WASHINGTON D.C.
2014

THE next morning, June received her official letter of termination from the FBI.

Her unauthorized pursuit of the Winter Soldier had been the last straw. June had almost forgotten she had ever worked for the agency, and when her narrowed eyes darted over the bold black letters that informed her with little sensitivity that she was out of the job, June felt a terrible sadness fall over her. She had seen carrying around her badge as a small victory that proved she was capable of moving past Hydra and its abuses. It seemed, however, that Hydra was not eager to let her go.

With shaking hands, June ripped the piece of paper in half and stuffed it into the garbage.

"What was that?" a voice said from behind.

June spun around and saw Bucky standing there, his hair slightly untidy from sleep, eyes lingering curiously on the waste bin.

"Oh," she mumbled. "Um, it was a letter from my agency. They fired me."

"Oh," said Bucky, his brow furrowing. "Did it say why?"

"No," June lied, not wanting to hear Bucky blame himself for yet another thing. The look on his face, however, suggested he had already figured it out.

"It doesn't really matter," June insisted promptly, feeling like she was assuring a flighty child. "I'll just be a superhero full-time. I hear the pay is good."

For a moment, Bucky looked as if he might smile, but the light in his face flickered out almost as quickly as it had come and his eyes again became like ice. June shifted her weight from foot to foot, unsure what to say next, seeing as Bucky was uneager to carry on the conversation.

"Erm . . . did you sleep all right?" she asked at last, wincing at the awkwardness of the question.

Bucky half-shrugged. "Fine, I suppose. I mean, aside from—" he broke off, looking at June like she had attempted to steal something from him. "Nothing."

June blinked a few times. "O-Okay. Uh, listen . . . the Smithsonian opens in a half-hour. The earlier we get there, the less people we have to worry about, so we should leave now, I think—"

Her phone buzzed suddenly, and she paused. Though June did not enjoy answering phone calls very much, she slid it out of her pocket. When she realized who was calling, her panic only swelled.

"H-Hello?" June stammered.

"Hey," Steve answered, his voice significantly lighter than when they spoke last. "Just making sure you're okay. How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right," June replied, guilt eating up her insides. "Things are normal . . . what about you?"

"Not bad," said Steve, and June could picture his dismissive shrug. "Sam and I have got a few leads on Bucky, hoping they don't fall through."

She swallowed hard. "Well that's . . . really good. Where, uh . . . where do you think he might be?"

"Our most reliable source says he was spotted near Kyiv, Ukraine," Steve said tiredly, "so we're gonna check it out, see what we find. Might be gone a few more weeks."

"Don't worry about it. I can manage fine."

"You're sure?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," June tried to push confidence into her voice, meanwhile hating herself for lying to him like this. "It's just me here, isn't it?"

"Well, if I'm being honest, that's what bothers me," Steve said.

June bit her lip, her chest heavy with shame. "Really, I'm fine. Just take your time."

There was a pause. "All right," Steve muttered at last, sounding rather unconvinced. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

June hung up. Her heart was racing, a sweat broken out on her palms. There was a bitter taste on her tongue.

She had lied to Steve.

Steve, who was patient with her, who opened his home to her because he felt she needed someone; Steve, who trusted and defended her and fought at her side as if they had been friends all their lives. And here June was, repaying him by concealing the fact that his best friend—whom he loved more than anything—was standing in the middle of his apartment. She had never felt so despicable.

"Was that Steve?" Bucky asked, his stature stiffened, his eyes wary.

June nodded. "Yes. He's still tracking you."

"Where is he looking now?"

"Ukraine, I think . . ." she wrung her hands, her stomach twisting. "Bucky, I'm going to have to tell him soon—"

"—I know that," Bucky snapped. "But I'm not ready to see him. Not yet."

June sighed. She was tempted to argue with him, but thought better of it. She snatched the apartment key off the counter and strode towards the door. Bucky did not move.

"C'mon, Sergeant," June said softly. "We've got to go . . ."

She paused, realizing abruptly why Bucky was so hesitant to leave. June recalled her first few months free of Hydra, and remembered how terrified she had been of the world. Large crowds and public places had sent her spiraling into fits of hysteria. June had often only left home to buy food so she would not starve.

"Hey," June said to Bucky, again, as if addressing a child. "If you start to feel overwhelmed, tell me, all right? We won't stay longer than you want to."

Bucky looked stunned for a moment, then whispered, "Thank you."

June blinked. "You're welcome."

• • •

UNFORTUNATELY the Smithsonian was as packed as June had feared it would be. It seemed swarms of people—tourists and locals alike—had collectively decided to attend the museum that day.

June supposed she should have seen the crowds as extra cover; after all, it was not as if she and Bucky were unknown faces. June could not, however, shake her uneasiness at being among so many people at once. Everyone seemed to be watching her, their eyes stuck on her like thorns, their minds making the connection.

She's the one who blew up the Potomac. She's the one who helped take down the helicarriers. She's the woman who helped kill all of those people. She killed them. She killed them. She kills people—

June gave herself a shake. There's no one watching you, she told herself firmly. Nobody cares who you are. You're just another passing face. Bucky, on the other hand . . .

Yes, on the other hand, Bucky Barnes was a wanted terrorist whose photograph was printed in every newspaper, flashed on every television network. It was a miracle he had not been recognized already. June reckoned her miracles were running low.

