And here is part 3 (for real this time) (I am very sorry for the confuddlement of merging parts 1 and 2).
There is a story that is retold in this chapter that is in no way mine, and is actually a traditional Alaskan tale called 'A Whale's Soul and Its Burning Heart'
Hope you enjoy :)
oOoOoOo
Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt." – The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams
oOoOoOo
[-]
Asset did not know many things these days. But he did know that his dreams chilled him to the bone. He was not ready to comply.
His hands shook as he thought it, but he clenched his fists and locked his jaw and glared at the tree in front of him as though it was Pierce himself.
I will not comply.
His chest- his heart (Chips had one too, and he had spent all night listening to its rhythm pressed against his ear) thumped and swooped. In fear or anticipation, he wasn't sure.
He punched the tree with his flesh hand, sending bark splintering to the ground. The pain barely registered.
"I have a heart!" he muttered angrily, punching it again. "You lie. You lie."
Asset did not know.
He did not know.
He did not know what he was if he was not an asset.
But assets did not have hearts.
He punched the tree once more, just to make sure it understood his meaning.
He did not know.
[-]
He rewatched Snow White.
Again.
And again.
"Asset," Aiden sighed once, sitting down next to him on the couch. "You haven't moved all day."
Asset grunted. Pressed play again. Thought of skinny arms, warm breath, dopey smile, I'll draw like that one day, Buck.
He shut out everything else.
[-]
The dreams were becoming more vivid, colouring his rest with bright lights and explosions and blue eyes and brown curls. The voice chattered in his ear all day, all night, it wouldn't shut up.
James Buchanan Barnes. James Buchanan Barnes.
A few days ago, Asset would have thought he was finally reaching it. His full system shutdown.
But now.
Now he was not so sure.
[-]
It was when he had waited up for Eliza hours past the time she normally came home that he noticed she had started to smile at him in a way that erred more on the side of strained than free.
His stomach twisted. He did not want to go back to being talked at, not to. He did not want to go back, he did not want to go back.
He did not know what he had done wrong.
[-]
"I'm still just Asset," he told her, heart in his throat.
Eliza blinked out of her daze, looking up at where he stood in the entrance to the kitchen. She wouldn't quite meet his eyes. "I know." She smiled.
It almost convinced him.
[-]
He sought out Chips' advice.
"I don't know what I've done. Should I leave?" He ignored the panic that thought send spiralling through his gut.
Chips tilted her head. And go where, dumbass?
Asset hummed. "You're right. I don't know where I'd go. Back to base?"
Chips hissed.
Asset seconded the sentiment.
He sighed. Everything had been fine until Eliza and Aiden had come up with the theory that he was James. It was a theory that, he had to admit, made a lot of sense. And that scared him, because what did that mean for who he had been for all these years? Nothing to say of how he could recall exactly none of them.
Seventy years.
Seventy years of empty cold. And he couldn't fill in the blanks.
Why had HYDRA lied to him?
Who was James Buchanan Barnes?
And who was Asset?
Asset frowned, wondering if knowing he was existing in the wrong century was what was making Eliza cagey. He thought he might be a little jumpy too, if he found out he was living with an amnesiac antique.
Chips meeped and bumped her nose against a rifle lying on the floor.
"You don't think… You don't think she found the weapons, do you?" He knew that would be at the top of the list of things Eliza did not tolerate in her home.
Chips rolled onto her back, exposing her belly. He stroked it gently.
He didn't know what would be worse; Eliza realising she had been harbouring HYDRA's greatest weapon, or her being afraid of James, of him, without even seeing the weapons.
Hot stinging pricked behind his eyes, and he blinked it away stubbornly.
Chips turned her head to bite his hand. Just talk to her.
Asset glared at her, unimpressed. "You would think it was that easy, wouldn't you?"
[-]
"Who is James Buchanan Barnes?" He meant the words to come out precise and even, but they fell into the living room in a rush, vowels tumbling over each other.
Aiden paused the movie he was watching- something with children holding sticks and throwing lightning bolts at each other.
Aiden furrowed his brow like he thought Asset had jumped off the deep end. "You know. Captain America's friend? Looks like you? Is in the museum? We think he might be…" you.
Asset shook his head, impatient. "No, no. I know who he is. But… who is he? Is he me?"
Aiden blinked a couple of times, drawing in a deep breath. He patted the spot next to him on the couch, and Asset obediently went to sit. He pulled one of the soft throws from the back and wrapped it around himself, soft fabric brushing his ears.
"Do you want to be him?" Aiden asked him gently.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know who he is."
Aiden nodded. "That's okay. You don't have to be him if you don't want to. You can just be you."
"Who is me?"
Aiden chuckled. "It's just… you. Asset. Or… whatever name you want to go by. James?"
Asset shook his head. James didn't sound right. "Is me a person? Like Bucky was?"
"Of course you're a person, Asset."
Asset clutched his hands tighter in the weave of the blanket. "They told me I was not."
Aiden ran a hand over his face, closed his eyes. "I really hate that they did that to you. Who even are they?"
Asset shrugged. "My handlers."
"Like that clears anything up," Aiden muttered under his breath. "Look. I don't know what they told you, or what kind of messed up brainwashing gig they had going on, but I know that you are a person."
Asset frowned. "What is being a person like?"
Aiden looked like he was trying very hard not to let his smile drop, but he cleared his throat, slapping his hands against his knees. "I… I don't know. It's different for everyone, I guess. But for me, it's... Um. Feeling things? Wanting connection with people? Wanting to know that what I'm doing means something to someone, or to society, or… heck, if I know."
Asset nodded to show he was listening. He thought he felt things. The odd swooping in his stomach and the tightness in his throat and fear.
He felt fear.
But he did not have any people before Eliza and Aiden. And now that he had people, he thought he was not very good at making them happy. At having what Aiden called connection. Connection made him think of Eliza and Aiden, how they sometimes looked at each other and it was like they read each other's minds. It made him think of Miles and Katherine, and a concerned hand patching up a busted eye. It made him think of the bright smiles of Steve Rogers before his serum-induced growth spurt, the way he looked at Bucky and grabbed his hand, dragging him down the streets of Brooklyn.
