"We are all wonderful, beautiful wrecks. That's what connects us - that we're all broken, all beautifully imperfect."

Emilio Estevez

               "Take a seat." Sam pointed at the large, black leather chairs in the back of the café. There were people busy within, chatting or serving coffee. Drinks were being sipped and spilled, but no one seemed to recognize Sam or Ophelia, and there was no TV playing inside of the café to display their wanted, criminal faces. All in all, Berlin was one of the best places to be among all this chaos, because those traditionally well known faces were easier to hide. Ophelia herself was not well known, but the terror still in her eyes made a few people ask if she were alright. She would simply nod and say nothing, scared of the sound of her own voice now that it was hoarse.

              "Can I get you anything?" Sam asked, trying to get anything out of Ophelia.

               She glanced up with large green eyes and took a deep breath. The essence of a sob was heavy in her chest, but she fought it and won. "Coffee, lots of sugar."

              "You got it, Kid." Sam left Ophelia there, and she brought her hands over her ears once again. All the noise around her, it made her realize how small she was. Inside her head it was hard to slow things down, but she knew she had to categorize everything, compartmentalize. The good, the bad, the ugly. 

             Her mind drifted to what Bucky had said to her the night he had let her read his journal entry about her, and how he said he wouldn't have traded any of his memories if it meant losing the ones he had with her. He was a man who had suffered far beyond anyone else she knew, and if he lost her because of this, he would break. Ophelia bit down hard on her tongue to stop herself from tearing up in public; she wasn't going to leave Bucky, because he wasn't himself, but would she be able to face him?

           Of course she would.

          The brunette pulled her knees to her chest and leaned against the thick arm of the chair, her eyes staring through the dirty window. It looked as though it hadn't been cleaned all winter, and now that the sun was beaming through, it showed every imperfection. She imagined if a light were to shine through her, she too would be filled with imperfections for the world to see. The damage inside of her from so many years of HYDRA treating her like she wasn't worth the air she breathed, the food she ate. 

             But it didn't matter that she had these imperfections, not to Bucky. To the rest of the world, she was overlooked, ignored, or as of late, seen as a criminal. But to Bucky, she was so much more than all of that. She was a combination of her flaws and imperfections, her smiles and sense of humour, her ability to always see good despite all obstacles. And so she had to see good again; Ophelia turned her sight away from the window and spotted Sam with two to-go cups in his hand and a bag dangling from his wrist.

              "Lots of sugar." He placed her cup down and then handed her the bag. "I got this for you, too."

               Ophelia opened the bag with question, and when she pulled out the light blue infinity scarf, she smiled wryly. Though it was necessary to stop people from turning their head at her neck wounds, it brought back the pain and made her chest heave with a choked-back sob. She cleared her throat, despite how much it hurt, and wrapped the scarf around her neck twice. Still loose enough that it wouldn't bother her, but covered all of her bruises and redness. Her eyes met Sam's and she nodded. "Thank you."

           "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked in a comforting way. "I haven't heard from Steve yet, and I don't want you to shut down on us. Not now."

           "I'll be alright," she nearly whispered it, and Sam had to strain to hear what she was saying. "Do you think Steve stopped him?"

            Sam nodded. "I do. He is Captain America, isn't he?"

           "What's happening?" she asked, and then corrected her vagueness. Her voice was incredibly strained. "He said he was going to do all he could, but was being held back?"

           Sam sighed. "The world decided the Avengers needed parental guidance. That we needed to be controlled better, and Steve didn't agree with the compromise he would have to make. Going after Bucky after the bombing, that put him outside of the law. I'd stick with Cap through thick and thin; I don't agree with the accords either. But I suspect things are just going to get a lot more complicated from here on out."

          "Just the words I wanted to hear." Ophelia cracked a small joke, feeling more and more like herself now that she had time to relax, and was not being gaped at anymore. That, and Sam's presence offered her a sense of security, like the kind one would feel with a big brother looking out for them. 

           Sam's phone began to ring, and he answered it quietly. Ophelia turned away, not wanting to overhear any of the conversation until Sam could tell her all the details. So, things were going to get more complicated, she had to prove to Sam and Steve that she could handle whatever was going to be thrown at her, and that included the Winter Soldier. When Sam put the phone down, his eyes met with hers and there was something in them that Ophelia couldn't seem to read. He grabbed his coffee cup and nodded towards the door. "Time to go to work."

          As she got to shaky feet, Sam asked, "You going to be okay, Kid?"

         She nodded. "I have to be."

         Sam put his arm around her shoulder into a side embrace, and guided her out of the little coffee shop. 

***

            There was a distant drop of water, consistent like a metronome giving the false sense of order and serenity. The factory was long since abandoned, nothing maintained and the Earth itself was taking it back day by day. Weeds were sprouted at the entrance where Sam and Ophelia ducked in quietly, unseen by the foreboding helicopter above. A chill swept through the openness of the scrapped building, and Ophelia tightened her arms over her chest, thankful now for the scarf for another reason. Steve approached them, and Ophelia began to shake a little bit. It did not go overlooked by Steve, and the man bypassed Sam with only a nod in his direction, and embraced Ophelia unexpectedly.

             He was the only other person who understood what it was she was going through; Steve had stopped dead in his tracks when he discovered the Winter Soldier was his best friend he had presumed dead for decades. It haunted him after that, knowing that his friend survived the fall, knowing that he had suffered at the wicked hands of HYDRA for so many years. The fact he was still suffering from what HYDRA had done to him. Survivors remorse, Steve had to live with the knowledge that he hadn't gone after Bucky when he fell from that freight car. He had never truly expressed how thankful he was for what Ophelia had done. If it hadn't been for her, Bucky might never have been able to come back from the Winter Soldier.

           "Is he here?" she asked in a dull whisper, but there was the evidence of desperation in her voice.

          "He's unconscious, but yes." Steve nodded over to the other room.

          She parted from Steve, and walked around him in a robotic sort of way. Each footfall landed with determination, determination to get over her fears. As she came around the corner, she saw the man she loved with his arm in a vice grip. The way he was slumped over, it was hard to look at, but she walked over carefully. Still afraid that he might wake up if she neared him, she paused out of his arms reach. Bringing her hand to her mouth, Ophelia choked back another wave of tears. 

           Glancing over her shoulder then, she saw Steve with his arms crossed over his broad chest and a stern look on his face. Somehow, knowing he was there, she had the courage to move a little closer to Bucky, and crouched down in front of him. Her hand gently touched his chin, the stubble from a few days without shave rough on her smooth hand. His serene face gave her strength, but she knew it could easily be a mask; he was unconscious, and who knew which Bucky he was going to be when he woke.

           Ophelia stood up and walked back over to Steve. "I don't want him to see me when he wakes."

           "I think he'll need to," Steve countered.

          "We don't know who he is going to be when he wakes, I just can't..." She sighed. "If he's not him, I will link with him to try and get him back. But if he is himself, what do you think he's going to do when he sees this?"

           She removed the scarf so Steve could get a closer look at the bruises on her neck. In the damp building with only the sunlight that happened to peer through the big, open windows, it was obvious that there was a lot of damage done to Ophelia's neck, and Ophelia's mind. She simply shook her head, "I don't want to see him wake as the Winter Soldier, and I don't want Bucky to wake seeing what he did."

            "You're going to have to face him-"

            "I know. And I will." She sighed boldly, as if with that release of air also went the worry and the stress. This was now, and all she could do was focus on the moment and the present. She convinced Steve that she was avoiding Bucky for Bucky's own sake, but in reality, she was scared of what she would see in those eyes of his after what she saw in them last time.