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Never once did she make eye contact. Her hair getting caught between the metal joints of her cast again.

I found my hand catching hers. Carefully trying to untangle the strands of hair.

"Umm thanks...?"

Her smile lacking the warmth it once held. A deep breath drew into her lungs.

"...I'm fine, Bucky. Stop fretting. It's not the first time I broke something."

But I couldn't stop. Unable to. Kept on untangling her hair from the metal covered fingers. One less broken thing. Even if it was only a few strands of hair.

"...Eve's still deaf to us..." the young woman stated rather blankly. "What do you want to know about the stories? What did she show you?"

"Came across one of your buildings. There was a statue at the front." Of me. And another one with the rest of the Howling Commandos and St –

"Oh... the Genevan H.Q., huh? Yeah, your face is all over that one.... Gramps loves you. I swear we see your face more than his.... It's how Amber recognized you? We didn't learn about you guys in school since we weren't States' side."

"Who was I...?"

Shifting uncomfortably, I tried to settle on the other bed in the room. Get a bit of distance between us.

"...Who was I to your grandfather?"

"He was a kid you saved in the war? And umm... you taught him how to convert between metric and imperial? He won't admit it but I'm pretty sure you're the one behind Gramps nabbing Marshmallow? I mean my grandmother... when they were kids. It was only ever each other for them."

"I don't... remember any of this."

"A lot was happening for you at that time...? Between the war and all the stuff Ca – the Howling Commandos were up to, meeting Gramps probably didn't make much of an influence... unlike for him. You... sort of became a weird addition to my family? In some weird ass way.... You guys kind of adopted him? Maybe?

"...Father hates you. He couldn't compete with you in Gramps' eyes. They can barely speak to each other without screaming. Even my brother and I aren't entirely sure who Gramps loves more. Us, or you and the Ca –.... Gramps... he's still looking for you... in what turns out to be the completely wrong spot."

"Still?" I repeated, confused. "Doesn't he know I'm with you? Didn't either of you tell him?"

"I will skin anyone who tells him where you are if you aren't in the room next to his. Not sure about Eve. She's a bit lacking in the skin department...?

"When it comes to you, Gramps becomes damn stupid. He's disappeared on us before. Found him stripped down to his underwear in late stage hypothermia, and he was still digging in the snow. Tied him down and barely stopped him from jumping the jet on the way back."

'That's probably who she got her recklessness from....'

"All 'cause some blithering idiot let slip to Gramps that we found –...."

"Found what?"

The smallest snarl warped her upper lip for less than a second. "...A left pinky bone...."

My stomach dropped at the words.

"Kind of collected most of your bottom left arm.... Still currently combing the Alps. Been combing it for decades.... He's never going to stop until you're brought home and laid to rest next to your parents and sisters. It sounds so demented now that I say it out loud.... Sorry."

"...They're all dead," I realized. Air leaving me like a punch to the gut.

Confirmed with a single nod and a bounce of long hair.

"...I don't... I don't even know their names.... I can't remember them. No matter how I try.... There's only bits and pieces of them. Barely even a face..." I admitted.

"...I-I know them.... Their names, I mean. And maybe a little about what they've done...? After the war. I won't say anything unless you ask. I don't know if you want to remember them on your own or not...."

"Do you have a picture of them?"

Maybe that could jog lose my memories. Even a single one would be more than I have.

"...Sorry...." Her head shaking. "They're all in a chamber deep inside Gramps' vault. It's all preserved the best we can. I've only been in there a few times and wasn't allowed to touch a thing.... He doesn't use any of the private pictures for display.... I can try to figure out some way to get an image of them to you? Somehow.... Might take a long while.... Sorry."

"Who...? Who were they?"

I needed to know something. Maybe I could remember anything of them while she talked.

"Umm.... Your father, George, was a wooden toy maker, and your mother, Kathleen, she was mostly a housewife. She volunteered at an ammunitions factor during world war two. Rebecca –"

"Bec...ky?" I tried. The syllables almost familiar on my tongue. "Did she? Did she go by Becky?"