Bucky had been a person. And the memory of that was within the voice, he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind.
But he did not think he felt much like a person right now at all. He felt like what HYDRA said. A weapon. And asset. What was he, if not that?
"Is one always a person? Or can it get lost?"
Aiden tilted his head, thinking. "People are always people. But… I guess it can get lost a little, sometimes. But I believe you can always choose to bring it back."
Asset blinked in surprise. He had not considered that. "You can choose to be a person?"
Aiden shrugged. "I guess that's one way of putting it."
He nodded firmly and unwound the blanket from his shoulders.
An idea was forming in his mind: mission parameters; battle plan.
But first-
"Is Eliza scared of James?" he asked quietly. Is Eliza scared of me?
Aiden's eyes widened, caught. "No, Asset. She's not. She's just..." He breathed out, long and heavy. "She's not afraid of James, who he was, or who you are now. She's just trying to piece some things together. She's a little paranoid."
"It is good to be paranoid." Less things could take you by surprise that way.
"Not when there's nothing to be paranoid about. I'll talk to her, okay?"
Asset nodded again. "Thank you. I miss her."
Aiden smiled sadly. "She misses you, too."
He did not know why Eliza would not just tell him what was wrong if she missed him so much, but he let it go.
He had a new mission. Something that would bring back Eliza's smile.
He was sure of it.
He just had to find Chips first.
[-]
To be a person, one needed intel on how to person effectively.
Luckily for him, Eliza and Aiden lived in a city.
And cities were full of people.
"Alright, Chips," he murmured down to where she was tucked safely under his vest. "Day one mission brief: suitable vantage positions."
He slid down a narrow lane between two buildings and scaled the wall. He had to awkwardly adjust his movements to accommodate not dropping Chips to her demise, but the wall was brick, and footholds were plenty.
He found himself a perch on the roof behind the shelter of a large air vent that gave him a good view of the street below. He checked every angle for security cameras or higher vantage points that could look down at him and smiled to himself in satisfaction when he found everything clear.
"Good."
Chips let out a loud snore. She had fallen asleep, floppy, and warm against his chest.
[-]
On day two, he set up six more nests around the city, each offering him a view of different streets with different people.
There was one in the business district, and another at a popular eating destination. Another across the road from a park, one at a street lined with shops, and another two at the museum and a high school.
The wider his range of intel, the more accurate his data would be.
Every day, as soon as Eliza had shoved her breakfast into her mouth and rushed out the door, late for work, and Aiden had ambled over to the table to sketch or disappeared to his own job (Asset still had no idea what he did during the day. He thought maybe he should ask. That would be a connection thing to do), Asset would loop Chips to her leash and slip down the street.
He took the same route each time, first checking the security of each nest, before sitting up in a different one for two consecutive days at a time. This way, he was able to track regulars- people who frequented certain places multiple days in a row. These people had relationships with other regulars, and with traders or workers. They had routines, and they were comfortable in their environment.
All these things made them useful subjects for humans-in-their-natural-habitat observation.
Asset peered through his binoculars, eyes trailing a lady in a large straw hat and a blue dress. She walked with sure strides, fast and clipped, as though on a mission that didn't require stealth. Her chin was tilted slightly up, and her eyes scanned the people around her with a dismissive, yet polite air.
Asset called her Hat Lady, and she was a frequent visitor at the coffee shop with the barista with the nice smile.
Hat Lady, he noticed, always struck up conversation with the barista, no matter how busy he seemed to be when she walked in. They would talk back and forth for a few minutes, him grinning and her face losing some of its stilted air, and then she would sit in the window and read a book until her coffee order was called out.
The barista always stared after her as she walked out the door, and his attention would only be drawn away when another customer came to order.
Today, the whole routine went off without variation, and Asset watched Hat Lady closely as she gave a little skip in her step when she moved out of sight of the shop window. She smiled, bright and dazzling, but quick, as though it were a secret thing. Her face was back to impassive and put-together in the next moment.
But no matter how hard she tried, Asset still thought he could catch the twitch of happiness in the corner of her mouth.
People had expressions that were very easy to read.
Practice expressions, he wrote down in his notebook in careful, precise handwriting.
[-]
Asset thought that the high school had the most intriguing interactions.
The social hierarchy was clearly a delicate balance, and the students interacted with each other in a highly complex dance that required switching personalities depending on the current conversation partner.
Not to mention how behaviour was expected to change in the presence of a teacher.
Asset thought being a person looked complicated.
One student in particular was a master at the disguise. So good, that he may have thought her one of the Widow girls, if his observations had given him any indication that she was not at school all day, every day.
She smiled at teachers and people in the yard, though not as dismissive or polite as Hat Lady did. Her smile was wide and full, but it missed her eyes. He thought it looked like the posters of Steve in the museum. Cold and regal and forced.
Then there was a smaller smile that branched from her cheeks and scrunched her nose and softened her eyes. This one came out when she linked arms with another student- presumably a friend. The friend had a routine of chattering in the girl's ear until she rolled her eyes and laughed and half-heartedly told her to shut up.
Asset called her Friend Girl.
The voice whispered that the interactions of Friend Girl and her friend were familiar.
Less complicated.
Don't do anything stupid, Steve.
How can I, Buck? You're taking all the stupid with you.
[-]
He watched his face pull into an ugly grimace in the mirror.
That wasn't quite right.
He tried tilting the edges of his lips up further, raised his eyebrows more.
Chips glanced at him and hissed, her pupils blown wide and her tail frizzed up.
Asset blanked his face. "Sorry," he mumbled.
He circled practice expressions three more times in his notebook.
[-]
Another person of notable interest was Old Man.
Not him, old man. But Old Man With The Newspaper, Old Man.
He operated in the street with big buildings and multi-million-dollar businesses and lawyers.
He looked far too old to work, but he sat outside the hotdog stand and read the newspaper and talked with anyone who sat nearby him.
Asset could not make out what he said- his beard was too bushy to read his lips- but he spoke with his hands as much as with his face, and shook the people's hands when they said goodbye. The people left with small smiles on their faces and often looked up, up, up, through the tall buildings and into the sky- blue or grey or white or foggy.
