Author's note: Three things: This picture is from Uncharted, the video game, lil warning there's some mild swear words in this chapter, and please comment your thoughts, they won't go ignored, be sure to vote and all that shabang. 

    It felt almost wrong to be in Bucky's house without him there, despite his rather warm welcome, but Yelena tried to make herself comfortable. She set up a yoga mat in the living room and warmed up her tense muscles, slowly feeling them relax and soften. When she was finished, she went through all of her favourite techniques that Bucky taught her decades ago.

   Soon, her muscles started to quake with exersion, and she knew she was doing most of them right. There were a few she'd have to ask him about, but she was satisfied for now. She kept pushing herself, until she finally lay down on the mat and rested, her chest heaving. 

   Sweat dripped down her arms. She waved them in the air to cool herself down faster, then sat up and tucked a stray hair back behind her ear. The old framed picture of Bucky's mother stared out from the glass, both catching Yelena's eye and seemingly ignoring her at the same time.

   It felt eery to look at Winnifred. She rolled up her mat and tossed it to the floor in her room, passing by the picture as she did.

   The walls of her room had subtle flowery wallpaper that molded into the theme of the house, though the room was filled with a clean white. She liked it though. It wouldn't have been her first option when renovating, but she appreciated the atmosphere.

   It was well balanced between the past and the present, this house. Bucky wanted a balance, and this was either the perfect house for him... or it would drag him down into the past he couldn't have anymore.

   But he seemed to be thriving here, happy. She wondered if it was different before she moved in. Suddenly, a new thought occured to her, and she crossed her arms.

   Would Bucky ever expect her to pay him to live here? And would she be here for a long time?

   The thought of leaving made her insides ache. She felt so safe here, so free to be herself. 

   Yelena took a long shower, staying under the water long after it had turned cold, lost in thought. He was a surprising man, and did unexpected things time and again. But he wasn't the kind to go against his internal compass, contrary to popular belief. He seemed to not really care about money, maybe because he had a lot of it, maybe because he understood what was truly valuable in life.

      She never thought of life like that before. Not before the last few weeks. Those long yet fleeting days just seemed to swim by her, throwing new ideas and feelings into her mind and heart.

   Yelena reached down and turned the water off, the air of the bathroom hitting her body and making her shiver as she stepped out of the tub and dried herself off. Her eyes were wide and hollow-looking, she noticed, but didn't really care.

   She feeled like the world was spinning with her just a speck of dust dragged along by the wind, havign absolutely no control over which way she was pulled. That feeling made her want to scream out loud. It haunted her every day, Bucky being her only solace from the pushing of the world around her. But he couldn't always be there to make her whole. He couldn't always be there to make her smile with a twinkle in her eyes.

   How have I gotten so fixated on him? she wondered.

   The quiet was permeated by the tinkling of the wind chimes, the hum of the fridge, and the soft ticking of the clock as she wandered back through the house after dressing. Now that she was alone, she could either distract herself from her feelings by trying to make herself feel in control,  face them head-on and end up hurting and crying because she was alone. The room across the hall that she'd never been inside stood out to her, and she stopped to examine it.

   The door was a soft off-white shade, identical to the other doors. It wasn't anything special, but to Yelena, it was like a magnet that drew her in, different from all the others. 

  Don't do it. It's none of your business, and he'll get mad at you.

   The door wasn't locked, it swung open easily to reveal a master bedroom larger than the other bedroomes in the house. Inside was an old queen mattress with a thin plastic covering over it sitting against the far wall near the corner. not much else was stored in the room. Just a few brown liquor boxes which were wide opern and full of photos and other miscellaneaous tokens, and a dresser with many drawers and a mirror standing beside the walk-in closet door.

   Yelena's eyes flickered to the hanging rope which dangled from a little dark square in the  ceiling. Bingo. 

   The ladder unfolded as she tugged, giving a miniscule groan from its metal hinges. With the ladder completely straightened out, she narrowed her eyes up at the dark attic, and hesitated.

   Would she tell him if she went there? 

   She'd figure that out later.

   The ladder's metal surface was cool to the touch. She climbed to the top and tugged the chain that connected to the light. The first thing she saw was letters. So many damn letters. In a large box on a carved wooden chair in the center of the large, cluttered room. It was full to the brim, and inviting too.

   Yelena picked one up, fingers trembling. From Connie Abernathy, 124 Aubrey Place, Brooklyn NY, USA. To James "Bucky" Barnes, Heaven. They all read those same words, she realized. A frosty shiver ran up her spine. 

   The envelope crinkled as she slowly opened the letter. Her eyes fluttered over to the other letters, noticing how a majority of them hadn't been opened yet. 

