Previously:

James hyperventilated a moment, rubbing a jittery hand over his face as he turned away.

"I'll ask you one last time, where did you get my grandfather's photograph?" you said, seething.

He whirled toward you quickly, startling you as he blurted out his response.

"Because he gave it to me!"

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Stumbling backwards in shock, James' words struck you like a punch to the gut.

"Wh—what did you just say?" you whispered, so sure you were hearing things.

He hung his head, refusing to meet your eye. "Your grandfather. He gave me that photograph."

Blinking as if to process the absurd words he spoke, you glance down at the photo, now faded with age. Your grandmother's inscription on the back had faded as well, but her penmanship was unmistakable. She had written you letters all through middle school and high school after she moved to an assisted living home several hours away. She passed just after Caleb was born leaving behind an ache that never fully healed.

Tears threatened, but instead of letting the sadness take over, you felt anger over the man's words, obviously a mockery of your grandparents' memories. Your rage simmered inside you until it boiled over.

"Is this a joke to you?" you snarled accusingly, taking a step forward. "How could you lie about something like that? Are you so cold-hearted that you would make light of my grandfather's death? You can't possibly be older than 30, how could he have given you this back in 1944? You're sick and...and..."

"Y/N, please, just let me explain..." he attempted to speak, his hands raised in surrender.

You scoffed. "Explain? What, and let you spin more of your lies? Who are you, really? Is James even your real name? Have you been lying about being in the military and your injury? Ugh, I feel so stupid, how do these awful men find me? And why do I always let them into my life?" you muttered on, mostly now speaking to yourself. Your hand flew to your head, tugging at your roots as if to ground yourself, making you wince. You felt like you were going insane.

"Stop! Don't hurt yourself, please, Y/N!" James pleaded with you as he rushed forward, stopping short of touching you only because you recoiled away from him. He backed away slowly, but still tried to reason with you. "Five minutes. Please. Give me five minutes and after that, you never have to see me again."

Lowering your hands, you sidestepped away from him and put the length of the couch between you. You took a few deep breaths and reluctantly gave a curt nod. "Five minutes," you agreed.

He exhaled, taking a seat in the arm chair while you slowly lowered onto the far end of the couch. You didn't want this crazy person near you, but it's possible he wouldn't leave unless he gave you a chance to "explain".

James ran a hand through his hair, gathering his senses before speaking.

"Have you ever been to the Smithsonian Museum in D.C.?" he asked, throwing you completely off guard.

"Um....no, I haven't. We...we wanted to go, but travel is expensive and the horses..." you responded in a monotone voice you hardly recognized.

He just nodded then. "Okay. You've heard of Captain America? He has an exhibit there."

You furrowed your brow, even more confused. "Yes, I've heard of him. My...my grandfather was rescued along with his battalion by Captain America. Plus he's saved the world a few times more recently," you said flippantly. "What does that have to do with the photograph? Or you?" you demanded, fingering the photo still in your hand.

Leaning forward with elbows resting on his knees, he began to speak as if he'd been waiting 100 years to tell this story. "My name is James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky for short. I knew him before he became the nation's hero, back when he was a skinny kid from Brooklyn. He was my best friend, Steve Rogers."

Something buzzed in the back of your mind—your mother's mention of Cap's best friend "Bucky" along with James' childhood friend, Steve, he spoke of. It was all circumstantial, though, so you remained silent.

"I grew up with Steve and then was drafted with the 107th out of Brooklyn. I didn't know about his...transformation until he came to rescue us behind enemy lines along with another battalion. Your grandfather's. I was shaken up by what that Doc had done to me. Experiments...machinery...I don't remember most of it, but I followed Steve's lead and joined the Howling Commandos instead of heading home. I couldn't leave him behind again, no matter what some scientist had done to him. Or me. There were the seven of us Howlies all the time, but every once in a while other guys would join us on missions. That's where your grandfather came in," he confessed, exhaling a sigh and catching his breath.

You remembered some of this information from history books, at least the rescue and Captain's band of brothers battling HYDRA. James continued on.

"We were a rowdy, irreverent group but we were good at what we did. Had experts in every field and always covered our bases, except...well, on a mission late in 1944, we were trekking though the snowy woods and one of our guys was running point. He tripped a boobytrap wire and the guy behind him caught the blast," he said in a whisper, dropping his head in his hands. "I was right next to him and couldn't do a damn thing. Shrapnel and other injuries from the explosion...no medic could save him. It shouldn't have happened. Your grandfather died a hero, though. That explosion was bound to signal the enemy, so he yelled at us to leave him and find cover. I was with him last and he shoved something into my hand telling me 'Find them...tell them...' before pushing me to leave," he said, voice wavering.

