"I wish that I had known in that first minute we met,

the unpayable debt that I owed you.

'Cause you'd been abused by that bone that refused you,

and you hired me to make up for that."

        The wind had settled on the mountain. Grey skies made the tops of the mountains in the distance look dark yet calm; clouds above allowed only a small amount of snowflakes fall to the ground. It was as if the Earth itself knew that an event of utter catastrophe had occurred and everyone needed a brief moment of peace. But among the softness of the clouds and the crisp snow on the mountain pass, there was no sun breaking through. No sun to break through the chill, no sun to shed light on the darkness that had occurred. They were not out of the darkness yet as they exited the HYDRA base where the Quinjet sat, slightly snow dusted. Beside it was another jet, smaller than the Quinjet that it was sitting beside.

       Steve saw hope.

       Bucky felt fear.

        As Bucky stumbled out of the base, almost losing his footing in the slippery snow, T'Challa turned and saw them. His mask had been removed, and there was a placid and calming look upon his face when he saw Steve, Bucky, and Ophelia. In his own grasp, he had been dragging an unconscious Helmut Zemo across the snow towards his own jet. He released the man, crouching down and making sure his head did not hit the ground too hard, while still showing a lack of affection towards him whatsoever. He rose and stood tall, facing the two men who he had fought against only hours ago. It felt like years ago, and T'Challa already knew that he had become a better king since the events after his father's death. In his eyes he showed nothing but forgiveness, and when Steve noted it, he swallowed nervously.

         "She's hurt, badly," Steve told him.

         "I cannot help her here," T'Challa replied, his bold voice like velvet.

         "We have no where to go," Steve continued; there was nothing for miles, and Ophelia needed immediate medical attention. The Quinjet had some basic supplies, a medical kit that might prevent her from bleeding out. But without proper medical equipment and professionals, it was impossible to say what other injuries she had sustained when her head crashed down on the concrete.

           Desperate, even Bucky spoke up. "Please... She's all I have."

          T'Challa looked at Zemo, and then back at the desperation in Bucky's eyes. "I will give you coordinates to somewhere safe."

         "Thank you." Steve said. 

         Helping Bucky walk towards the Quinjet while he felt Ophelia's heart rate slow. The blood seeping from the back of her head had ceased, enough had coagulated to stop the wound from bleeding further. Her breathing was still laboured, but neither Steve or Bucky were giving up. Ophelia wasn't giving up either, Steve could tell. Bucky could tell. 

         Once Steve had punched in the coordinates, the Quinjet was able to do the rest on its own. He tried to sit Bucky in a seat, but his friend refused to have Ophelia out of sight, he knelt on the ground beside where Steve had laid her down. It only took a few more minutes before Steve had the first aid kit pulled out, and an abundance of gauze, antibacterial fluids. He draped the shock blanket over her body to keep her warm; the cold temperature of the mountain had not done her any favours. Working fast, Steve cleaned the wound on the lower right side of her skull. There was a gash with thick, coagulated blood and the hair around the wound was matted and sticky. He ripped his gloves off and poured some of the hydrogen peroxide over his own hands to make sure they were clean. Propping her head up on another shock blanket that he had bunched up, he slowly began to cleanse the wound as thoroughly as he could, and then he padded a bundle of gauze against the wound, wrapping the rest of the white gauze around her head and wound. 

          It was all he could do, and when he was done, he leaned back against the wall of the jet. His shoulders dropped as he looked at Ophelia; he couldn't even look at Bucky.

          "I'm so sorry," he said.

            Bucky said nothing; it was not Steve's fault in the slightest. Bucky took that blame, felt it throbbing through his veins with each heart beat. He leaned against the wall beside Steve, closing his eyes just to process the situation at hand. But it pained him, to stop looking at her. When he opened his ocean-blue eyes he hoped that this was all a dream, and he would wake up in their small apartment in Bucharest, Ophelia sleeping soundly next to him. But this was no dream, this wasn't even a nightmare. 

         This was simply real life.

          There was an overwhelming silence when they arrived in Wakanda, like a bubble had been placed around the safe haven. Steve had the jet doors opened almost before the jet itself had landed, Ophelia in his arms once again. As he ran down the ramp, across the landing strip and towards the large glass doors, people spotted him. They all knew what was happening before it had even happened; T'Challa had informed the medical staff that their best surgeons and doctors would be needed to save a life. Those glass doors were opened for him, and he followed their guidance, rushing down the halls faster than they could keep up. When he arrived at the medical ward, he was told to place her on a stretcher, and that was exactly what he did; the situation was no longer in his hands, and he watched as Ophelia disappeared from sight with a heavy heart.

            A few minutes later, a doctor was helping Bucky along, insisting that he too needed medical attention. It was only when Bucky shoved the man away that the doctor gave up on him, stepping back as he watched Bucky saunter over weakly to Steve. Steve quickly stepped over to him to help him stand, but Bucky even pushed him away with his remaining arm. 

