mean, you don't even have to help Sam with that, you could help us. You could help us with organizing missions, or you don't even have to do that. If you want, you could even just move in and think it over, just so you're not alone every night. The thought of you going back to some empty apartment kinda hurts me."

"So, that's why you ordered the pizza." He cracked a grin.

"I was just trying any way to make you remember you're not alone. Just consider it, alright?"

"There's…absolutely nothing to consider. I am just fine on my own, Steve." He chuckled to himself, looking down at his sandwich and scratching his temple.

"Bellamy, you are the most hard-headed person I've ever met. It's not a crime to feel lonely, stop torturing yourself."

"If staying alone is torturing myself, I'd hate for you to find out what real torture is." Although she knew he was more right than anything; despite all her efforts of trying, she discovered at least one thing about herself and it was she hated spending her life alone now, pining. Steve's face softened, and he reached out to touch her arm, which she quickly drew away.

"Why are you crying if it's no big deal?" She blinked, finally feeling moisture against her eyelashes before she quickly pushed her way out of the booth. With sharp and hasty motions, she pulled her wallet out and threw money on top of the sandwich. "Bellamy, wait…"

"I can't, Steve." She mumbled before hurrying out of the shop, hearing him calling her name and not looking back.

Her apartment felt colder now, walking back in. It got colder and colder as the day went on, so she went to the roof before the sun could fully set. Now she understood what Bucky meant that day she found him on the balcony, hoping the sun could just warm him up.

Without even consciously deciding it, she wound up where they had been sitting and drinking wine—she could tell by the lingering red stain on the concrete.

For some reason as she stared out towards the city, the memory of her finding Bucky one night after a nightmare, distraught, came and hit her. As he started to calm down more and even out his breathing, she watched him carefully with the little moonlight filtering in through the living room windows.

"You know how caterpillars turn into butterflies?" She had asked him lightly, watching his eyebrows pull down slightly.

"A caterpillar turn…?" Bewildered, he shook his head. "No. Why?"

"That's what a man asked me once, at the coffee shop. The biggest man I've ever met. I was just as confused as you, and he just smiled and rolled up his sleeve. He had a tattoo of a butterfly on the top of his arm, and he explained he had just gotten out of prison. Said he made some mistakes early on in his life, got caught up in the wrong crowd. He read in prison about butterflies, and he said it was just about the most life changing experience he'd ever had, about how they make their own cocoon and sometimes it looks like they're dying, until they shed their skin and come out of them completely new. They fly out into the world better than they were before, seeing things they never saw. He just moved to New York and had a job interview the next day. I don't even know if he got the job, I never saw him again." She had been sitting in the armchair close by him and watched him take in the information all with a frown, before he snorted and rubbed his eyes.

"So, that story stuck with you, looking on the bright side and all that?" He asked.

"I remember thinking, that's well and all…but I couldn't relate." She smiled at him ironically. "I thought how lucky am I to have everything in my life figured out. We never really plan for life to throw a curveball, we don't plan on having to go through a self-transformation once we think we've got it all figured out." Bucky sat up now, growing a little more thoughtful. Open, maybe, she remembered watching his features relax a bit more and grow more thoughtful.

"So…are we supposed to be butterflies?" She smiled at him more genuinely that time.

"Not yet, that's the point. You're still changing right now, and so am I. Maybe it doesn't feel like it. But we are. And it's okay and it won't be perfect or look pretty but one day it will all be a lot better. But for now, if you need this place to be your cocoon, it can be. You're safe here." He sat staring at her, contemplating, as she leaned back in the chair, growing thoughtful herself.

"What would you look like?"

"What?"

"As a butterfly. What would you look like?" His questions surprised her, and it surprised her more that she went along with it.

"Oh. Well…I'm not sure what butterflies are native to New York—"

"It doesn't matter, butterflies can fly they can get anywhere. It doesn't even have to be a real butterfly, just what would you want to look like?"

"Why don't you tell me, and then I'll tell you."

"Okay," he agreed, his eyes searching above his head. "I think you would be blue. Blue and purple. Probably with white spots. Long wings." She smiled, trying not to laugh.

"Why?"

"It's calming, your eyes are blue."

"I was picturing green. Actually, I think I was picturing more of a moth." He chuckled and she laughed. "I think you would be…"

"I think I would be the moth."

"A silver one? With a red star?" She teased, smiling when she earned another chuckle from him. "No, you wouldn't be a moth. You would be…orange. Grand, like, sweeping grand wings lined with black, covered with white spots. And yellow like sunbursts. You would be fond and found in big, warm, green fields." He laughed, before he smiled.

"I'd love to be in a big green field right now." And her smile had softened as she watched him stare down at his hands in his lap, imagining just what that would be like.

"Me too."

The dam broke and every memory came tumbling back through, all the times he struggled to smile and every time it came through just as easy as the breeze. Just his presence. How many things had he seen so far now? Could he still not sleep? Did he think of her as much as she thought of him?

He used to look at her with something like cold recognition in his eyes, as though he'd known her for years. Maybe that's exactly what it was; he had spent years watching her, studying her face. And yet, she had never met him until now, and she was going through almost the same thing in a way. It felt like her soul had known him forever. And she was so young still, but there was already a stamp on her soul, something etched into her bones.

Him.

It was dark when Bellamy made her way back into her apartment and sat in the unbearable silence. Unbearable, unbearable, all she could hear was the sound of her own unsteady breathing. It was driving her crazy, until a thought broke through.

Don't isolate yourself.

Her hand reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone and dialed a number without thinking.

"Hello?" She swallowed and prayed her voice was steady.

"Steve?" She tested her vocal cords tentatively.

"Bellamy, is everything alright?" Air moved steadily in and out of her nose before she replied.

"I hope your offer still stands…is it possible to have a room ready for me by the time I get there?" It was silent on his end, and she wondered for a moment if he was still mad, or perhaps, if the time was indecent. What would she do if he told her to wait?

"I reserved you a room ages ago. It's ready when you are."

"I think I am. Now." She began moving through her apartment, pulling a duffel bag from her closet.

"Just hang tight. I'll be over to pick you up soon."

"I was prepared to help you pack. I should've known you'd be ready to go." Steve murmured as they stood in her silent apartment, for perhaps the last time until God knows when.

"It's…sort of a cocoon. Here, I can think and not be interrupted." He read her mind.

"That can be good and bad." She sighed lightly in agreement to his words. "Well, maybe it's time to get out of here for a while."

"I'm sorry for skipping out on lunch, by the way. It was a lovely place." Steve dug money out of his pocket and held it out to her, which she didn't touch.

"I took the sandwiches to go—yours went to Tony, and I don't think you'd want to pay for his." She took the money back with a frown, and Steve chuckled knowingly. "But yeah, something told me you would like it. I pass by it every day, and it was just a hunch."

"You'd never been there before?" Bellamy asked, and Steve shook his head.

"It was decent." She was silent and thoughtful, until Steve picked up her duffel bag. "Here, let me take that. Come on, I hope you don't mind a ride on a motorcycle." She was forced to move and lock the door behind them.

Outside, Steve handed her a helmet with a grin. "Approve?"

"Where's yours?" She teased as she put it on, but did feel gratitude warm her heart at the gesture. As she tightened her grip around Steve's sturdy frame, it almost felt like she left a piece of herself behind in her apartment. Like a dream as she rode down the streets of New York. It didn't quite feel right, but it didn't feel wrong, only different. And with Steve and his genuine sincerity it occurred to her that maybe she had found a real true definite friend in Steve. And she could embrace it.