Chapter Four
✭

After one hospital trip, a hot meal and a hotter bath, I was finally buried beneath the covers of my bed hours later, in pajamas that felt just a little too loose. Although I couldn't remember what had happened to me, there was evidence. Like the fact I had dropped ten pounds, a sign that whatever I had been doing, wherever I was, I hadn't been eating. Not one damn thing.

And it must have been pretty bad if I hadn't been able to eat. Not even to eat out of garbage, or catch rats. Nothing.

I easily cleaned out all of Aunt May's leftovers, and was now settling comfortable in my bed. Or, as comfortable as I could be with Wanda rifling through my mind. My brain, a jumbled rolodex to be flicked through. The others were arranged around on the bed (MJ and Ned got the go-ahead from their parents, for just this one night), sitting and waiting in anxious silence as Wanda worked her magic. Literally.

"Anything?" I asked nervously.

Wanda, eyes glowing red as she sat cross-legged on the bed nearby, shook her head. She was still dressed in day clothes, a red dress and black tights, but notably lacking the jewelry or make-up she often wore. Her eyes were set at a point slightly above mine, not quite meeting my gaze. "No, I cannot… there is nothing there. It is exactly as you said, your memory skips from the park to the bridge. Nothing in between."

"Are you sure?" I didn't like the sound of that. Like a film reel that had been cut and edited, the spool of my memory felt like some little plaything of the universe. "It's not just suppressed o-or hidden?"

"No," Wanda scowled, eyes closing for a moment as she concentrated. "No, I would be able to tell. There would be signs of submersion, echoes of the memory even if you cannot directly recall it. I can even see your older memories, from the Crucible, things you still cannot or will not want to remember; but this? I cannot find anything, Amelia. Like an empty space on a bookshelf, there is nothing to pull. I'm sorry. Whatever happened to you, it is not anything I have experienced before."

I slumped back in defeat. Not necessarily surprised, but disappointed. And worried. When new things happen to me, things like this, nothing good could come of it.

"What about my last memory, in the park," I said, lifting my head again. "Did you notice any faces in the crowd that might have been familiar? That person I bumped into?"

"You never saw their face."

Peter, ever the positive one, just shrugged and said, "So, we'll just have to figure this out the old-fashioned way. Tried and true detective work."

"I, for one, want to pose my theory." MJ said, raising a finger.

I gave her a hard look. "If you say aliens, I'll kill you."

"What? But it has all the hallmarks of an alien abduction!" MJ insisted, and started counting them off her fingers. "No memory of the event, starving, completely untraceable, and total vanishment off the face of the earth — as if you were! And really, we know extraterrestrial life exists now, so who's to say it wasn't aliens?"

I hated that I was actually considering this as a reasonable option. But in lieu of a better explanation, I didn't know what to think. "And what the hell would aliens want to study me for?"

Everyone gave me droll looks.

I rolled my eyes once it hit me. "Oh, right, of course. Who wouldn't want to do a space biopsy on a super soldier?"

"Alien or not, there is someone behind this," Pietro pointed out, arms folded as he leaned against my dresser. His hands curled in and out of fists. "Someone real. Someone we can find, we can hurt."

"Hurt?" Ned threw a wide-eyed look at the Mutant boy. "Is that, er, really necessary?"

Ned and MJ both knew of the Maximoff's true nature; Wanda and Pietro had decided for themselves they wouldn't hide who they were, at least with anyone beyond random passerby. Of course, that also came with the fact that, unlike most of the friends I had here, they were a little more… straightforward in fixing any problems. With violence, for example.

Pietro cut him a look, gesturing to me. "Would you consider anyone willing to do this, someone to be harmless?"

"Well, no," Ned paused, pursing his lips in thought. "But I dunno, maybe we should try turning them in, as a priority?"

"Only if they surrender first."

Least to say, there were still some… cultural differences that still needed to be worked out.

"Look, whoever did this," I finally said, trying to think past the growing headache pounding behind my eyes. It wasn't from Wanda, just from the sheer exhaustion catching up with me. I wondered if I had gotten any sleep in the past three days, either. "If someone did this, there has to be a reason. And that's what I'm worried about."

"If?" Peter repeated, his eyebrows furrowing.

I shrugged, not looking at any of them. "That's the other thing I'm worried about. If this is just… a me thing."

"It isn't," MJ said almost immediately, then paused and glanced around her to gauge the room. "I mean, it can't be, right? The last time this happened to you was ages ago. Why would it happen again?"

"I don't know." My hands fiddled nervously, empty. The FBI had taken my dead phone as evidence, but said I could have it again by the end of the week once they were done with it. I hated not knowing what was on my phone. I hated that I wasn't the first person to be able to look. Not that I didn't trust the FBI (I didn't), but they'd have no reason to delete anything on my phone. But still. Peter and everyone else were sharing the messages they sent to me over the past couple days, just so I'd have a reference in case I spotted anything fishy later.

And if there weren't any clues to be found on my phone? Then there was a chance there really wasn't a perpetrator behind this. That it really was just me. Just my mind. Doing… something.

