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Steadily the numbers counted down. Following the flow of seconds. There wasn't much to do. Besides stare at the timer. Sitting on the kitchen counter.

Soup was in the microwave. Bread in the oven toaster. As the A.I. ghost had called it. A tray to my right was set up for a meal in bed.

I could hear the shower running upstairs. The young woman was finally awake. According to Eve. Somewhat functional compared to the last few days.

"Huh... Mr. Barnes?"

"What is it?"

My muscles tensed up. Ready for Hydra to come through the windows. I hopped onto my feet. Then I heard the shower stop. A clattering of objects bouncing off tiles.

"Would you mind getting to Val before she decides to break her neck with the stairs?"

"Buddy!?" I heard the young woman yell from beyond the room. "Shirt off! I need to check if there's an infection! Did any of the stitches ri – shiiiit!!" The fast speaking was broken with a thud.

For some reason or another, my arms listened to the order. Removing my shirt. The shirt blinded me for a moment. Even restrained me a tad. A moment that almost had me jumping out of my skin.

A couple fingertips brushed against my chest. Soft and gentle. So very foreign. But yet, almost familiar.

"...Where the hell is the cut? Eve! I thought you said I was out for five days."

The young woman's face was seven centimeters away from my skin. Brows furrowed in confusion. An open first aid kit tucked under her arm. The bottle of alcohol rub in one hand. Hair dripping with water. Still favoring her right leg.

"You were out for five days."

A shiver raced down my spine. Those fingers glided across the muscle. Her lips twisted into a frown. A nail scraped at my skin. The touch so careful. Feather light.

"It's not makeup. It's... it's gone. Am I...? Am I going fucking insane? There's not even trace of it. I swear.... That wasn't a dream, right? I mean, we're in the bloody safe house.... What?"

"It healed a couple days ago."

In all likelihood, there were cameras in the bathroom.... It's the only explanation to the A.I. ghost knowledge. There were speakers in there.

How did one live so watched...? Then again, I never did go unnoticed. As I thought I did. From 65 days ago, nothing's changed. Always watched. But so was this young woman in front of me.

"Wow.... I wish I could heal like that."

Her ankle would have been healed by now if she did. She wouldn't be wobbling on a leg.

"You don't," I corrected.

I was a weapon.

A broken weapon was useless. All this was a result of experiments. To make a better machine of death.

I touched her elbow. To stabilize the young woman.

Her head jerked up. Gray eyes scanning my face.

My hat. My beard. They weren't there.

I backed away from her.

The metal arm was exposed. That linked me to a terrorist. Splattered all over the news.

Those eyes widened in recognition.

My heart thumped against my ribs.

Scared.

"Oh shit..."

She knew.

"You're Bucky Barnes..." she breathed the unexpected name that cut right through me.

Shouldn't the terrorist be at the forefront?

"Hang on... aren't you like... a hundred?"

"97. He'd be 97 years old right now."

"You look about... less than 30?"

Her attention dropped to the metal arm.

I quickly pulled on my shirt. I wanted to crawl into a hole. Never come out again.

"Your arm... it's... Where have I seen it recently...? The news...?" And with the softest of whispers, "The Winter Soldier...."

Before she could run for the phone or even move, I grabbed onto her arms. But she didn't struggle against me. Instead, her head collided with my chest. Her voice yelling:

"What the flying fuck!? Eve!!"

The cupboard door had swung open. On its own. Slammed right into the back of her head. With an audible thunk.

She rubbed the likely tender spot gingerly. With a giant pout on her face. A hand rested on me. Using me to stabilize her wobbling.

"You just noticed?! How are you so damn slow, Valeriy!?! You're better at piecing things together than this! I feed the news every morning. I made sure to keep you informed of current events."

"Give a girl a break, Eve. I'm running on almost nothing. My brain is like sludge, and now it's pounding no thanks to your head whack."

She didn't even try to shake off my hands. Instead, she grabbed me back. With shaking hands anytime she attempted to use strength. Clutching just above my elbows. Trying to find her footing.

She was weak. Very weak. There was nothing she could do. Nothing to save herself.

Not from me.

Snap the neck. Target incapacitated.

Grab knife. Slice the jugular. Target incapacitated.

Smash head into the counter. Target incapacitated.

"Are you going to eat that?" she asked. Finger pointing at the toast in the toaster oven.

"No," I replied. Pulling her backwards to the dining table.

She obediently hopped along. Careful with the once dislocated ankle. Not an inkling of caution in her expression. As if I wasn't a danger to her.

It wasn't just me. The people after me.... They were far more dangerous.

"Can I have it?"

"It's for you.... Are you going to call the cops?" I had to ask.

I couldn't take it anymore. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. To be dragged back into darkness. Back to them.

"What?" Her brow rose in question. She fell into a chair. Rather ungracefully. "And get my ass disowned for dragging the family name through the mud again? No thanks, Buddy. Or Bucky? Sergeant...? Barnes...?"