Asset surveyed this spot for an extra two days. The Old Man showed up at 0700 hours, on the dot, and hung around until 1600 hours, leaving just before the rush of people heading home flooded the streets. And try as he might to keep track of all the individuals that Old Man talked to, he could not find a pattern.
They were all dressed very expensively, and they were all getting coffee from the hotdog stand, sitting nearby for long enough for Old Man to strike up a conversation. But that was the only link that he could find. There were old people, young people, nervous looking people, and excited people. People who dragged their feet and had bags under their eyes, and people who looked so pristine that they could be plastic. People who smiled, and people who looked like their hearts were twisting, just like his had been doing whenever Eliza looked away too fast and didn't hug him as tightly as she used to.
Old Man talked to them all. He didn't seem to have much else to occupy his time.
Asset wondered where all his words came from.
Did he ever run out?
[-]
Chips didn't immediately turn into demon-spawn when she saw his face, so he thought he must be doing better this time.
The smile looked… almost real. Not as real as when he was happy, but he hadn't quite mastered the art of doing expressions on demand that weren't blank stare just quite yet.
"Hello, it's nice to meet you," he told the mirror, dialling up the grin and holding out his right hand.
Chips hissed and attacked his ankle.
Asset sighed. Dammit.
[-]
There was a young man who did not smile.
He worked at the museum, stared dully out the window next to his desk all day.
It looked like his eyes tilted down at the same angle as his mouth. It made Asset feel-
He wasn't sure what it made him feel.
Haunted? Heavy?
Asset tried the expression in the mirror when he got home that night.
It came easily.
[-]
"Asset?"
Eliza's voice was quiet, and if he didn't know that he'd upset her somehow, he would've thought maybe it was concerned, too.
"Hey, Eliza," he mumbled, not looking up from the sudoku he had in his lap. He did not want to see how he made her unhappy. But he also wanted to know what he had done wrong.
He heard her take a breath.
"-I'm sorr-"
"-I'm trying to be-"
Asset broke off. Made eye contact for the first time. Eliza's mouth was still open.
"No, you go first," she waved at him, her smile watery.
Asset swallowed. Nodded. Hoped she would be proud of him. "I'm trying to be a person."
Eliza exhaled softly. She looked around the room, back to him, down to his puzzle book, then slowly, back to his eyes. "Oh, hun. You're already as much a person as anyone else."
Asset furrowed his eyebrows. "I think you're wrong. I think… I think I don't know how, yet. But I'm trying to learn." I thought you might be proud.
He swallowed, blinking back the stinging in his eyes.
Eliza caught her wobbling lip in her teeth. "I'm so sorry, Asset. I've been the worst. The worst friend in the world."
He looked back to his sudoku, suddenly unable to look her in the eye. "What did I do wrong?" he whispered.
"You did absolutely nothing wrong," her voice was full of conviction. "I'm the stupid one. The only one who should be sorry. I just… I got scared."
Asset's heart thudded painfully. Of you. She's scared of you. "What were you scared of?"
She rounded the couch to sit next to him, her fingers toying at her sleeves. "I got scared of secrets that have been following my family for decades. Secrets I don't know, but…" she shrugged. "Sometimes pieces fall into place, and I don't know what to do with the information."
Something dark was gnawing at Asset's insides, rattling his bones. "Do you know something about me?" You are the Fist of HYDRA. You have shaped the century.
Eliza shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I'm sorry. My imagination is just-" she blinked up at the ceiling, "-a little haywire."
Asset nearly opened his mouth, nearly let it tumble out. I'm dangerous. Please be scared. Please stay safe. Make me leave. But Eliza was looking at him with wide eyes, wet and vulnerable and sorry, and Asset felt like he didn't want to leave, even if he should.
"So is mine," he smiled, small and sad.
Eliza laughed wetly. "Yeah, voices in your head. I think you win, old man."
Asset leaned over to nudge her in the side gently. She grabbed his hand, the metal glinting between her fingers.
"And by the way? I'm proud of you."
Asset blinked, wondering how she knew he needed to hear that.
He thought their smiles might look like Friend Girl and friend's.
[-]
"Today, we move to the ground," he briefed Chips. "You stay quiet, you stay hidden. You do not meow and draw attention, copy?"
Chips blinked her eye and rolled over onto her back, stretching her little toes as far as she could.
Asset narrowed his eyes.
Yeah, she copied.
[-]
Ground missions required finesse, they required stealth, they required your cat to stop sneezing under your jumper.
Asset smoothly slunk into the entrance to a bookshop just as the Hat Lady spun on her heel, looking for the source of the sound behind her.
Chips' eye looked blearily up at him when he stuck his nose down the neck of his shirt to check on her.
"You good?" he asked.
"Mrow." She looked distinctly disgruntled.
He looked back up and gave a stilted wave to the man standing behind the counter who was watching him oddly, then stuck his head back out the entrance, spotting Hat Lady a good hundred metres down the sidewalk.
He sighed.
"Were you looking for a book, sir?" the man asked in a loud voice.
Asset cringed and turned back around to face him. This human was as good as any to observe, he supposed.
"Yes," he tried to sound confident and sure. "Indeed I am."
He tried a smile. The man just looked uneasy.
He dropped it. More practice required.
"I'll just…" he waved his flesh hand vaguely around the store. "Browse."
The man nodded. "Of course, sir. Yes, go ahead, sir."
Asset really wished he would stop calling him sir. It made him think of his handlers.
It made him think of Alexander Pierce.
But he shrugged it off as best he could and slipped between the shelves. The voice thought he quite liked reading, and he wanted to find out if it was right.
He ran his flesh fingers over the spines, waiting for some spark of recognition or interest, but all he felt was the overwhelming urge to take out every single book and read the very last page.
He resisted vehemently.
He hoped that that was not a James Buchanan Barnes thing, but he was worried that the person he used to be might have been borderline troubled.
As he browsed, moving further and further through the store, he kept one eye on the man at the counter, subtly shifting his face to copy his as he clacked something clumsily into his computer.
Concentration face.
Bored face.
Ah! Found it! face.
He was getting better, he thought.
[-]
The man at the counter raised his eyebrow when Asset dumped a pile of brightly coloured children's fiction in front of him.