       Shoving against his friend was too much, and Bucky dropped to his knees, his hand bracing his fall. He stared at the tile floor beneath him and realized just how broken he was. Accepting his own wounds, he finally allowed Steve to help him. Neither of them were allowed in to see Ophelia for what felt like hours; it didn't matter what words of comfort Steve was able to offer Bucky, because he wasn't listening anymore. He felt numb; he would trade anything in the world to make sure Ophelia was okay.

        She could survive a life without him.

        But he was not so sure that he could survive a life without her.

        One of the doctors came out, his eyes dark. "You can go in and see her; we have put her on life support and tried to assess the damage to her brain. It's hard to tell right now what the outcome will be, we will know more if she wakes-"

        "If?" Bucky's voice broke, but he didn't care.

         The doctor glanced at Steve, as if asking with his eyes what might happen if he gave the odds of her survival to Bucky. The man was badly wounded, tired, but still able to cause a lot of damage if provoked. Steve had his arms crossed over his chest, gave his head a small shake. He wanted to know, but he wasn't sure he wanted Bucky to know. So the doctor continued, but skipped over some of the details. "We put her in the coma to let the brain swelling go down. When it is at a normal level, we can try and take her out of it. Her brain is... different than others I've seen before..." he trailed off, then said to Bucky, "Sometimes... Talking to people on life support can help."

          Bucky walked with a limp, and this time he accepted Steve's help as he offered it. They walked down the hall to the room Ophelia had been put in. Seeing her lying there, gauze wrapped around her head, her right eye was black and her cheek bone had darkened with a bruise, it made both Bucky and Steve feel sick. She had been cleaned up, though, and she looked peaceful lying there. There was a tube down her throat, and her arm was littered with needles attached to more tubes. Monitors beeped and hummed, showing that she was still alive. Steve pulled a chair up and sat Bucky down, and watched as his friend leaned over Ophelia. Nothing was spoken, no words were exchanged, because Steve knew nothing he could say would change anything. Nothing he could do would make Bucky feel better, and so Steve took a deep breath, and left Bucky to be with alone her.

          Bucky's hand trailed over her body; she was wearing a white hospital gown and it made the bruises on her hands and arms even more noticeable. He gripped her hand in his, running his fingers gently over each of hers. There were bruises on her knuckles from when he had been training her; his metal arm that he no longer had damaged her body. But that was not where his guilt stemmed from. Her shoulder and up her neck were blackened from when she had landed against the cold concrete, when her head was thrown back, and from when Bucky had hurt her before. 

           Bucky shut his eyes and breathed in sharply through his nose; he wanted to blame Tony Stark, but he only blamed himself. He had made her promises that he intended to keep, but what good was that if he couldn't follow through? He promised to protect her and he couldn't. He didn't.

          It was a long time before Bucky got the courage to speak.

          Steve was leaned outside the door, and he heard what Bucky had to say. 

          "I'm sorry this happened to you, O." Bucky used his hand to touch her cheek, she was clammy. "I never should have brought you into this, I've been so selfish. All I wanted was to keep you safe, to pretend that the world around us didn't exist so that we could be together. But we were always looking over our shoulders, locking doors when we didn't have to, fearing what was just around the corner. I know you always thought I had spared you from HYDRA, saved you from that place... But you were wrong. Everything you did, you did because you were strong enough to do it. You never needed me for any of that."

           Steve dropped his head, feeling defeated. Bucky was wrong; there were things Ophelia never would have had the chance to do if it weren't for Bucky. When Steve had first met Ophelia, he had wondered how she had humanity after all those years with HYDRA. That much was her, but Bucky had played a part in all that. That alone had given Steve hope that he could find his friend and bring him back; together, Bucky and Ophelia worked like gears in a machine. Each needed the other to work; Bucky needed Ophelia.

           "I need you to come back, O." He placed his head down upon her stomach, his hand still upon her cheek. Through the hum of the machines he could hear her heartbeat, he could hear her lungs taking in air and releasing it. He could hear that she was alive, but not knowing if she would survive was what was killing him. The monitor began beeping quicker, and Bucky could hear her heartbeat speeding up. He shifted his chair, looking over her serene face, hope spreading throughout his entire body. "Come on, O, I know you're strong enough."

             Bucky opened the door to the apartment, the smell of something powerful hit his already enhanced senses. As he walked through the entrance, he spotted Ophelia in the small kitchen. Pulling one eyebrow down in a sense of confusion, he entered the small kitchen and stood over the island, looking at the woman who somehow stayed with him despite everything he had done to her. Her brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, and she threw it elegantly behind her. Sweat dotted her forehead as she hovered over the stovetop. Turning when she realized that she was not alone in the apartment, she had a bright smile on her face.

           "What are you doing, O?" he asked.

