A/N: Hi all,

A little bit from Bucky's point of view this time – considering it's been a while since we've seen his side of things.

Also, I promise I am planning to get to some more interesting plot points – maybe even throw a little conflict in there, but at the moment I'm really just working on building up a nice solid foundation, and I really don't want to rush it.

Besides, fluff never hurt anyone, right?

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Squinting in the dim light of the kitchen, Bucky put down his pen and reviewed his work.

Grace had gone to bed a few hours ago, whereas he – unknown to her – still hadn't worked up the courage to try for a full night's sleep since the 'incident' a few days ago.

Instead he had been napping on the couch by day, whilst filling time with thinking or reading by night; they weren't his favourite activities, but at such a late hour, the TV was off limits. After all, just because he wasn't sleeping didn't mean that Grace had to suffer too.

Looking down at the notebook on the table, he couldn't help the warmth that spread into his heart.

Grace had gotten it for him – for no other reason than to help him. Him. Not because she wanted to read all his secrets or because she thought it would make a good media headline. None of that. She just did it because… well, because she was Grace.

Other people might not understand what that meant, but it was coming a little clearer to him every day.

Here she was, this woman. This unbelievable woman who had taken him in from the cold (literally), and given him not only a place to stay, food to eat, and clean clothes, but also an introduction to the modern world.

And then, on top of that, despite knowing the things he'd done – the atrocities that he, himself, had committed, she refused to run from him. Not once had she indicated that she was afraid of him, or that the things he'd done in the past disgusted her.

Other people would have fled from him. Well, it was either that, or lock him up. Which, in all honestly, were probably two of the smartest things to do with him. Lord knows they were the more sensible.

But not according to Grace. She didn't see things like that. For whatever reason, she wanted to help him – and as much as he wanted to resist her efforts, there was a part of him that screamed out a little louder every day to just give in and let her.

He had a feeling that was why he had already filled 5 pages of the notebook. So far, it only contained his "memories" – the time when he'd mentioned his lack of love for books and the dream. Of course, he had included his personal musings on the topics as well. Something he had found he actually liked.

It was as though writing down all the different feelings he was having towards those moments helped him get them straight in his own mind. Not to mention the freedom of getting to voice – or rather, write – his own opinions on the matter.

For so long now, so, so long, his world had been black and white. HYDRA had never asked him how he felt about his missions or whether he was okay; Hell, even asking him about the weather would've been too much of a stretch. No, there had only been targets and weapons with which he was supposed to take them out. Black and White.

But now, getting to express himself like this – even though it was only paper and no one would ever see it. It was like a whole new world that he revelled in. It was like he was splashing colour all over his life – like the ugliest, most colourful finger painting you've ever seen.

And there was something else Grace had been right about as well. When he wrote these things down, it was as though they were being cemented in his mind. Like he would never forget them again, no matter how many times he was wiped.

Of course, that probably wasn't true and he certainly wasn't going to try and test it out, but still, the strength it gave him was invaluable.

Flicking through the now-filled pages of the book, he suddenly felt invigorated to continue. But what to write about? …He hadn't "remembered" anything that wasn't already written down.

Thinking for several moments, a slow smile spread over his face as inspiration struck him.

Grace.

He would write about Grace and his time with her. The things she'd done for him, the way they liked to tease one another, the way her eyes lit up when she smiled. Everything.

Because if there was one thing he never wanted to forget…

It was her.

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Still using his towel to absorb the water from his wet hair, Bucky emerged from the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. He was in jeans today. Jeans and a grey hoodie. He'd found living in sweatpants and t-shirt to be entirely agreeable, but he also liked to cycle through the clothes that now stocked his wardrobe. Besides, he was planning on doing laundry today and all 3 pairs of his sweatpants were in desperate need of cleaning.

Padding barefoot down the hall, he noted Grace in the living room with her ear pressed to the phone. The first thought that crossed his mind was that it was her mother calling again. He'd been living with Grace for nearly two weeks now, and in that time her mother had certainly been the most frequent caller. So far, he'd counted 9 phone calls.

Grace had only answered 3 of them though.

Granted she hadn't been home for 2 of them, but the other 4 she had just blatantly ignored – often with a huff or an exaggerated eye roll.

Listening briefly to her conversation now, he quickly came to the conclusion that it was not Victoria Richards on the other end of the line. He'd started to recognise the special tone Grace would adopt when talking to her mother on the phone – this wasn't it.