"She signed Rebecca B. on her works, but the people who knew her always called her Becky from what I can remember? She's your oldest... younger sister. She's the one who made the statues in the Genevan H.Q. courtyard. Donated a lot of her profits to charities. Gramps currently has me tracking down all her works to collect from the owners when they're finished enjoying them?"

"She made it. She always wanted to be... always wanted to be...?" The thought leaving me before the words could. Along with a flash of swirling color.

She picked up her phone, tapping and swiping the screen.

"An artist? Was what the little bio thingy she wrote... said? The way she talked about art, the world must have been so beautiful in her eyes.... Fuck. Eve, why are you being such a little bitch? I'll pull up her bio and what pictures I have of her works when Eve's being a little more cooperative.... Sorry."

I shook my head. I could understand why the A.I. ghost was trying to hide it. She wasn't here to give me answers. Her primary objective was Valeriy's safety. A far from easy task.

"Ummm... the Ayers Corp logo's her design too. The mostly there star thing," she added, taking two fingers of each hand and overlapping the two 'V's into four strokes of a star.

That was never on the boxes delivered to the safehouse. But they were on almost everything else of theirs. All their tools. The earbuds. The bracelets. Though the revolver didn't seem to carry the marking.

A marking my sister created.

"...I have.... There was... there were two more dresses?"

"If that means you have two more younger sisters, then yes. Yes, there's two more dresses. Bonnie and Irene. Bonnie's the second youngest. Most known for her protest work against the Vietnam War. Big Activist."

The Vietnam War. The words had popped up in my search of what happened in the last seventy years. But that's all the A.I. ghost allowed me to see. The name of the war.

I... might have been involved....

"Irene's the youngest. Helped found Doctors without Borders. Pretty sure she's a workaholic. Only every saw her doing something that's helping someone. She even turned down all of Gramps' invites to spend the holidays with us. When she wasn't doctoring, she was smuggling supplies wherever she could. By far probably the most badass person I've ever met."

"...You've met her?" Something light filling from deep within my chest.

"Yup. By the time I met her in person, Auntie Irene was mostly focused on getting supplies to where they're needed. Went on a few of runs with her for spring break? Nothing phased her. Serious balls of steel. She didn't blink at gunfire nor elephants."

"Gunfire and elephants..." I repeated. Confused and worried.

"Warlords being asshats and rampaging elephant in musth? He kind of... had at it with the minivan...? And for an old lady in her eighties, she could outrun most of us.... Maybe not including you."

"Oh..."

Whatever that meant.

'I need a break.'

Too many emotions for me to make sense of. Torn between wanting to bounce off the walls and burying myself in a deep dark hole.

But one thing was clear. The difference between them and what I've become. It's almost crushing.

"...I'm nothing like them."

"Pretty sure they followed you. Their inspiration," she shot back without a pause.

"I'm no hero... not like them."

"To them you were."

"...What about you? Your childhood image of me must be shattered," I muttered.

"Quite the opposite?" she offered lightly.

I huffed in disbelief.

"Just hear me out for a moment? When you have every excuse to be an angry man-child screaming at the world like it owes you something, you don't. You could have spent your days curled up in a closet, but you aren't. You've got a seriously good reason to go on some revenge rampage, but you rather not hurt people. And while you're trying to find your way through the shittiest situation, you still have it in you to be saving kids from abuse and girls from kidnappers.

"That's who you've been the last couple of months. You're amazing as you are, Bucky. No wonder they love you so much. Even the me, half scared out of my mind, could see it and got motivated enough crawl out of the damn closet. If only you see what so many others do."

With a smile that still didn't quite feel like hers, she got onto her feet again, and again, she headed for the pile of boxes.

Giving up on getting her to rest, I plucked my notebook from the chair by the window and cracked it open. Pen in hand. Quickly scribbling the information about my family. Names and –

"Bucky?"

A pale peach fabric fluttered from the corner of my eye. Likely a thin dress. Horrible for blending in.

– facts. Every bit of infor –

"What's your thoughts on crossdressing?"

"What?"

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Author's Note:

I see Bucky's head whipping up like O.O with the last line.

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I don't know why I feel the need to mention this, but I will. Irene is a completely fictional character and has nothing to do with the real Doctors Without Borders.

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