"Are you a teacher?" he asked, scanning them through.
Asset looked at the pile. He had just picked them because they were colourful and bright and had pictures that reminded him of Steve and Aiden and Snow White. "Yes," he said slowly.
"You've got more patience than I ever could," the man said, smiling a little at him for the first time.
Asset tried to imagine he was happy on the inside. Brownies, lemon cookies, baths.
"I highly doubt that." Up the charm, Asset.
His smile must have worked that time because the man barely blinked as he handed over the books and a receipt and told him to have a nice day. He felt something bright buzz under his skin that felt a lot like anxiety but left him feeling breathless and light, instead.
"Success," he whispered down his shirt.
[-]
The story about the girl falling down the rabbit hole made him laugh.
"And what is the use of a book, thought Alice, without pictures or conversations?"
Asset looked out the window of the shed at the budding spring.
Conversations.
He knew of someone who could do that.
[-]
The man had not noticed him yet, as per Asset's design.
He slowly circled closer to the bench, taking note of the middle-aged woman currently sitting in the seat, talking back and forth with Old Man.
The woman laughed at something he said, then picked up her handbag, looping it over her chest whilst checking her phone. She held her hand out to Old Man to shake, then she walked away, whistling and looking up.
Asset made his move.
He pulled Chips out from his jumper and placed her gently on the ground, making sure her leash was secure. People liked animals, he thought. It would make him appear more approachable.
He quickly ordered a hotdog and armed with the leash in one hand and the dropping mess of food in the other, he ambled towards the bench and sat down a metre from Old Man. He did not acknowledge him other than to give him a short nod, and he took a bite of his hotdog to try and appear inconspicuous.
He barely stopped himself from gagging, recovering with a slight clearing of his throat.
That's worse than Steve's attempt at one pot stew-
"Don't eat it if you don't like it," Old Man said, not even glancing over at him.
Asset looked over at him, trying to hide his shock. Was Old Man a spy? HYDRA? Or something worse? How could he have seen that? Asset was a professional.
"Oh, I know. You're good, kid."
Asset blinked. He bent down to scoop up Chips, his guard snapping into place.
"You don't have to leave." The man's voice was calm, friendly. Asset's guard didn't lessen any.
"Who are you?" he asked, voice considerably colder than the man's.
Old Man shrugged. "Whoever you need me to be right now. But please, call me Trav."
Chips squirmed to get out of his arms, and he let her go, watching apprehensively as she approached Trav and nudged her nose against his hand.
Asset glared at her, betrayed.
"Nice cat," Trav commented softly, his smile still calm and strangely knowing. "A nice cat for a nice person."
Asset huffed. He couldn't help it. "That's the first thing you've gotten wrong."
Trav raised a singular eyebrow, scratching Chips under the chin. "Have I?"
Asset narrowed his eyes, looking closer at Trav's face. "Who are you, really?"
He just smiled, warm blue eyes locking with Asset's own. "Just an old man."
Asset didn't quite believe him, but he didn't know who else he could possibly be. He checked in with his internal gauge of danger and found no alarms beyond the initial shock and panic. The air around them felt quiet, warm and tinged with the sweet scent of honey. Asset slowly leaned back into the bench, curiosity peaking.
"And what is your name, owner of this magnificent cat?"
Chips preened and purred in delight.
Suck up.
"I don't know," he said, even as Asset tried to push past his lips. He breathed in. "I don't know what I am." His hand itched to scratch at the back of his head, a nervous twitch that he had never once acted upon. He did now. "The cat is Chips," he thought he should add.
"Hello, Chips," Trav told her, smoothing a finger over her head. "Hello to you, too. It's lovely to meet you."
Asset shifted, trying to remember what came next, what he had practiced. "Lovely to meet you, too," he parroted.
"What brings you to this corner of the city today? I suspect you are not here on business." Trav looked pointedly at his casual attire.
"I am here on business, of sorts," Asset said. He didn't explain any further.
Trav nodded, as though his answer was as he suspected, and leaned all the way back on the bench, his hands resting on his belly. "Answers then," he nodded to himself. "You look for answers."
Asset was starting to wonder if he had been hypnotised and was just saying every thought out loud for Trav to hear. Last he checked; he was not broadcasting his brain externally in any way. "I do," he said slowly.
"Don't we all," Trav sighed. "People always need answers. But instead, I'm afraid I can only give you questions. Before, when I asked your name, you said you did not know what you are. A terrible pull that question has, doesn't it? It's enough to make anyone question everything they know about reality. What do you think you are?"
Asset was quiet. What did he think he was? He thought he was an assassin, dangerous and lethal, the best at his job. Not human, because they told him he wasn't, but also human, because they lied and he had a heart. He thought he might be disobedient (his palm sweated at the thought), and that he liked lemon cookies, and that he liked Steve's smile. He had quiet and muddled memories of being a human, and even more locked-away memories of being a weapon.
"I want to be a person," he admitted.
"Why do you imagine you are not one already?"
Asset shrugged. Aiden had asked him much the same thing. "I don't feel like one."
Trav laughed, warm and bright and with no menace or tease. "What do you think it should feel like?"
Asset furrowed his eyebrows, thinking. "Aiden says it feels like connection. And meaning. I am not good at connection. And I do not have a meaning." Shape the century. "A meaning that I like," he corrected.
"Are you not good at connection because you are not a person, or because it has been starved from you?"
Asset did not know the answer to that.
Trav smiled gently. "I'll tell you a secret, man with no name. Every person finds it difficult to know what being a person means. In fact, becoming a person is the only journey we all have in common, and everyone is on it, always."
"I thought you said you only asked questions."
"That one was for free," Trav grinned, a golden tooth catching the sunlight. He turned his attention back to Chips as she tried to climb onto his belly. "Animals know they are loved; they do not question it. That is a skill unique and burdensome upon humans, it seems. I ask you, are you loved?"
Asset felt his heart sink like a stone. Who could love a person who wasn't even a person? One who was more monster than man? He shook his head slowly, swallowing.
Trav looked up towards the branches that stretched lazily across the street, dappled sunlight dancing on his face. "Maybe you should ask that question again."
