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42 bodies. 19 children. 6 women. 10 men. 6 dogs. And a cat in a tree. Visible at 0823.

None of them familiar. None of them armed.

Though 4 were armed with various random objects. A ball. A handful of grass. A half filled bag with some sort of brown pellets. A toy mouse hanging from a stick. All of them staring at the cat in a tree. Likely they were the ones behind all the screamed "Mr. Fluffles!"

I couldn't be sure if that was everybody in the area. There could be more bodies.

The cameras had their limits. Even if I could move them about and they had a feature to locate heat signatures, I couldn't be sure. There were places to hide.

Hydra could be here.

They're everywhere.

I couldn't risk leaving the motorhome. Even with the cuttlefish octopus skin based mask on.

Only took one slip and all this would be over.

"...Bucky?"

Grab Five-seveN taped to the bottom of the table. Shoot between the eyes. Target incapacitated.

I spun around and found Valeriy meandering her way towards the front while hiding a yawn behind her hand.

"Something sure smells scrumptious.... Are those –?" she managed before keeling over in laughter. "Oh shit. Hahaha! Laughing. Bad." But she couldn't stop.

With a frown, I walked to the kitchen area, peering into the oven, and found nothing laughable. The cinnamon buns weren't burnt. Nor an exploded mess. They were starting to look like the picture on the tube. Minus the icing.

Nothing to laugh at.

And yet, Valeriy was still curled up in a ball. Rolling sided to side. Hands searching for anything to grab onto. Gasping desperately for air.

"It hurts," she giggled. Tears disappearing into her hair.

Kneeling down above her head and ignoring her hand grabbing onto my sweatpants, I tried to help her up without breaking another bone of hers. "Breathe with me, Valeriy."

Pale gray eyes opened.

"Three."

Stared at me.

"Two."

Blinked.

"O –"

And all the laughter started anew.

'Is there... something on my face?'

Checking my reflect on any of the black glossy cabinet doors, I found nothing. The same as the last time she saw me 6.5 hours ago.

'I don't understand....'

Couldn't even figure out what to do to help her.

"Of all –" she gasped. Her breathing barely hitching into giggles and a wince. "Of all the things you could have picked in the fridge, Bucky."

"Was I not supposed to make them?" I asked. Gut twisting and churning.

Valeriy shook her head with a grin. "I bought that as a joke? Kind of? Maybe? Your codename among us. Cinnamon Buns. It's what you ordered practically any time you visited Marshmallow's bakery with Gramps. Or at least that's how the stories go?"

"Oh...."

'Is that why this smells so familiar?'

Looked familiar too.

Checking on the buns again, I spotted charring and quickly turned off the oven. Wrapping a kitchen rag around my hand before pulling the tray out. Couldn't trust the other hand not malfunction and send everything to the floor.

"Mmmmm, smells so good," Valeriy hummed, sliding into the space next to me. To my left.

Had to force myself not to jump away. Shifting my left foot back and facing her would distance her from the weapon latched onto my side.

She didn't notice the movement. Or she didn't care. Or she was too preoccupied by the food.

Every breath I took made me feel like a memory was within reach. A hazy memory of something pleasant. Maybe even something cheerful.

I grabbed onto her wrist, keeping my grip as light as I could. Didn't want to cause bruising when I was trying to stop burns. "It needs to cool down."

With a shrug and a sigh, she looked up at me. "Did you get some sleep?"

I nodded. Managed a total of 93 minutes here and there. As close as I could keep to the schedule the A.I. ghost had kept me on.

"Good." Her eyes drifted away from mine. Likely to the laptop behind us. "This isn't.... Where are we?"

"Thunder Bay..." I replied, anxious. "She said that it'd be alright if I drove.... This area was circled on the map with a lot number, and there was nothing else marked on the map... so I stopped here.... Should I... I drive back?"

"It's all good. There's a drop I have to pick up here and then we can head... more west?"

"You can't leave without being spotted."

"It'll be fine," Valeriy said with an offhanded wave.

None of it felt fine. None of it at all.

She settled in the little dinette with three couch sections. Sat on the side I had. Where to the laptop was set up with all four exterior camera footages on the screen. She manipulated the cameras much like I had. Systematically.

"There's too many people here," I pointed out.

"That's fine. At most, people would just approach and ask about the motorhome or something. Our disguises are pretty damn flawless...? Nothing to fret about."

Even though fidgeting cracks shone through her carefree façade. Eyes continuously darting about the screen. A bouncing knee instead of the usual wiggling toes.

I wanted to reach out. Couldn't understand why I did. Couldn't cross the empty space between us either.

Another part of me wanted to ask about the middle couch section. The one against the wall that had a five centimeter wide space for a person to sit at the table. But a bigger part of me didn't want to find out if there were people who could sit in that five centimeter wide space.

Valeriy gave a soft sigh, turned to face me and paused. Before I could move my hand back to my side from the space between us, her fingers weaved between mine. A grin practically splitting her face in half. "So, about those cinnamon buns."

Two steps and were back to the still hot tray of swirly buns. Slathering more and more gooey icing on the crispy surface.

Valeriy plucked two for herself, leaving me with three.

The first bite of piping hot flakey bun took me back to echoes laughter and nervous giggles. Some children. Some women. Some men.

The next bite of sugary sweet spiciness brought out a faint smell of a bakery in the morning. Similar to one I walked by eight and a half weeks ago.

I could almost see more features to the face with big blue eyes that belonged to the plaid dress from when I was eating cookies. A couple of ribbons in her hair. Brown hair. The same shade as mine. In long tight ringlets.

The one of the little blond boys from the dream three nights ago came forth. This time nervously talking with a little redhead. A smudge of flour on her cheek. He wiped it away for her.