Blinking back tears, you stared down at the smiling face of the a man you never met but felt like you knew so well. You grew up hearing stories and seeing photos on display at your grandmother's. She never wanted to forget him and passed his legacy on to your mother, yourself, and now Caleb. You heard James sniffle and almost forgot the absurdity of the rest of his story.

You cleared your throat. "That still doesn't explain your presence here or any of the rest," you demanded with a harsh tone.

He nodded, wringing his hands and then continuing on. "I'm getting there. I didn't even see what he had handed me until we were safely back at base. It was that photograph. I honestly didn't know what to do with it, but I kept it with me. I felt like the time would come. I did push for us to go back and retrieve his body. Our commander forbade it, but I convinced Steve, so....we did it anyway."

The circumstances around your grandfather's death had mostly been a mystery all these years, so if it was true, knowing what happened was a small blessing. IF it was true. You made a small gesture for him to continue, leaning back slightly in your seat on the couch.

"A few weeks later, we went after the HYDRA scientist and there was a train...I remember picking up the shield, a blast had blown the train car wide open and ...I fell. It was...I don't know, thousands of feet? I still don't know how I survived but hundreds of times since then, I've wished I hadn't. Death would have been much kinder than 70 years of torture, brainwashing, and being used as an unwilling assassin. I had been captured by HYDRA, lost my arm, my freedom...my mind....Steve thought I died, and so did the rest of the world. I'm sure he was the one who pushed for it, and since I've mentioned his...I'm in the Smithsonian Museum, too. There's a memorial for a man I don't even recognize, but...he has my face," James said in disbelief, his eyes unfocused in memory.

"And your agelessness?" you asked, urging him on.

His gaze flickered to you as he shifted in his chair. "Well...you know how Steve was frozen in the ice after he crashed that plane like a stupid goddamn idiotic hero?" he asked with unexplained bitterness in his voice.

You furrowed your brow at his tone, but nodded in recognition.

"HYDRA had the same idea, but on purpose. I was cryogenically frozen time and time again, awoken only to have my memory wiped to serve their purpose. I fought it for years and years, I fought as long as I could, but...eventually there wasn't enough left of me to fight. I doubt I would have ever gotten myself back if it hadn't been for that day on the bridge a few months ago...and Steve. It was probably on the news, right? All that happened in D.C.?" he asked, waiting for your response.

Your thoughts drifted back to that day when three helicarriers fell into the Potomac and HYDRA was revealed to be the evil driving force behind SHIELD. National security was compromised and a spy nicknamed Black Widow spilled all their secrets onto the internet. The news footage ran on a loop all day, but you put a stop to it early on for Caleb's sake. He didn't need those images in his young mind. Still, you flipped over to the news later that night when your son went to bed and you learned that Captain America was responsible for HYDRA's fall and how he was recovering from multiple gunshots wounds in the hospital.

There were also speculations about the man who almost killed the Captain...the man with the metal arm. All images of him were grainy and unclear, but seeing James before you now helped put all the pieces together. Your eyes grew wide, meeting James' before he lowered his head in shame.

"Wait, you...you almost killed him. How...?" you trailed off, unsure how to finish your question as your gaze fell on his entirely covered left arm. The gloves. Of course.

"Yes, I was ordered to kill Steve," he admitted. "I am the Winter Soldier, or so they call me on the news. My handlers only called me "the asset". I had no name...until Steve gave it to me. Bucky. I still don't know if it fits me now. I'm not the man I was all those decades ago, but James...at least it's my given name," he said with a shrug.

Letting this information sink in, there were still so many questions left unanswered, but one pushed itself to the forefront of your mind. "Can I see...?" you began and then paused, but he knew to what you were referring.

Taking a deep breath, James sat up straight and moved his right hand to the glove on his left, pulling at the fabric of each finger until it slipped away revealing solid, shining metal underneath. A sharp intake of breath passed your lips as your eyes grew wide. Fear was still present in you, but more prevalent was curiosity, causing you to lean forward until you were almost out of your seat. James had unbutton the cuff of his long-sleeved dress shirt revealing more of the silver metal and the intricate details of the dextrous prosthesis.