Asset was not sure he knew what Trav meant, but Trav said nothing more, just looked up and gently lifted Chips from his chest and set her back onto the bench beside them. Chips instantly snuggled into Asset's side, seeking warmth.
He decided that he, too, should look up, as though answers were written across the clouds. After all, it seemed the thing to do after visiting this particular park bench. He tilted his head back. All he saw was branches and the top stories of the surrounding buildings.
He closed his eyes and tried to breath at the same rate as Trav, steady and sure.
He opened them again.
This time it was the vibrant blue that lay beyond the branches that caught his attention, sneaking through the cracks as though to say I am still here, do not forget. The green leaves were bathed in gold, and the busy sound of the city felt muted and far away. Chips purred against his side. His chest felt full.
His heart felt full. Like the thick syrup that Eliza poured over her pancakes.
He breathed. Deeper than he thought he had in weeks.
"There is a story," Travis spoke quietly, his voice somehow blending into the muted gold around them, "about a whale and a crow. A nasty crow was accidentally swallowed by the whale, but instead of a stomach, he found a home, with a girl and a lamp. And the girl told the raven, 'don't touch the lamp's candle,' but the raven was a curious sort."
Asset turned his head slightly to look at Trav, but he was still looking serenely towards the sky. He followed suit, confused but following the story.
The voice had been right. He did enjoy stories.
"One day, when the girl left the room to breathe with the whale when it surfaced, the raven touched the lantern's candle, and whoosh. Out it went. The house and the warmth were gone, and the raven was only left with the smell of whale blood and carcass. He tried to escape the whale's belly, flying in circles and circles until finally he broke straight through the skin."
"Gruesome," Asset muttered.
Trav laughed. "Indeed. See, the girl was the whale's soul, and the lantern was its heart, burning bright and steady. The girl left to breathe every time the whale did. The heart was snuffed out when the raven touched the candle, and the raven became trapped in darkness. The whale died."
Trav was quiet, lost in an image the words created. As though he could see the story painted across the building tops. Asset just saw sky.
"Is that the end of the story?" He thought it sounded much like the nonsense stories that he had found in Alice in Wonderland.
"The carcass drifted towards land, towards a village of people, and the raven transformed into an ugly, crooked man. The raven did not tell them 'I have meddled with a beauty I couldn't understand and destroyed it.' Instead, he boasted 'I killed the whale!' and he became a large man among the men."
Asset felt vaguely sick. That wasn't fair.
You sound like Stevie, dumbass.
Then another thought that made him pause. Made him feel sick in a different way. He did not know who Trav thought he was- the whale, or the crow.
"It is not up to me to decide that," Trav smiled. There he goes again, goddamn magic men.
"Who is it up to, then?" he thought of HYDRA, snuffing out his heart until there was none. Heartless. Then he thought of the crow, destroying beautiful things.
Trav shrugged, not answering. "The crow is a warning, of how people can be. How we can know the truth and still twist it to suit ourselves. There's a bit of that in all of us, I think. So rather than ask which character you are, perhaps you should instead ask: how do we stop destroying things that we do not understand?"
Asset let his gaze fall from the sky. "I have destroyed many things."
"I know," Trav did not sound alarmed. "And yet there is a beautiful thing inside of you that they tried to destroy, and couldn't."
Asset jerked his head towards Trav. For a second his heart pounded and he thought his senses must've lead him straight into a trap. He knew. HYDRA HYDRA HYDRA.
"One of them, I am not," Trav's eyes were sad. "One of them, you also, are not."
Asset blinked. He had no words that wanted to spill out, no response to the gentle confidence in the statement.
Trav held out his hand to shake, "Thank you for sitting with me today," he said. "I am grateful."
Asset held his hand out slowly to grasp Trav's. "Thank you," he repeated.
He let go and stood up, forgotten hotdog still dangling from his hand, and mind still reeling. He had taken only five steps before he turned back around to find Trav already watching him, a knowing smile in his eyes.
"It's uh-" he cleared his throat awkwardly, suddenly feeling inexplicably shy. Like he wanted this man to approve of this step. This choice. "It's Bucky, by the way. My name."
Trav's smile widened and Bucky smiled a shaky one to mirror, relief flooding through him.
He walked away with his eyes on the sky, wondering what the girl in the whale thought about when she breathed.
[-]
The first book he read that night was about a perfect girl who got eaten by a crocodile.
"Gruesome," he muttered.
[-]
The one that followed made tears fall down his face, steady and unrelenting and he was powerless to stop them in a way that fascinated and terrified him in equal measures.
He thought it was surely impossible for so many feelings to exist inside one body at one time.
"O my sister, passing from me,
Out of human care and strife…"
[-]
"She dies," he explained emphatically to Chips the next morning.
Chips meeped commiseratively, curling up across his shoulders.
He melted into her warmth. Sniffled a little with the residual emotion still cramping his insides. Maybe he would find Eliza and drink a cup of tea.
"Thanks, Chips."
[-]
"He read Little Women," his enhanced ears picked up Aiden's whisper to Eliza as he moved past her to boil the jug.
"Oh, no, he didn't," she cried, hastily pulling three mugs from the drawer and taking the honey out for good measure.
Bucky wrapped himself and Chips up tighter in his blanket and clambered onto a kitchen stool, watching them quietly and missing Bekka something wild and fierce in his chest that felt like a smile and an ache and everything between.
[-]
The next day, as he checked on his post above the high school, he spotted Miles, head down and fast feet tripping towards his next class.
He made eye contact with no one. And no one helped him when a folder slipped from his grasp, crashing to the ground in a spray of papers.
Bucky frowned.
He thought that people learned to destroy things they didn't understand early in life.
[-]
"Do you love anyone?" Bucky asked, beating the egg whites and the sugar into stiff peaks. His metal arm worked better than any beaters he could find.
Eliza choked on a chocolate melt. "What?" she coughed, gasping for air.
"Do you love anyone?" he repeated.
"In what… in what capacity do you mean?"
Asset frowned. "I was unaware there were different capacities."
Eliza flushed red, but it did not look like it was entirely from choking. "Aiden should probably really be the one to talk to you about this," she said, eyes shifting nervously.
"Why?"
"Because… uh. Because it's uh-" she shrugged. "It's complicated?"
