Connie sped down the streets of D.C. toward the Dunpont Circle, the hotel she had been staying at since she had convinced her way out of the hospital. She wanted nothing more than to head back to hers and Steve's apartment, but given the damage caused to it a week ago, that wasn't exactly possible. She would have to wait until Steve got out of the hospital to take care of the situation, and she wasn't sure when that would be, so she decided it would be best for her to just remain in a hotel for the time being.

Bucky sat in the passenger's seat of Connie's Audi, his gaze on the road ahead. He was feeling slightly nervous, as he wasn't sure who this man was that he was about to meet. The only information Connie had given him was that he was a friend and someone Bucky could put his trust in. She assured him that this man would do whatever he could in order to help both of them, especially once he received the story behind it all.

Bucky was just so unsure about it, though. He knew that Connie wanted to help him, but he knew that was because the two of them used to know each other and Connie seemed to genuinely care a lot about him. This man Connie spoke to him about did not know Bucky, and even after learning about who he was, he knew there was no way this man would want to help him after learning about everything he had done over the past fifty years.

"What makes you so sure that this man will be willing to help someone like me?" Bucky spoke quietly from his seat. "I know I wouldn't."

Connie's grip tightened on the steering wheel and she glanced over at him, letting out a shaky breath. She could remember feeling exactly the same way he did after her escape back in 2008, and it broke her heart to know that he was experiencing such a pain.

Connie remembered the overwhelming guilt inside her due to her actions and crimes over the years, and she remembered feeling absolutely worthless because of them. She could remember spending weeks in the lonely apartment S.H.I.E.L.D. had provided her with just mourning all of her victims and mourning for all of the families she had been forced to tear apart. Connie never felt as if she was worth a second chance, and she never felt as if she was worth the opportunity to live when so many people had perished because of her. One man felt the complete opposite, however, and she knew that if he felt that way about her, he would feel the same way about Bucky.

"Listen, I understand why you're feeling the way you are right now, but—"

"How?" Bucky cut her off. Her words sparked a particular anger inside him that he didn't understand. All he knew was that no one could possibly begin to understand how he felt; it was virtually impossible. "Please do enlighten me as to how you could possibly understand why I am feeling the way I do, because I would sure as hell love to know."

Connie frowned at the sudden burst of anger from him, but her desire not to argue with him was very strong, so she decided to stick with a rather simple and vague answer. "I just do, okay?"

"You do?" Bucky scoffed and shook his head. "You understand the horrible guilt and pain that I feel because of everything I've done? You understand why I'm questioning why anyone in their right mind would ever want to help someone like me? You understand why I'm questioning what little worth I have left, or if I have any at all? You understand all of that?"

His attitude was only agitating Connie, as was his assumption about her. She didn't want to argue with him at all, but it appeared that would be the only way to drill it into his muddled mind that she truly did understand him.

"Yes," Connie exclaimed. "I understand all of that. Do you wanna know why I understand all of that? Because after I left Steve to find you in those stupid mountains, they took me, too. They didn't brainwash me or wipe me of my memories or anything of that sort—if they did, I sure as hell don't remember it—but I was under their complete control; it was either that or death, and for some stupid reason, going out and murdering people was more appealing to me than dying."

Bucky was very shocked by her words, as well as the few tears slipping from her eyes, and it definitely showed in his expression, but he wasn't allowed a response before she continued speaking.

"I spent years killing innocent people for them, and I spent years feeling so guilty about it that all I wanted to do was die," Connie said quietly. "I never used to think that I was worth a second chance until someone came along and showed me that I was."

"I'm sorry," Bucky nearly whispered.

Connie reached up to wipe away another tear that had fallen. "Even to this day, the guilt and the pain still eats away at me, but knowing that I help save lives now rather than take them away makes that guilt so much easier for me to deal with."

"I didn't know."

"How could you?" Connie chuckled. "You only know an old 1900's version of me that your mind is very slowly trying to figure out, but you don't know the version of me that exists now."

"Why'd you do it, though?" Bucky asked, much to Connie's confusion.

Her brows fell in question as she glanced over at him. "Why'd I do what?"

"Why'd you leave him to look for me?"

"Because I didn't want to believe that you were dead," Connie said, her voice strained as she thought back to when she had first been informed of Bucky's death. "After he told me what had happened, I was so devastated because of it that I entered this state of denial. I just refused to believe that you were gone, so I took off to find you. I didn't realize what would happen to me from doing so, though."

"We must've been really close for you to go to such an extreme measure for me," Bucky muttered under his breath.

"Closer than you think."

Bucky didn't respond, and, instead, pressed the back of his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. The scattered memories inside his mind were slowly starting to come together, and for that he was quite thankful. Most of his memories involved Connie and Steve, though, which made him further question just how close the two of them had actually been with him. He thought as hard as he possibly could, digging down as deep as his mind would let him in order to find at least one answer to his question. He didn't care about the splitting headache he received from it either; all he cared about was finding the answers to his questions.

As he continued rummaging through the scattered pieces of his mind, he came across a particular memory. He concentrated solely on that memory, and in seconds numerous images were flashing inside his mind.