And then I was out of bites.

Nothing left on my plate. Not even a crumb. No more memories to catch.

A clattering jolted me from my thoughts. A A messily torn half of a cinnamon bun sat on my plate. Dropped there haphazardly.

"I can dig up Marshmallow's recipe some time and we can give it a shot?" Valeriy offered with a bright grin. "I hear it's pretty life changing stuff... probably.... Probably if done right...."

Laughter. A bunch of laughter. Laughter from a bunch of voices. But I had no idea who they were....

It was all I managed to remember before I was left wanting more. But that was the only tube in the fridge.

"I hid the weaponry," I stated, trying to ignore the emptiness. Slipping a piece of paper out of my pocket and over to her. Everything neatly marked out on the rough sketch.

"Whoa.... Location, space, height. All accounted for. Looks like you've covered everything...? Good job."

I nodded. A light feeling spreading from the center of my chest.

"I got some time to memorize this before I go pick up the drop," she noted, gathering the plates and the piece of paper.

"You shouldn't be moving around so much. Give yourself a chance to heal."

"I'll just commit this piece of paper to memory instead of digging about. Better than nothing in a pinch."

As Valeriy dropped the plates in the sink with a mess of horrible sounds. Glass and metal clashing. Panic welling up, I grabbed the laptop and watched the camera footage. Tried to ignore the idea of potentially chipped plates.

People were still moving about. A lot of people. All of whom I've been watching since I parked here.

Now 27 children were running about. Screaming and laughing. A mother likely, yelling at the kids. I could hear each of them. Even through the racket Valeriy was making with the couch cushions. Some flew. Some crashed. Most of them ended up scattered on the floor.

After another quick scan of the surroundings with the cameras, I flipped open one of the hand bound books to a blank page. Pen in hand. Tablet in the other to get more research to add to my notes.

Top Ten Things to Do to Improve Memory.

"Shit."

Thunk.

"Damn shit."

Thunk.

"Oh, would you fucking stop doing that, you shit ass pillows."

Thunk.

Curiosity got the better of me and I glanced behind me to the couch. Found Valeriy lying on her back. Her legs straight up against the wall. Her head hanging over the edge. Fighting with the cushions to provide head support. If only they would stop slipping from the tower she built.

She tried laying flat on her back along the length of the couch. She tried flipping around onto her stomach. She tried sitting up. She tried curling up. But she kept huffing and going back to the sloppy pillow of towers in hopes to have it support her head. The odd position did keep most of her injuries elevated and or supported. Did no favors to the cut on her neck though.

Unplugging the laptop, I rested the notebook and tablet atop of the keyboard before making my way over to her.

Valeriy stared up at me from the awkward position. "Hi?" Hand waving jerkily.

Stomp on chin. Break neck. Target incapacitated.

Turning around, I settled on the wooden floorboards. The laptop sitting next to me and my shoulder tucking under her head.

"...Bucky?"

"Does this work?"

"Huh?"

"Does this height work?"

"Oh." Her head shifted a tad. "Sit on a cushion.... Mmm, just perfect. Thanks, Bucky."

As she studied the mapped out locations of a hidden arsenal, I went back to the tablet, reading about memory improvement exercises.

Four Ways to Improve Memory – wikiHow.

How to Improve Your Memory – WebMD.

A hand floated in from the corner of my eye.

Twist skull. Target incapacitated.

Her hand quickly retreated from tucking my hair behind my ear. The weight of her head disappeared from my shoulder.

"Sorry, Bucky.... I don't...." Valeriy sat up. Curiosity. Confusion. Exasperation. All passing over her features. "I...I don't know how you feel about contact.... I can only guess so much. If you don't like something, do let me kn – Hey, what's wrong? You're breathing too fast. You're going to get lightheaded."

I could barely hear her through the loud thumping in my head. A heartbeat. Panic welling up. Air not getting in.

I wanted to reach out. But....

Her eyes drifted away from mine, somewhere next to me. The laptop. The camera footage.

Her hand. The injured one. Wrapped in metal and curled around the edge of the couch. Supporting some of her weight.

Just there.

Right in front of me.

She tore the hand away from me when the metal touched my forehead. A frown tugged on her lips. Right hand cradled against her chest behind the left. Confusion so clear.

I tried.

I tried to force the words out.

My voice didn't work. My throat blocked. Closed up.

Too scared to speak. Scared to lose it.

I could only hope she understood.

And maybe she did. Maybe she could hear me screaming in my own head.

Her hand moved towards me. So slowly. The left one. The one not wrapped up in metal.

It dropped down, turning the palm skywards. Staying in the space between us.

I dare not twitch a muscle.

Waiting for the palm to fly towards my cheek.

But it didn't.

It stayed there. Unmoving.

And then warmth against my cheek. My face nudging against the still fingers.

"Oh Bucky. I sure as hell am not going to take away things you like."

Finally, she moved. Half her body wrapping around my head. Her cheek rested atop my head. One arm wrapped behind me. One hand combing through my hair. Everything contrasted by the metal cast around her ribs hidden by her shirt.

"You've looked so conflicted every time. I couldn't tell if you hated being touched... or if you thought I was going to hurt you."

I could only lean into her. Muscles uncoiling. Sinking bodily against her.

She gave a soft laugh. Arms squeezing just a little tighter. Tucking me under her chin. Long hair a curtain blocking out the rest of the world.

"I'm not going to hit you, Bucky.... Unless you're on fire. That's a thing when people are on fire, right...? I'm probably dumb enough to try to slap a fire dead in a panic.... And maybe while pushing you out of the way of something... which I'd probably just bounce off you?"

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Author's Note:

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