           "I got a job, one I think I'll stay with." She grinned. "So tonight we are celebrating."

           "That's amazing," he replied with pride to his tone, but mostly he was entranced by the way she moved.

           "I bought champagne, and we're having..." She paused, forgetting the name of the meal she was making. "Uhm, risotto?"

          He was amazed by her; and obeyed her commands as she made him sit while she finished. Spooning the meal onto the plates and trying to make it look like the pictures she had found online at the library, Ophelia began to realize that fine arts was not a skill set she had. Adding the garnish, she placed it in front of Bucky and waited.

       He looked down at the meal, the powerful smell hit his senses and he became unsure of it. But he did not want to disappoint Ophelia, not when the smile she had upon her face was the brightest he'd seen before. Carefully, he gripped the fork in his hand and brought a modest amount to his mouth. Ophelia's green eyes were wide with anticipation as he tried it, and when he put the fork down, she parted her lips and pressed her tongue to the back of her front teeth, obviously trying to hold back on asking him how it was so quickly after he'd taken the bite.

          "O..." He looked her in the eyes. "This is awful."

          There was a moment of silence.

            And then there was laughter.

           "Is it that bad?" She said through her giggles, her stomach tightening as she tried to stop herself from laughing. Bucky shook his head, a smile plastered on his lips.

          "We can cross chef off the list for work." He stood up from his stool and walked around the island. "But you tried."

           She watched as he closed the gap between them, wrapping his arm around her hips and pulling her close. She was still laughing lightly. "At least we still have champagne."

          There was a shift in the memory, from a bright and lighthearted memory to one that would remind Bucky for the rest of his life who he was.

          Bucky woke with Ophelia writhing next to him. Ten months into living together, and they had hardly slowed down. The panic attacks, the nightmares, the hours of staying awake and trying to flush out the awful memories of their past. Bucky did what he always did, brought Ophelia into his arms and held her tight while he slowly coaxed her back into consciousness. When he felt her forehead after she refused to wake, he realized that this was more than just a nightmare; Ophelia was burning up.

           Acting fast, he got out of the bed and lifted her up. Carrying her across the room and into the bathroom, he quickly turned the shower on. It ran cold and without any hesitation Bucky got into the shower, leaning against the wall and sliding down it. Ophelia sat between his legs, her head rested upon his chest as the water poured down on her. It took half an hour before her fever went down, and Bucky was frozen by the time he felt comfortable with her temperature. Her eyes fluttered open and her breathing was laboured; when she realized where she was, she pressed her head back harder against Bucky in a silent way of showing just how thankful she was that he was there.

          She began to shiver, and Bucky turned the shower off. Helping her to her feet, he grabbed a towel hanging on a hook upon the cracked wall. Draping it around her shoulders, he pulled her close and held her tight. She had given him a scare, one that made him realize just how lucky he was to have her; the thought of her not being there terrified him, though he had never admitted that to anyone. He wrapped his hand around the back of her head, pressed his lips to her forehead, held her close until her shivering slowed down.

         "Come on, let's get you into some clean clothes," he whispered.

          After drying off, Ophelia peeled her shirt from her head. Bucky had stepped out to grab her something dry to put on. As he stepped into the bathroom, Ophelia was looking in the mirror, stark naked. Bucky looked at her in the reflection of the mirror; her eyes remained locked on herself as she studied the scars all over her. The most noticeable one was the one carved on her stomach, still purple even after all these years. But that was not the one that Bucky found his eyes drawn to. There was the gaping scar over her thigh from a bullet he shot. There was another along the length of her hip, again, his fault. And her shoulder, it left a rounded scar; they always reminded him of what he had done.

           Bucky stood behind Ophelia, his arms wrapping around her. She could feel his fingers moving over the scar on her hip, and her hand darted down and clutched his hand to stop him. At first Bucky thought that she was upset with him, and he began to pull away. But her words stopped him, her words would stick with him for his entire life. "Don't ever look at these scars as if they define you."

          "They do, O."

          "No." She shook her head. "The things we've done, none of that matters anymore. You have to know that you are good, inherently good. Nothing you did as the Winter Soldier matters; it's what you've done as Bucky that matters. I'm alive because of you. Steve is alive because of you. Yeah, people have died and people have been hurt, but that was never your fault. You have to let go of the guilt, you can't look at my scars and suffer self-loathing. I don't want you to feel that when you see me; I want... I want you to feel something else instead."

          He knew what she meant, but the words didn't leave his lips.

         "I love you, O," Bucky whispered as he held onto her, the memories that she had projected into his mind with the last of her strength gave him a flurry of different emotions.

           The monitors went flat.

           She left him broken.

"But something kept me standing by that hospital bed,

I should have quit but instead I took care of you.

You made me sleep all uneven,

and I didn't believe them when they told me that there was no saving you."

"Kettering" -The Antlers