I gather my weapons with determination in each stride. If I can't trust myself, how is the world supposed to trust the assassin that puts their name to my face? Weapons fills my arms, almost falling to the ground when I go to grab my uniform. Gripping up the thick, black fabric, I lay it carefully on top of the dangerous objects that are in my arms. This is the first step to figuring yourself out. This is exactly what needs to take place because what's the worst that could happen? I exhale deeply, ignoring the voice even though it does prove a point. As my mind goes completely blank, my posture straightens and I hold my head high with every ounce of strength I can conjure up in my body.

I haven't left the room after I locked myself inside last night. After completely falling apart, even if it was just for a few seconds or hours, I managed to collect myself and act as if nothing happened. But I know it happened and the sobs are so loud in my mind, reminding me that I was at my most vulnerable state. As expected, they sent Clint up to check on me, but when he beckoned me to open up the door, I couldn't move from the bed to unlock it. I sat in silence, not saying a word, and eventually, he gave up, knowing that I need to be alone. After stopping at the top of the stairs, in a confident movement, I being to descend down the stairs. My eyes come into view of the empty kitchen table and I walk gracefully towards it.

Throwing my uniform over my shoulder, I begin to place each weapon down, the first few like ripping off a bandaid. But as they grow more sentimental, I find myself clinging to them as I eventually let go. My eyes study my crossbow, it like another part of my body that feels completely and utterly natural. And now I'm cutting it away, putting it in the hands of people who might possibly fear me. When I finally loosen my grasp, I have to fight the urge to snatch it back and protect it forever. It comes down to the final piece of what brings who I am to like. The soldier's uniform that I've worn for decades on end, it symbolizing all of the destruction and chaos I've caused in the past sixty-five years. My hand traces over every detail, every flaw that the uniform has to offer, and out of nowhere, I bring it to my chest, burying my face into the fabric, reminiscing every moment I've experienced it with it. It's time to surrender, Avalon.

Gently, I place it on the table, feeling like my heart has just been ripped out and torn to shreds. I try so hard to be good and protect the good guys, but there's always an ulterior motive on my behalf that I simply cannot control. As my fingertips slip from the black fabric, I look up to see five pairs of eyes, looking confused yet deeply saddened by my actions. And to be quite honest, I'm nothing without Red and vice versa. She'll always be a part of me. We share the same identity.

"I'm doing this because I need to be trusted by everyone in this damn room before I can trust myself. I know what I'm capable of and all the destructive tendencies that follow it, but I can't keep murdering innocent civilians just because I feel threatened," my voice laced with strength and power. "I'm never going to escape the lifestyle I've followed for sixty-five years, but I can try and face it head on rather than ignoring it. As of today, the Red Ghost is dead to me. So Tony, I need you to pack this away and never let me see it again, okay?"

Tony doesn't think twice and immediately starts picking up my things, my eyes watch him carefully as he handles everything with care. My body is screaming to stop him and just say that I'll figure everything out on my own, but that would lead for me to leave this place and venture out into the world alone. It seems like the best idea, but I haven't entirely adjusted to this century. From across the room, Steve's blue eyes find mine, and he nods his head in my direction as a small smile forms across his face in approval. How does this man see the good in me?

"Hey, Steve, can I talk to you? It's okay if you don't," I ask Steve as everyone begins to wander off into different directions of the house. I slump down in the chair in the living room, not entire sure what I was thinking about today.

"Of course, Ava, what's up?" He says, curiosity written across his features as he sits down on chair next to me.

Twiddling my thumbs, I try and find the right words to say. "I know this is a difficult topic, but... can you tell me about Bucky? What was he like?" the words flow from my lips and his name physically pains me.

His blue eyes brighten like the sky on a cloudless, sunny day. "I'd be more than happy to. Why the sudden burst of interest? You usually walk away when his name is mentioned," he eyes me curiously.