"Sergeant Barnes," echoed in my head. Thick Swiss accent.

"Umm... okay, maybe not that? What do I call you?"

I shrugged. Returning to the kitchen to pick up her food. To create some distance. Buy some time to calm down. All was too much for my head.

It was so odd to be around a person. Somebody who knew that I was the Winter Soldier. Yet be so at ease. As if we were sitting on the bench. Eating sandwiches.

"What do you want to be called?"

"...I don't know."

I placed the food in front of her.

She grinned up at me. "Thanks." She blew at the soup. Taking her time to tear the bread carefully. Dunking it. "How does... Bucky sound to you?"

A familiar face with a pair of bright blue eyes stared at me. Before fading into the dark corners of my mind. And there were so many dark corners.

"James?" she tried. Her good foot kicked out a chair. "Sit."

"...Bucky," I repeated softly. Sitting down. Bucky sounded familiar. "The man on the Helicarrier called me that.... Bucky.... The exhibit.... That's... That's not me. I'm not a hero! I'm not him! I'm not –! I'm – I'm not...."

"Shhhhh," the young woman hushed. "Take a few breaths with me, 'kay?" Her voice lost its carefree tone.

I tore my fingers out of her hands. The touch too foreign to me. Too soft. Too warm. Too human.

I backed myself into a corner. I needed to get away. But I couldn't leave the house. They'd find me.

I was going to hurt her.

"I'm a weapon!! You should turn me in! I've killed so many!!! I'm a... I'm a weapon...." My knees gave out on me. "A broken weapon...."

Maybe if I could press hard enough into this corner, I could disappear. Sink through the walls.

My head hurt.

The metal arm hurt.

At the chair scraping across the floor tiles, my eyes homed in on the gray ones. The young woman approached me. Using a chair as a crutch.

"I'm not going to turn you in." Her back slammed against the wall behind me. With a thud. She slid to the ground. A groan of discomfort escaping her. "Ow.... So the wall and floor is harder than I thought...."

She wasn't cornering me. There's an open path. I could easily run off. Without having to shove her away. Hurting the young woman.

"It sounds like you don't remember much... about yourself...."

"I don't remember anything before the Helicarrier.... Most days it's a thick fog. I feel that there's something there... but it's like trying to grasp water. I have no idea who I was before they....

"They did something to me. To my head... It's like they're still inside. Telling me what to do. I lose myself sometimes.... I wake up about a day later....

"I remember... I remember killing people.... Going to places.... I even returned to the place they kept me.... At least it was abandoned.... They didn't get me.... I don't want to return to them....

"I don't want to kill anymore...."

Silence. Not a word from her.

I spilled too much.

It just broke.

The dam just broke.

I wanted it out of me. Someone to know. So I wasn't alone. But this had to be too much.

"I guess you're going to have to find yourself again, huh?" She spoke softly. Head tilting back against the wall. Eyes focused on the ceiling.

"I'm not him.... Not anymore. Not for a long time now. That man in the exhibit... he... he doesn't exist anymore. I'm... a broken weapon.... The information I have.... They don't fit together. I can't make sense of any of it. I'm just full of holes...."

"Who said you have to be the person you were before... 1944?" she counted. "The broken pieces... take the ones you do have, the ones you'll find, the ones you'll make and build something... build someone, who you could live with."

"Someone who I could live with...?" I repeated. Attempting to understand even a fraction of the words she had spoken.

She nodded. Faced me. Smiled softly. Her hand grabbed onto mine again. "An insane amount of shit must have happened to you between your supposed death and now."

Her fingers squeezed down on mine. Eyes falling to the left of me. To the arm. To the weapon. Only for a brief second.

"Hell, the world changed a shit ton as well. Even if you had all the shards and you manage to piece them together, it's a shattered mirror. It's not going to reflect the same image. Would look more like Picasso. You wouldn't be the same person. You could pretend, and to be honest, that's suffocating. You shouldn't be the same.... Not after all that."

I tried to wrap my head around those words. Repeating them. Just trying to understand.

That I didn't have to be the same.

That I didn't have to be a hero.

That I didn't have to be a weapon.

But then...

"What will I be?"

She took a deep breath. Letting her legs slip to straighten out. Watching her toes wiggling a few times before she finally spoke:

"Not my place to say. I can't answer that for you. Nobody can.... It's up to you, who you want to be. People may push you one way or another, but in the end, it's your choice which step you take.

"There'll be parts that we hate in ourselves, and they'll always be in us somewhere. But that doesn't mean they always have to show. Maybe if pieced together with something else, it'll become different. It's stupidly difficult... but it's possible." Her face tilted my way. Her smile so warm. "You have a friend in me. You're not alone."

"Why...? Why are you willing to...?"

She shrugged. "Maybe it's more for myself than for you. A dear friend helped me when I lost myself. I could barely feign the person I was. Then he came into my life and a lot changed....

