Hello! Thank you to everyone who is following and favoriting this story. xo

I have good news and bad news. Bad news: at 1522 words, this chapter is pretty short. It was originally much longer, but then I realized that the first half was written from Bucky's perspective and the second half from Ilona's, and head-jumping is a literary no-no, so I cut it at Bucky's POV. Good news: As a result, a lot of chapter 4 is already written.

Summary: As the chapter title hints, Ilona takes Bucky to a safe house...

Enjoy! :)

(See end of chapter for notes)

Chapter 3: Safe House

I don't know who I am. Am I even human? Every night I sell my soul. -"I'm a Mess" The Rasmus

They watched each other, assessing, Ilona's posture tense, while Bucky's relaxed slightly. The ginger woman standing before him, with one hand supporting herself against the wall, was of average height, but his trained eye noticed the corded muscles beneath her clothes. Although she'd put up a good fight-as good a fight as anyone had-, the Winter Soldier had easily bested her.

He glanced at the ugly, hand-shaped bruise on her neck again.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, meeting her gaze for a split-second, before he stared at the door he'd ripped from its hinges. Yet more evidence of the destruction that the Winter Soldier-that he-had caused.

The sound of sirens in the distance seemed to alert her to the precariousness of their situation. Ilona gathered up the guns and spent bullet casings, then nodded in the direction of the street.

"Not here," she said, in accented English. "Safe house."

She began walking towards one of the cars parked along the sidewalk, but Bucky didn't immediately follow her. With furrowed brows, he continued to observe her. She clearly knew who he was, had obviously been sent by someone to stop him from assassinating Imre Pozsgay, yet, instead of killing him (not that she could), she intended to take him with her. Either she was very stupid, which he didn't believe, or she was certain he would no longer hurt her.

Bucky snorted. Well, at least one of them had confidence in him.

When she looked back at him over her shoulder, he finally jogged to catch up with her. She led him to an FSO Polonez and tossed the guns and bullet casings in the back. All the while, she remained cognizant of her surroundings, her attention flitting from the houses to the cars on Rippl-Rónai Street. He knew why.

"You're breaking protocol."

Ilona slid into the driver's seat, sparing Bucky a glance before starting the car. She pulled away from the curb and turned right onto Andrássy Avenue.

"Why?"

"Because I can't kill you," she replied, "but I also can't let the Soviets have you."

"They'll just send another like me to finish the job," he pointed out flatly.

She turned left onto Bajcsy-Zsilinszky Street, then right onto a road that would take them across the white Elizabeth Bridge.

"Maybe not," she said. "I have a plan."

Bucky flexed his metal arm and watched as the plates shifted. It felt strange-wrong-, because he was accustomed to the arm only as the Winter Soldier, not as Bucky Barnes. His brows furrowed.

"Does that plan happen to include me?"

"I don't know yet," Ilona answered.

He had a feeling it did, but if there was one thing he'd learned, it was that he no longer had control over his life. He had long ago resigned himself to that fact. But if Ilona worked against the Soviets, and therefore against Hydra, Bucky supposed his life could be worse. He could be frozen in a cryochamber in Siberia, for example.

Instead he was himself again, after years as the Winter Soldier. There wasn't much that he remembered of himself or his past, but even his name was something. He studied Ilona's profile as she drove. It was because of her that he knew his name, that he had somehow stopped being the Winter Soldier and started being James Buchanan Barnes. She had touched his cheek and had spoken to him in Russian, then in English. Touch was important-organic touch, because he'd had his cybernetic hand around her neck, yet she had still reached out to touch him.

To test his theory, he placed his flesh hand over one of hers on the steering wheel. She looked at him sharply, almost glaring, and he quickly concocted an excuse for his seemingly random gesture.

"I've had my head between your thighs," said Bucky, with a half-smirk on his lips, "and I don't even know your name."

She hesitated for only an instant.

"Ilona."

"That's not your real name, is it?"

She shrugged. "Do I not look like an Ilona?"

"I don't know how an Ilona is supposed to look," he admitted. "I'm not exactly flush with memories right now."

"No, of course you aren't," she whispered, and if Bucky's hearing hadn't been enhanced by the serum, he wouldn't have heard her. A frown settled on her lips, and she was silent for so long that he opted to stare out the window instead.