"Oh." He looked down at his stiff white peaks of perfection, disappointment rolling through him. It was a question one was not supposed to ask, then. He thought he should note it down in his notebook, so he did not forget.
"Hey, no, no, don't do that. I hate the puppy dog eyes, Asset. You know I'm weak, it's not gentlemanly- ugh. Fine. I'll try."
Bucky looked up at her hopefully. "Really?"
She sighed like he had asked her to carry all the potatoes from the car at the same time. "Yes. Really. Now, where to start." She cleared her throat, speaking slowly to give herself time to think. "There are different kinds of love. There's the kind that you feel- or, well, some people don't feel it, I guess, but that's- that's something for another day," she shook her head. "There's the love you feel for your family. Like what I feel for Aiden and Mom. I do love them, and it's a way that is loyal and runs deep. They're my family."
Bucky nodded to show he was following. He thought he knew what she meant, brown curls and a mischievous smirk and his Ma's warm hugs flitting through his mind.
"Then, I guess there's the love people have for their friends. Kinda like family love, but for people who aren't in your family. You choose this kind of love, and it's… well, it's fun, I suppose, and it's built on wanting the best for the other person, and wanting to be around each other because they make you happy and you care about them a lot. You do life together, but you still have your own lives. It's like… what me and you are. Friends. And in that way, I guess I love you, as well."
Bucky felt his eyes widen, but he dared not interrupt her.
"Then there's the- uh. The…" her face was red again. "I don't really know how to explain it. Romantic kinda love?"
Bucky kept his face carefully blank from the grin that threatened to split it. This one he was more familiar with. He had observed it with Hat Lady and the barista; between the young parents who frequented the museum with their kids, and in the book that the lady at the bookshop recommended yesterday. But he was also enjoying watching Eliza flounder a little bit, she looked kind of like a steam train that was trying very hard to get up a hill. (He thought he would be floundering a bit too, if he was asked to explain what he had read in that book. He thought maybe he should stick to the bright, colourful, less-likely-to-be-thrown-across-the-room-in-a-panic children's books for now).
"Romantic is umm- when you're like, feeling feelings- uh. Um. Feelings. Lots of them. And uh, oftentimes you also… physically wanna be close to that person… in a particular way that is different from other normal physical… interactions." She looked like she wanted the kitchen to just topple down and end her now. Bucky bit the inside of his lip to stop them twitching. He could feel the grin, warm and bright and gently teasing, just below his skin.
"And you feel this love very deeply, and it's very special, but it often hurts as much as it's wonderful, and it… yeah. Um. To answer your question, no. I don't currently love anyone like-" she coughed awkwardly, "like that."
Bucky let the laugh bubble over, tilting his head back to let it ring. "Thank you for that enlightening explanation," he said teasingly. "I know what romantic love is, Eliza. But I appreciated the lobster impression."
Eliza blinked, her face representing the little crustacean quite accurately. "I swear to god, Asset, you are such a dickhead."
Bucky laughed, turning back to his meringue. "I am."
She swatted him with the tea towel, no mercy behind the whip.
"Hey!" he protested weakly, shooing her away. "Are you completely certain you don't love anyone like that? You sure are red…"
"No, Asset," she glared at him, but he could see the smile trying to break through. "No, I do not. Why? Do you?"
Bucky felt his own face burn this time. He thought of a throaty laugh and glinting eyes and fingers on charcoal and blonde hair-
They hadn't been like that, though, had they? The voice wouldn't tell him, and he couldn't tell from the memories he could see.
"I don't think I should love anyone like that," he said instead.
"Why on earth not?"
Bucky shrugged. Because I'm a HYDRA assassin? "Just because."
"Hey, now, that's not a good enough answer. Tell me. Why did you really ask?"
Bucky sighed, turning to face her properly. "It's nothing, just a thing some old dude said."
"What did he say?" her face was fierce, like she was willing to sock the old guy in the nose if he said something wrong.
"Nothing bad," he promised. "He was just sharing his thoughts on-" how to be human "-on love."
Eliza's eyes narrowed. "In a creepy way? Were you uncomfortable?"
"No, no. No, nothing like that. He was just talking about people in general, and how they don't always know that they're loved. He seemed to think that not knowing whether you were loved was a human struggle."
"Oh," the fight in Eliza died out. "Were you asking because you wanted to know if you were loved?"
Bucky shrugged self-consciously. "Not… not in so many words."
Eliza hopped up onto the bench, studying him. "I say you are loved."
He huffed good naturedly, rolling his eyes. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."
"No, hear me out," she smiled. "Some people would tell you that they believe you are loved simply because you are human, and there's a God out there who loves you."
Bucky thought that sounded familiar, something about pews and bells and choirs and Steve sneaking wine away from a man in white.
"In that religion, they would say with absolute certainty that you qualify as loved just for existing. So, there's a first point. If you find it comforting, I say take it. Second point, in case you've never thought about a god in your life, I just told you that I love you." She stared at him straight on, daring him to contradict her.
He smiled slightly, feeling suddenly weak. "You did."
"And I meant it."
He looked down, the words punching into him, painful and wonderful at the same time. He felt his heart beat heavily and squeeze in his chest. Tears stung the back of his eyes, but he thought that was stupid because he wasn't sad. "Thank you," his voice sounded thick.
"Awwe, old man," Eliza slipped of the bench, wrapping him in a hug and squeezing like a python the way Bekka used to. "You're absolutely welcome."
You should ask that question again, he remembered Trav saying.
[-]
Are you loved?
Yes. I think so.
[-]
The book about the little prince and the pilot did not tear him apart like the last one.
But still, he found himself opening the shed door into the late night to sit on the dewy grass, head tilted back with eyes upon stars, upon stars, upon stars.
[-]
He managed to get on the trail of Hat Lady on the third attempt, Chips staying mercifully silent as he walked three steps behind her. He was copying her gait, the tilt of her head, the steady footsteps, the set of her shoulders and the polite smile. It took his full concentration, but he thought he was pulling it off quite well for a first try. Some people did a double take as they watched him trailing behind her like a duckling learning to walk, but other than that, he garnered no attention, no hissing cats in sight, and no bitten ankles.