"I'm still working on being someone I can live with. But at least I don't want to punch the person I see in the mirror anymore."

She forced a laugh out.

"The person I was a few years ago, I'd have honestly walked right past you. Pretend I didn't see anything. Or hear anything. Kicked myself for being such a coward.... And I wouldn't be able to face him again if I didn't at least offer a hand."

Again, silence fell between us.

Again, I mulled over her words.

Again, I started to feel overwhelmed.

My head felt like a hot poker was trying to split it in half. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. I wanted it to be over.

"Hey, Eve. Does my parents know about him?" the young woman asked out of the blue.

"Nope. Neither will I be informing them."

"Good. Keep it that way. So long as they don't find out about you, Bu – ummm... Buddy? You're welcome to stick around. My parents would turn you in in a heartbeat. So let's just keep them out of the loop on this minor detail."

"You should turn me in..." I muttered.

"Yeah, no. That's a bad idea. Wouldn't be surprised if the 'Good Guys' end up using you as, in your words, a weapon to do their own dirty work. You don't seem like the ruthless killer the media has painted you as. And why the hell would I turn in a friend? Especially after you sav – Eve." She looked away from me. Anger leaking into her voice. "Please tell me you didn't drag him into this mess!"

"Then I won't say a word."

"Eve!! Oh god... Eve, why?! You know how my family – !" She sighed heavily. Her attention turning back to me. "I'm so sorry. She shouldn't have... I'm so sorry. I... I'm so sorry, Bu-Buddy. Is there anything, anything, I can do to make this up to you? Anything?" Her smile tired and strained.

"I..." I didn't know what to say.

I didn't even know why she wasn't pelting me with pots and pans. For being the Winter Soldier. Instead, she was apologizing. To me. For some reason beyond my comprehension.

"You'll be fixing his arm."

The young woman's eyes widened. True fear burrowing into them.

'Finally,' I couldn't help but think. Something that made sense.

"Are you insane, Eve?! We can't take him to Gramps! Mother would have my fucking head on a bloody pike before we even land."

"I swore I said that you'd be the one fixing his arm."

"...Am I hearing you wrong again...? I thought you said that I'll be the one fixing his arm... What do you mean I'll be fixing his arm?! Who do you think I am?! Gramps?!"

"I watched you grow up. Practically raised you myself. It'll be fine. I'll be your back up if you don't understand anything."

She sighed heavily, burrowing her face into her elbow that rested on her good knee. "Okay. You saved me. I can do this. Sure. Yeah. Okay. I can do this. Hahaha. Who am I fucking kidding...." Her eyes set on mine. The side of her face resting on her arm. "I sure hope you're patient. 'Cause I'm out of my depth here."

"Don't listen to her. She'll be able to get the job done. Worst comes to worst, I'll be the brains and she'll be the hands."

Unease coiled in my gut. Left me utterly unsure of this deal we had. Not after the odd exchange between the two. I couldn't risk having it damaged. Not more than it already was.

"Hey, it'll be okay," the young woman offered softly. "One way or another. It'll be fixed. It's the least we can do for dragging you into our mess. Can't have you constantly being shocked by it, can we? And here I thought it was some kind of chronic pain."

"It'd be advantageous if the arm worked again..." I noted.

Her hand twitched in mine. The moment I realized I'd been strangling it, I quickly released it.

"Sorry." I curled further into the corner. Away from her. As much as my mind told me of all the ways to kill the young woman. I didn't want to hurt her.

"Huh? What are you apologizing for? I should be the one saying sorry. You got dragged into my stupid mess."

"...Your hand... I was hurting you."

She looked down. Examining her left hand. It still had tremors. She had difficulties just turning it palm up. She gave a soft laugh. Letting her head fall back onto the wall.

"Between the bum leg and trying to get my brain to function, you weren't hurting me.... I can't stop the shaking. I just need to take care of myself for a bit before my body starts running properly." She pushed off the floor. Using the chair to help her up. "I'm sure you have a bunch of questions. I do too. But I need a day to get my brain working again, so you're going to have to wait a bit longer. Sorry."

I perked up at her words. "I'm allowed to ask questions?"

A pause of blankness crossed her face. For a second. As she stared at me. Before a beaming grin broke through. Reassuring. Sloppy and tired. But assuring. She nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, of course you are, Buddy. Ask anything you want. But today you're going to get slow ass answers from me. If I don't have the answers, we can find them together, 'kay?"

I nodded. Watching her finish her meal.

There was so much I wanted to ask. But for now, she needed food. And I was relieved.

The friendship she spoke of. It didn't come to be because she wanted something from me. She still saw me as a friend. Even after she found out who I was.

I wasn't alone.

I didn't have to be alone.

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. ** .

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Author's Note:

Some of Val's lines sound like she's uptalking with all the questions marks, but that's not the tone of voice I'm going for (I just learned about the whole uptalking thing). Her question marks come from sarcasm or the lack of confidence in what she's saying or not caring about a situation.

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