                                                                                                                                                                      March 6th, 1956

Dear Bucky, 

   You're missed dearly as your birthday approaches. It is dreary at home today. We are knitting a blanket for my second beautiful babe, little Nellie. Jamie is excited for her, but says earnestly that Nellie's name is not quite as beautiful as her's, since she was named after 'someone as awesome as' you. Even in death, you still inspire that charming bravery and boldness of yours, my dear friend. 
   Anthony says that you would have loved to be here for the announcement of Nellie's concievement. I'm certain I already went over this with you, but I can't help but feel unsatisfied. That might be a horribly bland and unfeeling thing for me to say about one of my closest friends and might've-been husband. Dead one, at that. I will always mourn your loss and find things to do that I can honour your life with. I always try to do what you would have wanted. 
   You know, I've changed exponentially in this last decade. I used to be so crushed and unable to rise back up, feeling as if no one really cared about the tragedy that was your death. That was the worst feeling of all, the loneliness. The depression that seemingly no one understood.
   But I promise, things are better now. We are doing amazing, and Anthony still speaks wistfully of you some nights before we tuck in Jamie. 
   You've got a place in my family, Sarge. Always. We will go dancing again one day.

   Yours , 
Connie. 

 
   Yelena refolded the letter and neatly slid it back into the yellowing envelope, her fingers beginning to tremble harder. That letter brought a painful warmth to Yelena's heart, in ways she couldn't understand. 

   So she started to pick apart her many thoughts. The first that came to mind was the way that he was integrated into this family that he was supposed to be the father of, he was supposed to be the one who tucked in their child and spoke softly to his wife before going to bed with her and holding her all night long... And Connie spoke of him as being bold, brave. That mostly seemed like the Bucky she knew, though after all these years, she felt like he was struggling to maintain a personality that resembled the way he used to be.

   He had never talked about Connie before today, but she had been the one he was most serious about, most in love with. She could tell that he didn't really know how to feel about Connie anymore, in a way. Obviously, he welcomed the fact that she was happy when she died and that she was treated well for many years. But what about him? He didn't have one moment for decades to think of her, it was all too fast for him.

   Now that he had more time to himself, it seemed as if he was just trying to slow down his mind. Slow down the flurry in his head, the many unresolved emotions and relationships he'd been forced to forget and remember, forget and remember yet again... until he just felt numb. Now it was all coming back to his mind.

   She saw it in his eyes when he felt numb, and truthfully, she had felt that way before reading this letter. But now she felt intrigued and stunned. She knew of his past life, but it was another thing to read a letter directly from someone who knew him before shit went down. 

   There were so many letters, with a couple grainy photos sticking up out of the pile. The letters were too important for her to read any more of them, but she carefully removed the photos from the stack, and sat down on the mahogony chair in the corner under the wooden ceiling beam.

   The first photograph was of Bucky, a girl clinging loosely to his arm with a grin, a scrawny, unhealthy-looking kid, and possibly the kid's date. The kid looked familiar... Where had she seen him before? 

   Yelena flipped through the other pictures, finding one more with the skinny kid, but not his supposed date. Just him and Bucky with grins on their faces, the kid perching candidly on the armrest, one touching the floor for balance, and Bucky sprawled on the seat with his legs slightly parted as he confidently smirked at the camera. 

   She checked the back of the photo, finding elegant, slightly messy penmanship. 

   "Steve & I. '41. "

   "Right. That's Steve Rogers." She muttered, putting everything back in the box and folding up the top, before making her way out of the attic.

   Something caught her eye, though. A framed photo of Bucky in uniform posing with his sister, who didn't look happy. His expression was neutral, as if this was the one times he couldn't feign happiness. Her tiny fingers clung to his clothes. He leaned in close to her. 

   Did she think he was a good brother, after he left? She didn't know, but suddenly felt very intrusive, as if she was betraying someone by being here. This space also felt delicate in a timeless way. As if it could shatter, but still last. 

   As Yelena returned to the master bedroom and folded up the ladder, she heard the faint roaring of a motorcycle engine out front. She pushed the ladder upwards, her heart racing.

   By the time he got in the house, she was in the living room. The door was still open, and he was standing there with his arms laden with grocery bags.  

   "Can I take anything?" Yelena asked, movign toward him.

   "No," he muttered, an unsmiling look on his face. "Why's the light on up in the attic?"

   She froze. "What?" 

   Bucky closed the front door with one foot, then brushed past her coolly into the kitchen. "I think you heard me." He deposited the food bags on the counter and turned to face her, the fingers of his metal hand absently tapping at the counter.