"He's consumed my thoughts. I, I need to know who the man is behind the mask" and I've never be more honest with another until this moment. "Because I bet he was great."

"Where do you want me to start? There's so much to tell," he questions me, but my eyes are distracted by the glossiness of his eyes as they swell up with tears.

"The very beginning," and I place my hand on top of his, realizing that he's never actually talked about his best friend is as much detail that I asked. Giving it a light squeeze, I wait patiently to hear all there is to know.

Steve exhales, a smile forming on his face as if a memory of his old friend replays in his head. "His full name is James Buchanan Barnes, but everyone called him Bucky..."

And here it begins.

***

"In a way, you remind me of him. It's in the little things that you do and sometimes, I have to keep in mind that he's out there and not dead like I thought he was," Steve admits to me and I raise an eyebrow in confusion.

I don't know how long it has been since Steve began telling me about Bucky, but the sun set hours ago and the entire house fell silent around us. Just the quiet sounds of our voices fill the air, but they seem to go with the wind, never to be heard again. I shake my head at his words, but the reminder that he's out there sends a pang of guilt to my heart. It's all my fault. I could've done something and things would be different than what they are right now.

"Avalon, what really happened after I fell from the helicarrier?" he asks me, warily, as I pull my hand away from him.

My hand runs through my hair, creating knots as I refuse to look him in the eye. This man can see through me when it comes to something that bothers me deeply. Ever since I've gotten here, I've refused to say anything about the accident and how it ended. A lump forms in my throat and my thoughts become jumbled together, trying to piece words together to explain what happened.

"I fought him and then, my body froze. I screamed his name, trying to get him to remember, but I couldn't do anything because it felt wrong to fight someone I've protected and trusted for so long," the air becomes thick and my breathing seems to pick up its pace with every word. Tears sting my eyes, making my body feel disgustingly weak. "As we were falling,.. he...he remembered me. Not me but Red, his friend, but my grip slipped from his armor. I let go... Steve, I let go!"

And the guilt takes over me in the form of a tidal wave. I stand up, feeling the need to break something and cause destruction, but the tears blur my vision and I try and avoid making eye contact with Steve. I hate crying in front of people, I always have. Vulnerability isn't a good look on me and I hate it when people feel sympathetic towards me and what I am. Like the monster I am. My anger rises and in a swift movement, I grab a vase that was on the coffee table, and with all my anger that I've been trying to keep inside, I throw the vase with every ounce of strength I have in my body, into the wall. I watch it shatter into a million little pieces, but the feeling of guilt and utter sadness still lingers throughout my body.

I feel Steve standing behind me, not knowing exactly what to do. "This isn't your fault, Avalon. All we have to do is find him again," I turn towards him, a single tear streams down my face.

"I'm sorry I couldn't bring your best friend back," my voice cracks, a loud sob leaves my throat. Steve pulls me into his embrace and I wrap my arms around him, not knowing how to cope with this.

"He's your friend, too, don't forget about that," he says, trying to calm me down.

"He doesn't know Avalon," I say into his shirt, hoping he'd understand me.

Surprisingly, he does and he rests his chin on the top of my head. "He will, one day."

One day, are the words that echo through my mind. But when will that day come? Another day? Year? Decade? Century? Eventually, I will dissipate into a vast wasteland of idea; I'm nothing more than a nightmare and someone will learn not to fear me, but they don't know what I'm capable of. It won't be long until I snap, but I hope that day never comes.

"He'd be proud of you, you know? After what you did today to prove yourself to be good, I'm sure he's trying to do the same," the tone of his words makes me believe this to be true, but that doesn't stop the tears from flowing like a river down my cheeks.

I miss him.

But I'd never tell another.

a/n - hey! yes, yes this is indeed another one of my fabulous updates. if you happen to be reading my other story, the art of war, i would gladly like to inform you that i will be (hopefully) updating saturday or sunday because i will be with nikki this weekend! so enjoy! - kenzie