Going crazy. Going rogue.

But I tried not to think too hard about that just yet, not devote myself to the idea. That was what my next session with Dr. Siwa would determine. Hopefully.

"Kids," Aunt May knocked on the doorframe, already dressed in her pajamas, hair undone and bleary-eyed. "Time for bed now. We've been up long enough as it was."

"Oh, right," We all glanced at the clock on my bedside table. I looked back at Aunt May and smiled wearily. "We will, I promise."

She smiled back, and came over to hug me and kiss me on the cheek. "I'm glad you're home. Sleep tight."

An extra squeeze, just a little tighter, a little longer than usual. I wasn't embarrassed by the display of affection, at least not in front of my friends. Peter knew all too well how Aunt May could lay on the overly-cute sweetness for ultimate embarrassment, and I was of the opinion that everyone else liked Aunt May too much to make fun of me.

It definitely wasn't because I myself was too cool.

Despite the comfort and warmth of being home, I found it incredibly difficult to go to sleep. When Aunt May flicked the lights off, my heart had leapt into my throat, my eyes adjusting to the darkness and expecting to see — something. I wasn't sure what, but the way I suddenly felt on full alert again had me nervous. Like there was something in the darkness I couldn't see, waiting.

Waiting.

I tried my best. Lying in bed, nestled between MJ and Wanda, both of whom were small enough that it wasn't too tight a fit on the queen bed. It was nice, just to not feel alone, even if I was the only one awake. Wanda's presence in the back of my mind slipped away as she drifted off, her mind traveling elsewhere.

Stitch remained firmly in my arms, as I stared up at the ceiling, or the window, the square of dim light that slipped past the dark blinds.

It was four in the morning when I heard it, the softest creak in the floorboards. No footsteps, just something heavy standing on wood. I jerked upright, looking around me. Wanda and MJ were asleep in my room, the boys in Peter's. Neither of them stirred, and none I could hear in the room next to mine.

None of them heard what I had.

Carefully, I slipped out of bed, trying not to disturb anyone as I padded lightly across the floor and out the room. The house was completely dark, only the light from the street casing steep shadows across the walls. And there, standing in the middle of the living room, was a large silhouette of a man, face hidden in shadow.

"Dad!"

It came out in a hush, the loudest I could be without waking anyone else. I reached him in two long, quick strides, arms coming around to catch me in a hug.

Bucky Barnes was still soaking wet from having been outside for most of the night, yet somehow hadn't made a sound in boots that should have been squeaky. Aunt May told me he'd been out looking for me himself, but I had no idea when he'd get back, when he'd get the news. It seemed I finally had my answer.

"I came as soon as I heard," He whispered, squeezing me even tighter than Aunt May. Made no complaints about all the hair getting in his face when I buried my face against his neck. "Your aunt said you were on the bridge?"

I nodded, his rough jacket scraping my face, the few days of stubble on his cheek. Dad had preferred to stay clean shaven nowadays, but I could only imagine how my disappearance must have affected priorities. It just added to the guilt I already felt.

"Tell me what happened."

I hated having to retell the same confusing story again, for the fourth or fifth time. Reliving the awful disorientation, the dizziness, the hunger, the coldness. Dad moved us to the couch, but kept me close with an arm around my shoulder, listening in silence with only a few questions here or there. It wasn't a very long story, but I still felt like I had to explain myself somehow. Explain the unexplainable. Why I couldn't remember, where those three days went. How I could disappear so thoroughly that even he couldn't track me, which didn't seem possible. If anyone could find me, I knew, it would've been Dad.

He had taught me all I knew. Every trick I used, he had done it first, and better.

It just didn't make sense.

"Do you think someone did this?" I asked, when I was finally finished. "Or… or is it just me? Just my… my memory?"

And if anyone would know the difference, the woes of amnesia, it would also be my dad. He frowned, his eyes distant as he thought. "I don't know. If there was someone else, I couldn't find a trace."

My heart sank. At least if there had been some perpetrator, some tangible enemy to be faced, it meant it could be dealt with easily, so to speak. But if it was something in my head? Something no one could reach? No one could arrest, could stop, could blame? What was there to do?

"Are you okay?" He finally asked me, tucking some hair out of my face as I rested my head on his shoulder. "You weren't hurt?"

"No," I mumbled, hugging myself. At least if there had been injuries, it could have been evidence of something. "I don't think so. Supposed to see the doctor tomorrow. But I was just tired. And hungry. I don't think I'd eaten anything."

"For three days?" Dad sounded alarmed. He exhaled through his nose, a vague sound of consternation. He opened his mouth, then closed it, as if silencing a thought.

"What?" I blinked up at him, getting worried. Dad always tried to filter his words, I knew that, but that didn't stop sparking the curiosity of wanting to know what he really thought. "Has this ever happened to you before? Could I still slip back into that state, I mean, without… you know?"

But Dad could only shake his head. "I don't know. There's just so much — so many years. So much that could have happened. A lot I still can't remember. I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. But… no. I don't think so. At least, it hasn't happened to me yet."