He could see Connie in the memory; she was smiling and happy, and her brown eyes were bright and filled with so much emotion as she looked at who he believed to be himself, so much that he could practically feel it radiating off of her. She ran to him, wrapping her petite arms around his shoulders, and Bucky could feel himself smiling down at her, as well as a certain emotion he couldn't seem to put his finger on. He squeezed her tightly and she leaned forward, pressing her painted lips to his for a few seconds before pulling away, abruptly ending the memory.

Bucky's eyes shot open immediately, and he looked over at the brunette sitting in the driver's seat. The two had been closer than he thought, and Bucky wasn't sure if that terrified him or made him happy.

"We were together," Bucky stated as Connie pulled into the parking lot of a very nice hotel.

"What?"

"You and I," Bucky said as Connie parked. "We were together. . .like, romantically."

Connie turned the car off and looked over at him. "How do you know that?"

"Despite how slowly my memories are coming together inside my head, they're still coming together," he answered her quietly and removed his seat belt. "So, tell me—are my scattered memories as accurate as I want to believe they are or are they not?"

A small smile pulled at the corner of Connie's lips and she opened her door. "They're as accurate as you want to believe they are," she answered him before hopping out of the car.

She pulled her hood and hat back onto her head and made her way towards the back entrance of the building, leaving Bucky to follow after her. She didn't normally use the back entrance, but she feared the possibility of Bucky being recognized by absolutely anyone. She would not risk his safety, plus, she had a promise to keep, and she couldn't do that were he to be taken away.

Connie pulled open the entrance to the stairs and ushered Bucky in, though she took off ahead of him the moment she found it was clear. Climbing up eight flights of stairs in order to get to her room was quite the challenge given her current abdominal ailment, and she had only climbed three. The fact of it almost made her want to turn around and take the elevator the way she normally did, but the factor of recognition still existed, as did elevator cameras.

"You okay?" Bucky asked her with a frown as she stopped on the stairs, suddenly feeling horrible knowing he was the reason behind her pain.

Connie only nodded and continued forward, quickening her pace on the stairs as if to get it over with. "I'm gonna be just fine."

The two of them finally arrived on Connie's floor, and when they did, Bucky wasted no time at all in apologizing to her.

"I really am sorry," he said as he followed her down the hall.

Connie let out a sigh and looked back at him. "I know."

Connie soon stopped in front of her room and pulled out her room key. The moment she had the door unlocked, she opened it and stepped inside, while Bucky followed behind her. She made it into the living area of her suite, though she stopped when she noticed that one of her chairs had been flipped over and the magazines that sat on the coffee table were scattered across the floor. In seconds, she was transitioning into defensive mode.

"Wow, what a nice room," Bucky muttered as he gazed around at the all-too luxurious hotel suite. It was almost like its own house, in his opinion at least.

"Shut up," Connie whispered as she pulled her pistol from the inside pocket of her leather jacket, aiming it in front of her. "Someone's been in here."

Bucky, too, immediately became skeptical of the situation, and he followed closely behind Connie, his eyes scanning around the suite for any possible threat lurking in the shadows. He was prepared to fight if need be, and he was also prepared to protect the brunette in front of him. Not only did he know she was in no condition to fight, he just knew that if it really came down to it, protecting her was what he needed to do.

Connie very cautiously made her way toward her bedroom, her suspicions rising as she noticed the door was cracked rather than closed as she had originally left it. She raised her leg, kicking the door open with her boot and effectively startling the man making his way out of her bathroom.

"Don't shoot," the man told her as he took notice of the pistol in her hands.

Connie seemed to let out a breath of relief at the sight of him, and she put her gun away, hurrying over to wrap the man in a hug. "It's so good to see you, Phil."

"Well, this is much better than getting shot," Phil teased her as he gave her a gentle squeeze.

Connie pulled away from him, the smile on her face dropping when she realized he was actually inside her hotel room. "What the hell are you doing in my hotel room? How did you even get a key?"

"I told the woman at the front desk I was your father and slipped her a twenty; I didn't feel like waiting on you," Phil told her. "Also, if you're wondering about the mess in the front room, let's just say the rug came out of nowhere and I used multiple items to try and catch myself. Nothing worked."

"I'm sad to say I'm not surprised," Connie said with a roll of her eyes. She then remembered Bucky and turned away from Phil.

Bucky stood by the bedroom door staring rather intently at the both of them. He seemed to be slightly apprehensive given Phil's presence, though he tried to hide it. Connie walked over to him with a reassuring look on her face, and she held her hand out to him. Bucky looked down at it, debating whether or not he should take it, and after a brief moment of hesitation, he finally reached out for it. Connie smiled at him and led him over to Phil, who was studying the soldier with narrowed eyes.

"Phil, this is an old friend of mine," Connie told him as she glanced between the two men. "His name is Bucky. Bucky, this is Phil Coulson."

Phil's eyes widened slightly as the realization set in and he looked at Connie. "Bucky? As in the Bucky Barnes? As in the Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes?"

"Yes, Phil," Connie sighed.

"Oh." Phil looked to Bucky and smiled, holding his hand out for the soldier to shake. "It's nice to finally meet you, Bucky."

"Likewise," the soldier said slowly, reaching out to shake Phil's hand.

"Let's say we take this discussion to the kitchen, shall we?"