Dismissing the mystery caller, he continued on to the kitchen, putting two pieces of bread in the toaster before pushing down the button.

It was as he was spreading jam over said toast that he heard the phone return to its cradle, and the sound of heeled footsteps approaching.

Taking a bite out of one piece, he turned in her general direction. As was usual on weekday mornings, Grace was dressed for work. Today she wore a dark green blouse tucked into a white pencil skirt, with white heels to match. And as usual, her hair had been styled into a neat updo.

It was rare that he saw her with her hair down, he realised. Not that it mattered – she looked good either way.

She smiled as she approached him; he frowned. Something was up.

Despite the smile, he could see she was nervous – almost worried, even.

"Soooo" She drew out the world until it disappeared into the space between them.

Saying nothing, he merely took another bite out of his toast, waiting for her to continue.

After a few seconds of silence, she threw out an awkwardly, high-pitched "sleep well?"

"Well enough," he shrugged. So, it wasn't exactly the truth – but it wasn't exactly a lie either. He would sleep well enough. Just... On the couch. Later. When she was gone.

"So…" she trailed off once more.

"You said that already." He countered, mouth still full of toast.

"Yeah, I know." She said before letting out a huge sigh and taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"Something wrong?" he asked, as he perched himself on the kitchen bench across from her.

"Um… well, I wouldn't say 'wrong' as such, but I don't think you're going to like it…"

"Why?" Instantly he was on high alert. Were they coming for him? Had she told someone he was staying with her?

...No, she wouldn't do that. But, if not that, then what? Was she kicking him out?

"Okay. So, we have this next door neighbour: Rachael."

"We?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"I… I mean, 'I'. Well, no. It's sort of 'we', don't you think?"

"I don't know" he shrugged, suddenly feeling very out of his depth. "Are we a 'we'?

"I don't know" she sputtered slightly. "I haven't really thought about it. I mean, do you want to be a 'we'?"

He had no answer for that - it wasn't necessarily that he didn't want to be a 'we', more just that he had no idea what that would entail.

"I don't know." He said again. "How about we just get back to the point? You were talking about Rachael…"

"Right. Rachael. Um… so, she lives next door in number 39, and she's really nice! She also has a son. His name is Aaron, he's 10 months old, and you know, he's a baby – so he's great too…"

She was rambling. A lot. And he could not for life of him figure out why…

"Anyway," she continued. "Every now and then, Rachael has to work a night shift and so, every now and then, I kind of… take care of her baby." She finished all at once.

He said nothing for several seconds, still waiting for her to get to the point; however, after seeing the expectant look on her face it became apparent that she thought it was his turn to talk.

"I don't get it."

Sighing, she clarified – the nervousness on her face becoming more pronounced than ever. "Rachael has to work tonight. So, she asked me if I could babysit… I said 'yes'."

"I still don't get it. Is there a question in there somewhere?"

"Well, I guess the question would be: is it going to bother you if I babysit a 10 month-old child here tonight?"

"Why would it bother me?" A tone of genuine confusion entering his voice, "I mean, you're going to be here right? Cause it might break if you leave me with it by itself."

She laughed at that. "Why would he break?" she emphasised the pronoun.

He shrugged again. "I wouldn't know the first thing to do with a baby. He could be crying in pain for hours and I'd just think he was hungry."

She shook her head slightly, suddenly seeming a lot calmer. "I doubt that. But no, you won't have to be alone with him. I'll be here the whole time. I just… I don't know. I wasn't sure how you'd feel about being stuck with a baby all night."

"I think if I can survive a POW camp, I can survive a baby." The words were out of his mouth before they had even registered in his mind.

Quickly, he glanced over at Grace, only to see her smile transform into a full-fledged grin.

"Memory or generalisation?" she asked, a tinge of hope in her voice.

"I don't know yet. I'll let you know." He replied, sending her a small smile as he did.

For a few moments, they stayed like that. Staring across at one another, smiling. To anyone looking in, they probably would have looked like idiots.

She was the one to move first.

"Okay. Well, it's settled then. I'll pick up some Aaron-supplies after work and then I'll see you this afternoon."

Getting up from the table, she gathered her things and made for the door.

"Have a good day" he called, as she opened the door.

He just caught the "you too!" as it swung closed behind her.