Success.
He followed as she turned into the coffeeshop, waiting a second before opening the door for himself so she would not think he had been right behind her. A dull bell tinkled as he entered, and he saw that Hat Lady and barista were already talking.
Flirting, Eliza had explained to him after her embarrassment had calmed down and he had asked why people poked and teased and smiled flightily at each other when they liked each other in that way.
He lined up casually behind the Hat Lady, catching her order as she asked the barista about how his soccer game on the weekend had gone.
"A hot chocolate if you would please. I've had five too many coffees today, as it is."
"Coming right up," the barista winked.
Hat Lady moved slightly to the side, pausing their conversation to allow him to order, and he stepped up to the counter as she had. He nodded at the barista, smiling a polite smile and repeated Hat Lady's order. "A hot chocolate, please?"
"Not a problem at all, sir. They're popular today. Name?"
He only hesitated a second. "Bucky."
The barista wrote his name on a lid and moved to the espresso machine, frothing milk while he took his conversation with Hat Lady back up.
While they talked, Bucky seated himself at a table that had a good view of both the chair that Hat lady frequented and the door. He watched them interact, making his glances subversive enough that they wouldn't notice- not that they would, anyway, with how wrapped up they were with each other.
"Hot chocolate for Bucky?" The voice startled him a little and he looked to his left to see a girl holding a mug. He couldn't believe she had managed to sneak up on him.
He was getting sloppy.
"That's me," he nodded, trying to smile past his pounding heart.
The girl put the drink down in front of him and moved back behind the counter to join the barista.
Bucky turned his attention to the frothy creation in front of him. He leaned forward and sniffed it a little- it smelt like brownies, but sweeter. He could also see two marshmallows floating on the top, rapidly dissolving in the heat.
Tentatively, he picked up the mug and took a tiny sip.
His eyebrows raised without his permission.
Goddamn.
He took anther sip, fast enough that he burnt his tongue. "Ow, fuck, ow." He placed the mug back down and put his cold metal finger on his tongue to sooth the burn.
Chips took that moment to decide that she was, in fact, interested in the whiff of chocolate nearby, and crawled from his jumper and onto the table, sticking out her little tongue to carefully lap up some sweet, sweet goodness.
Bucky felt unreasonably hard done by when Chips showed no sign of tongue burniture.
He took the mug from her, glaring at her sternly. "This is my human experiment, Chips. You don't have to learn how to be a person."
Chips mewed pettily, and Bucky refused to acknowledge that he was hoarding the drink just because it was absurdly delicious, and he wanted every drop. That would make him a bad person. And he was trying to be good.
The thought made him sigh heavily.
"Fine," he muttered, lowering the mug so Chips could have another taste. "You're lucky I love you."
He blinked, surprised. He didn't think he had meant to say that. But looking down at Chips' eye blinking slowly up at him, her soft tail nudging against his hand, he thought that it was true. He did love her.
He felt something crack off his heart as it expanded, and wondered if he should go see what Eliza called the doctor.
Maybe after he had finished this cup.
Priorities.
[-]
"What's this?" Aiden asked as he passed the kitchen, sniffing the air like Chips.
"Hot chocolate," Bucky answered proudly. "I Googled it."
Aiden laughed. "Gee, thanks bud. What's the occasion?"
Bucky smiled, pouring out three cups. "It's what friends do."
[-]
The next time he trailed Hat Lady, he accidentally talked to her.
Or, she talked to him, he supposed.
"I've seen you here before," were the words that first sent him into panic.
It was followed by, "I'm so glad someone else appreciates the coffee here. So much better than Starbucks."
He coughed awkwardly, trying to recover his heart which had run out the door without him. "It is good," he agreed. "I like the hot chocolate."
Hat Lady laughed. "So do I! Sometimes more than coffee, if I'm being completely honest with myself. One can never be too old for hot chocolate."
Asset did not think he should mention that he was likely eighty years her senior. "I've only recently become reacquainted with it."
Hat lady laughed again, her smile bright and lovely. "I like you," she decided. "My name is Sarah."
"Bucky," he held his hand out, grinning exactly as he had practiced in the mirror. "It's nice to meet you."
She shook his hand firmly, not looking like she was uneasy or about to set a cat on him at all. "Pleased to meet you. And this is Jake," she introduced, waving to the barista. "My…" she blushed prettily. "My friend."
"Always happy to gain a new regular," Jake said, grinning at Bucky as well.
Bucky was beginning to feel slightly light-headed. There were so many smiles aimed at him. "It's lovely to meet you, too," he told Jake.
There was a pause and Bucky felt like the floor should maybe come and swallow him up. He didn't know what happened after now. Was he supposed to ask a question? Pick a conversation topic? He was not Old Man, he couldn't read minds.
Chips saved the day by poking her head out the neck of his jumper and giving an almighty yawn. Sarah immediately started cooing at her. "Isn't she just gorgeous? What a darling cat," and Jake seemed content to watch Sarah coo whilst asking Bucky if he would like another hot chocolate.
He said yes.
(Of course.)
[-]
Getting dragged into sipping his hot chocolate cramped into a two-man table with Sarah and Jake was not part of the plan.
For the whole half hour of Jake's break, they talked and laughed and asked Bucky just enough questions to keep him in the conversation without overwhelming him. They didn't seem to mind that he didn't often ask a question back, or that he was quieter than the two of them.
Chips sat proudly on the table between them all, enjoying the pats of all six available hands.
Sarah had commented on his hand only briefly before moving on to how it reminded her of her cousin who was a mechanic and how he had a dog name Raj and that she'd always secretly preferred cats and oh, is that cashmere?
Bucky thought it was more than a little chaotic, and more than once he found himself tilting his head as though the new angle would allow him to rearrange the words into something that made sense.
But his smile hadn't dimmed. He felt warm and heavy.
[-]
He was nervous.
Palm sweaty, neck hot, cheeks flushed nervous.
You can do this, he told himself sternly. You can't be Asset forever.
He heaved a breath and leaned against the counter. He had cooked a three-course meal that even he was proud of, with soup and steak and enough brownies to feed all their neighbours.