They were driving up a hill in what Bucky could only describe as the suburbs, though he couldn't remember ever actually seeing a suburb before. Multiple-family homes stood on both sides of the street, and interspersed between the houses were snowy fields and small copses of leafless trees. It would have been pretty in any other season, but winter had sapped the life from everything. Just like he did.

He was so absorbed in replaying the heinous acts he'd committed, that he didn't notice the car had stopped, until he felt a light weight on his shoulder.

"Earth to Bucky," said Ilona, removing her hand when he looked at her. "You zoned out for a few minutes there."

"Yeah, sorry."

"You're fine," she assured him and led him towards a quaint, two-story house with blue shutters. Unlocking the door, Ilona waved him inside. "Shoes off, please."

Bucky arched a brow at her but complied, unlacing his heavy combat boots and toeing them off. He followed her further into the house, and while she moved about the kitchen, he examined his surroundings. There were no photographs anywhere, yet the living room felt far too homey and personal to be a safe house. Then again, he was accustomed to Hydra safe houses, which were basic at best. Ilona's employers obviously had resources if they could afford a new FSO Polonez, so maybe all their safe houses were like this one.

Her familiarity with its layout, however, suggested otherwise.

"This is your home, isn't it," he stated.

Ilona remained with her back to him, finishing the sandwiches she was making. When she moved to put the cold cuts back into the fridge, Bucky blocked her path.

"I'm a tad concerned about your sense," he said, his gaze flicking to her bruised throat. "You bring an assassin home who tried to suffocate you less than an hour ago? I mean, I think I've been called reckless before, but this is just plain stupid."

"You nearly succeeded in suffocating me, too," she muttered and deftly side-stepped him. "This isn't my home, but it is safe."

He crossed his arms over his chest, observing her with an amused expression.

"So, what, you broke into someone's house?"

"Did you see me pick a lock?" Without waiting for a response, she shoved a plate in his hand and took her own to the small table in the corner of the kitchen. "Look, I know what I'm doing, Bucky. Now sit and eat."

He sighed, still troubled by her apparent lack of self-preservational instinct, but obeyed and took a big bite of the sandwich. The flavor of the meat reminded him of something, but his frayed mind couldn't quite identify it. It was greasy and savory and just a little bit spicy. Something must have flashed across his face, because Ilona smiled at him.

"The cold cut is called paprikás szalámi," she informed him. "Do you like it?"

Taking another bite, he nodded.

Her smile widened. "It's my favorite."

And just like that-away from Hydra and with tasty food in his belly-, Bucky felt better than he could ever remember.

#

Early the next morning, Bucky encountered Ilona coming down the stairs, her stockinged feet making only the slightest noise on the wooden steps. She startled when she saw him sitting on the sofa in the living room.

"Couldn't sleep," he explained.

"Was the bed too hard?" she asked him. "Hungarian beds can be on the hard side."

He shook his head, his shoulder-length hair swishing in his face.

"Bed was fine. Mind wasn't."

Her expression turned sympathetic, and she walked over to him, placing her hand on his flesh-and-bone arm.

"I may be able to help with that," she said, "but it'll have to wait until I get back. I broke major protocol yesterday."

He studied her face, his experience as the Winter Soldier prompting him to search for an ulterior motive to her behavior.

"Why are you so intent on helping me?"

Ilona met his gaze, her green eyes burning with such conviction that Bucky had to fight the urge to look away.

"Because I despise the Soviets," she replied venomously. "They take something beautiful, like my country, and destroy it." They stared at each other for a couple more seconds, before she sighed and slung her purse over her shoulder. "I'll be back later. Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge."

Once he heard the car's ignition rumble to life, Bucky leaned back against the couch cushions and closed his eyes. His future was unknown, but, in that moment, all he cared about was the past he couldn't remember.

If anyone's curious, Ilona's height is 5'6'' (168 cm).

1. FSO Polonez is a Polish car built during the communist era (early 1980s). It was considered one of the better communist cars, so generally only wealthy or high-status people/organizations owned them.

2. Paprikás szalámi is a Hungarian pork salami that literally means "paprika salami". It's even red from the paprika.