That didn't give me a lot of hope. "So, it's still possible, then. That it's just some effect of the protocol."

Dad looked reluctant to answer that.

I didn't blame him. Dad probably just didn't know. We weren't the architects of our protocols; we weren't privy to how it worked or how it was made. If we were, I was sure Dad would've figured out a way to undo it by now. If it was even possible to be undone. And whoever created this protocol was long dead, and if they kept notes, they weren't in the SHIELD files that had been leaked online last year. Maybe that was for the best. I'm pretty sure I'd have a mental breakdown if the whole world knew the trigger phrases.

In some vain attempt to lighten the mood, I joked, "Well, it could always be aliens."

Dad blinked at me, frowning in surprise. "What? Aliens? What are you talking about?"

"Never mind," I ducked my head down, realizing the joke failed. No point in trying to explain it. "Figured that would be the least horrible option right now."

"Hm. Sounds pretty horrible to me." Dad replied, with just the tinge of irony, giving me another squeeze. "I'd rather not think about you getting abducted again."

"Oh, right," Yeah, guess that joke wouldn't be so funny to a parent. Better not say it to Aunt May either, then. A moment of silence stretched between us, before I finally said, "Can you stay tonight? I mean, you're not going back to your place, are you?"

Dad had moved twice since his first cruddy apartment in Brooklyn. It wasn't that he didn't like any of them, but rather that he preferred to keep moving, even if he was staying in the general city area. Right now, he was living up in Flushing, not too far away. But I still didn't want him going anywhere, even if it might be awkward. The ones who had been the most reluctant about him had been Aunt May and the twins (and I supposed Natasha, too, not that she ever confided in me about it, but I could see the way she reacted sometimes when he was even mentioned). May was highly critical of Bucky in much the same way she had been of Steve when he first showed up last year, except this time was worse. For obvious reasons.

And, well, Aunt May didn't have the same experience Wanda and Pietro had, seeing the violence the Soldat was capable of themselves. But he wasn't the Soldat anymore, and I knew that at least Wanda understood that. She was the first to start warming up to Dad, although for the first few months they just avoided any place he was. They were at least polite, if cold. I figured that was a concession for my sake, but I still appreciated it. Dad, at least, never went out of his way to interact with them, never intruded on their space. It probably helped in the long run.

They were better in his presence now, which I was glad because I still wanted them all at my bat mitzvah. Having to add heaps of unspoken and unresolved trauma and resentment would only add to the stress and discomfort that I didn't want the day to have. After eight months, I could safely say that Wanda and Pietro were comfortable around him. But they still preferred to know beforehand if he was there or not. For that reason, this felt like a small breach of trust. But I hoped they'd understand.

"I can," Dad said, with a tilt of his head. "If you want me to."

Would Aunt May like it? Probably not. Seemed rude to ask someone to stay over when she wasn't consulted. But right now, I didn't want Dad to go anywhere; the thought of him leaving me here, alone in the darkness (even if I wasn't alone, even if morning would come in a few hours) had my heart squeezing in fear. Hell of a time for separation anxiety to kick in.

"Yeah," I murmured, setting my head against his shoulder again and closing my eyes. "I do."

"Alright." He smiled faintly. "I'll stay."

~o~

I woke up again only a few hours later.

The glow behind my eyelids indicated that the sun had just risen. But the house was quiet, only the smell of coffee was present. Everyone was still asleep. Except for Dad. I could feel his heartbeat, hand slowly petting my hair. I'd fallen asleep curled up against his side, pillow smushed up against my face, the faint warmth of his arm resting against me. His heartbeat somewhere above my head.

And his voice.

A low murmur, the deep hum that felt familiar and safe. In the twilight between dreams and reality, it took me a moment to hear the other voice. To realize he was talking.

Someone else, sitting close. A feminine voice. Speaking in whispers.

…Aunt May?

I hadn't yet figured out what they were saying, still pulling myself out of the grog of sleep, shifting and squinting out into the too-bright morning. "Wha's goin' on…"

I was afraid I had missed something, maybe I was supposed to be awake. Was Aunt May upset Bucky was here? When my eyes adjusted, I could see Aunt May sitting in the chair nearby, leaning over the cup of coffee she nursed in her lap, wrapped up in a bathrobe. Both had stopped talking as soon as I had started moving.

Dad's arm pulled away as I rose up, slumped over and tired. Two hours was hardly enough sleep, but worry was waking me up fast. "Is it — I'm sorry, Dad just showed up last night and I —"

"It's okay, I told her." Dad said. "She's the one who called me, Mia."

"And I'm not angry, sweetie," Aunt May smiled, and there were still shadows under her eyes. Did she get any more sleep than me? "I was just chatting with your dad."

"What're you guys talking about?" I asked, speech still slow and slurred by sleep, wincing and blinking into the morning light. It felt like it should be a Saturday, when it was in fact Tuesday. The disorientation left me even more confused, trying to get my bearings as Aunt May rose from her chair.

"Nothing, dear," Aunt May came over to brush a hand through my hair, a kiss to the temple. Her tone was soft and gentle, her eyes averted. "Go back to sleep."