"I've decided that I want to be called Bucky," he practiced under his breath. "That's all you have to say. I've decided that I want to be called Buck-"
He jumped when Eliza swept into the kitchen, dramatically inhaling and feigning a faint. "Stop. Asset. You've outdone yourself. Sign yourself up for Masterchef."
"What is Masterchef?" he enquired, confused.
"Oh boy, there's a whole world to introduce you to. But later. Right now, I am starving."
[-]
Admittedly, he didn't choose the best moment to blurt out his news.
"I've decided I want to be called Bucky," he called out, louder and slightly higher in pitch than was probably necessary, right as both Eliza and Aiden shoved probably-too-large bites of steak into their mouths.
[-]
"I'm so sorry," he apologised for what felt like the thousandth time.
"It's fine," Eliza said again- probably also for the thousandth time. Her face was still bright red, and she was rubbing her throat gingerly as though she could still feel the hunk of meat stuck there.
"Sorry."
"I'm so proud of you, Bucky," Aiden stopped the spiral, though his voice was also strained and slightly wheezy.
Bucky felt warm and guilty all at the same time.
"I'm proud of you too, old man. Thank you for sharing this with us. It's huge."
Bucky beamed, then tamped it down because that was insensitive in the presence of pained individuals.
"Sorry."
[-]
The book he read that night was about a girl and her brothers who flew away with a boy to a land beyond the second star to the right.
Bucky found the star outside his window and gazed at it, wondering if HYDRA would ever find him if he went there.
[-]
It happened on a rainy day.
Bucky had returned from the coffee shop, where he had spent the dreary morning sipping hot chocolate and reading about a rabbit who's only wish was to be real (and then its kid owner had gotten sick, just like Stevie always had, and the kid had loved and loved and loved the rabbit to realness).
He hadn't cried.
The hot chocolate had just been spicy, was all.
But when he walked in the doors of the house and saw the news on the television, all thoughts were drawn to blonde hair and straight jaw and idiot, reckless stupid man-child.
Steve's face was plastered across the screen, along with the red suit man and the green guy and the lightning god and the Widow.
Eliza was quick to shut it off when he came in, but not quick enough.
"Sorry," she winced. "I know you don't want to be seeing all that. It's probably pretty triggering for you."
Bucky shrugged. He wouldn't say triggering per se, more concerning, noting that the headline had read Captain America: A Fugitive?
Steve had better not have done anything stupid. But he very much thought that would be giving Steven Grant Rogers far too much credit.
"It's fine," he promised her.
"Say," Eliza said slowly, turning on the couch to face him. Her mouth moved silently, like she was trying to figure out how to say it. "You don't still… wanna kill him, do you? Just- just thought I'd ask."
Bucky felt like his stomach was made of lead.
Kill him.
He'd nearly done that already.
Goddamn twice.
He closed his eyes against the sound of gunshots, the yielding flesh beneath his fist.
"No," his voice was gruff. "I don't want to."
Eliza looked relieved. "Really? Wow. That's great, 'cause, you know. I was kinda still lowkey worried, and this whole situation is complicated enough as it is without anyone killing anyone and-"
Bucky squeezed her shoulder as he passed the couch to get her to stop rambling. "Thanks for caring enough to worry about me," he whispered.
No, he did not want to kill Steve Rogers.
And Captain America was Steve Rogers, mission or not. This was one mission he was abandoning, at fear of penalty and punishment.
But- HYDRA hadn't found him yet.
Steve being labelled a fugitive brought another fear to mind, though; one far more pressing than HYDRA. Did he have somewhere to stay? Was he warm enough?
The voice whispered something he thought he already knew. Steve got cold easy. And when he got cold, he couldn't breathe.
He thought maybe that fact was no longer entirely accurate, post-growth spurt, but it unsettled him all the same.
His first instinct was to find him, to make sure for certain and in person that Steve was fine. That he was okay.
But he stopped the thought forcefully.
That wasn't an option.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
He didn't know who Steve remembered, but Bucky wasn't him, and he couldn't be him. He didn't want to see the disappointment cloud Steve's gaze when he looked at him and saw that. Saw that his friend really was gone for good.
Steve's memory of Bucky was not enough to turn him into his Bucky.
And Bucky thought he didn't want Steve to have to learn that lesson firsthand.
Not to mention the nearly killed you twice business. Steve was reckless and stupid and his heart was far too large and he hadn't fought back and Bucky could not see him.
He ignored the heat prickling behind his eyes and pulled out Aiden's laptop instead.
His hands hovered over the keys, thinking about snow in blonde hair, flushed cheeks, icicle feet, gunshots, men in green, boots on trampled snow, red with blood-
He shook his head. Told the voice to be quiet and let him breathe.
Warm things, he typed.
[-]
"It's called an oodie," the man explained, bored and sighing.
Bucky thought it looked more like a blanket that wrapped you up and wore you as much as you wore it, rather than an oodie, but he didn't want to argue with the bored man.
"How much?"
[-]
"I think it's sweet," Eliza grinned cheekily.
"It's not sweet," Bucky muttered, angrily shoving the oodie into the tiny parcel at the post office. "It's necessary."
"You got him the one with little Captain America shields. It's adorable."
"It was on sale," he glared, shoving harder.
"It's sweet," Aiden agreed, browsing the book selection.
"I hate you both."
If he said it with absolutely no heat whatsoever, that was nobody's business but his own.
At the counter, oodie mercifully remaining stuffed in its constricting packaging, Bucky threw in a last-minute paperback of Alice in Wonderland as well. Just for luck.
He thought Steve might laugh at it, too, and that made him want to cry and smile at the same time, so he did neither, face blank and breathing deep and deliberate as he rattled off Steve's name and Stark's address to the person behind the counter.
"Okay there, bro?"
He nodded. Shook his head. Nodded again.
Eliza took his arm, squeezing it gently. "Let's go. Aiden can finish up here." She led him gently from the post office and back down the street, her footsteps echoing every single one of his.
"He'll be so happy to hear from you, I'm sure," she told him.
Bucky watched her shoes.
Right. Left. Right.
He wished he believed her.
Picture a dandelion.
oOoOoOo
"Some people care too much. I think it's called love." -Winnie the Pooh, A.A Milne
oOoOoOo