They wove through the National Museum of American History, the endless exhibits quickly blending together like saturated watercolors. June's only interest was in Steve's display; nothing else was of any importance. The trouble was, she had no idea where it was.

June turned around and looked to Bucky, prepared to ask him where the Captain America showpiece was, but the words stuck in her throat when she saw his face.

Pale and wild-eyed, Bucky trailed behind June, watching every passerby carefully and flinching when someone moved too close, as if he was filled with combustibles and the slightest touch would detonate his insides. Guilt creeped through June; she should have remembered.

She dropped back by his side, and, before she knew what she was doing, slipped her hand into his. The metal was cold against her palm as Bucky's cybernetic fingers went rigid.

After a moment, however, they relaxed.

"Did I tell you about the time Steve and I had to pretend to be a couple as cover?" June asked Bucky lightheartedly in an attempt to distract him.

Bucky remained quiet, his jaw tight. It seemed he had not heard June, or was simply ignoring her, but a few moments later he cracked a reluctant smile.

"Can't imagine he made it too easy on you," he said.

June chuckled. "He did all right. Not a bad kisser, I guess."

"You think so?"

"Well," June smiled. "Surprising enough after seventy years in the ice."

Bucky laughed—a real, human laugh—and hope ignited in June; perhaps she was helping him! It satisfied her to make him smile, primarily because she had previously thought it impossible, but there was an odd sense of victory nonetheless.

The triumph deflated a second later, however, when Bucky's face went hard again and his hand wriggled out of hers and he muttered, "It's over here."

A pang of hurt shot through June's chest. She tried to ignore it, and followed Bucky through the crowd. He seemed less anxious now, and more eager to prove that she would be wrong about the exhibit triggering his memory. She sighed, thinking bitterly that the polite approach on Barnes' part would be gratitude, seeing as she was risking arrest and her relationship with Steve by helping him.

But expecting gratefulness from the Winter Soldier seemed useless, so June gave up.

They came upon the Captain America display. It was a conglomeration of various red, white, and blue banners and posters propagating the war effort, as well as massive informational plaques that illustrated the extents of Steve's life—his birthday, his physique before and after the super-serum, his earliest tours of World War II, and everything else in between. June scowled. Everyone acted as if Steve had never come out of the ice—as if he was not an actual person until the world needed him.

June understood then why Natasha seemed so hesitant to call herself an Avenger. Once you were an Avenger, you were nothing outside that title.

The prospect was horrifying.

Bucky darted towards a large, illuminated glass panel. Upon it was a brief summary of his life, along with photograph of him, where his hair was cut short and his face clean-shaven, the blue of his eyes warm and determined. Bucky's glower deepened, and he turned away.

June hardly believed it was really him.

"I'm telling you," Bucky sighed, "there's nothing new to see. No point in it."

June ignored him. Making sure to keep him in the corner of her vision, she halted before the glass, and read:

A FALLEN COMRADE
James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes

When Bucky Barnes first met Steve Rogers on the playgrounds of Brooklyn, little did he know that he was forging a bond that would take him to the battlefields of Europe and beyond.

Born in 1916, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. After winter training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front. Captured by Hydra troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, depravation [sic] and torture. But his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America.

Reunited, Barnes and Rogers led Captain America's newly formed unit, The Howling Commandos. Barnes' marksmanship was invaluable as Rogers and his team destroyed Hydra bases and disrupted Nazi troop movements throughout the European Theater.

Bucky Barnes
1916—1944

June glanced over at Bucky, immersed in the irony of the entire situation. There he stood, nearly a hundred years old, tortured and twisted, but still very much alive. In the right light, however, June swore she could envision the creases and wrinkles that should have lined his face.

If June admitted it to herself, she knew nothing in the museum would help Bucky. It would take years of psychological therapy and evaluation to make even a dent in the mess that was his mind. The only person who would benefit from the visit was June. She read the plaque for the third time through, making sure to memorize every detail, and knowing, deep down, that reading Bucky's short biography was no different than reading from a file, as if he were somehow incapable of sharing his past himself.

June was avoiding having a real conversation with Bucky Barnes.  She was avoiding treating him like a human being.

He was no human being.

He had not been a human being since 1944. The smiling man was gone--perhaps forever. It frightened June to her very core, for what if she was the same way? What if the woman she was before Hydra had peeled away from her bones, never to return again?

How could she dream of helping Bucky remember himself when she felt like a stranger in her own skin?

"June," Bucky's voice broke through her thoughts. "Can we leave?"

The gruffness was gone from his voice, replaced by tense anxiety. June looked over her shoulder and saw that a fresh wave of tourists was flooding the exhibit, most of them part of a school field trip group full of hyper, shrieking children.

Bucky's face had gone ashen, and his fists were clenched at his sides. June's heart softened a second time.

"Of course," she said, taking his wrist in her hand and pulling him out of the display.

They said not a word to each other as they wove through the crowds, but soon Bucky's metal fingers relaxed into June's once again, and this time he did not let go.

• • •
hey everyone! I'm so so sorry about the wait for this chapter. my life has been pretty hectic lately, but at last I've found time to write and I'm so happy to be back. let me know what you think of part fifteen!!