James saw your fascination and remained very still as he spoke next. "Y/N....I'm not going to hurt you. I've never wanted to hurt you. Despite everything I've told you and everything that I am...I doubt you'll even believe me, but I truly do care about you. I've hidden parts of myself, but never my feelings for you," he told you, sincerity bleeding into his voice.

You still didn't know what to believe, but one thing you knew for certain: James wouldn't hurt you intentionally. He'd had plenty of chances, many instances alone with you that if he wanted to, he could have. Even with Caleb...your heart raced at the possibility for a flickering moment, but somehow you still knew that your son was safe with James.

Slowly standing, you carefully made your way across the room and took a seat across from the chair James currently occupied. He remained still to avoid spooking you. Grasping the photograph in one hand, you shakily held out the other and gingerly brushed a finger over the smooth metal of his forearm. He watched your movement but said nothing, afraid to break the spell.

Avoiding his gaze, you spoke first. "So you ran from D.C. How do you still have the photograph if it fell with you from the train?" you inquired, curiosity in full flare now, the malice in your voice all but gone.

You noticed a small frown tugging at his lips out of the corner of your eye. "I left it. I carried it around for weeks and then that particular day....I don't know. Somehow, it stayed behind. It's interesting that you mentioned the photo being a lucky charm for your grandfather. I wish it had saved him. I doubt it would have save me that day, but it has crossed my mind since then. I did escape some hairy situations while I was carrying it, until the train..." he trailed off.

"How did you find it then? How are you here?" you asked, finding the courage to meet his eye.

He huffed out a sigh. "As far as where it went after I 'died', I can only speculate. If it was in my foot locker, then it might have been sent back to my family. All I know is when I walked through the newest exhibit at the Smithsonian displaying possessions of soldiers back then...there it was. I had wandered for days after that day by the Potomac...scrounging for food, squatting in abandoned warehouses, stealing clothes to get rid of my identifiable uniform...Then I saw a billboard for the Smithsonian with Steve's exhibit and I followed its directions. Seeing that photograph almost sparked more memories than Steve. Almost. I saw a face...a man lying in the snow and his words...'find them'. It finally gave me a purpose. A goal. So I picked the lock on the display case and took it," he confessed, eyes wide when he noticed your hand resting on his metal wrist.

"And...how did you find me?" you asked in a whisper.

"In the war, we all talked about home and our families during down time. My brain was, and still is, a mess but somewhere in there I found the hometown your grandfather spoke of. I stole a map and started walking, even hitchhiking some, but I mostly avoided people seeing my face clearly, just in case. When I got into town, I found the local diner, scrounged up enough change for a cup of coffee and sat down on a barstool. Resting on the counter was an open newspaper, and there you were. The ad for the stables. I knew you were related to him. You look just like your grandmother, you know?" he said rhetorically with a soft smile.

"I know," you replied, glancing at the photograph. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

"I should have...and I meant to. There was just too much I couldn't even understand myself until recently. I get flashes of memories. I have dreams...sometimes nightmares. I write it all down but for the majority, I've lost the connections between the memories or I've forgotten the people involved. It's like trying to hold sand in your hands as it sifts through your fingers. It was a miracle that I found my way here, but...I've gotten better somewhat. Thanks to you," he confessed, letting out the smallest smiles.

You drew back slightly, shocked. "Thanks to me? How?"

He shrugged one shoulder, looking more relaxed after his confession. "Well, you gave me a job and a reason to stay in one place for a while. I was able to lead a pretty normal life and I guess 'normal' is what I needed. The horses, too, strangely enough. I've read about how animals can help people heal and I've found that to be true. Also, your kindness and strength have helped me believe that there are good people in the world. And you cared for me, or at least the part of me you thought you knew. I, um...I never thought anyone could see me that way again. Even if that's over now, I'm grateful to you. Gives me a little hope," he finished with glassy eyes.

An aching in your chest took you by surprise and you felt that longing to comfort him. There was so much tangled in your mind, though, that you still needed to sort out before acting. However, you let your hand continue to rest on his metal wrist.

Taking a deep breath, you took in the sight of the man before you. After everything he had told you, there was a shift in the air. Of course, things had changed between you, but...how much? That was the question.

You finally spoke after a moment of silence. "So...what happens now?"

"That's up to you," he answered plainly. "I can leave right now and like I said, you'll never see or hear from me again or..."

You felt a sharp pang under your ribs at the thought of never seeing him again, even after a night of startling confessions. It might be for the best, though...right? You weren't so sure.

"Or?" you urged him on, hoping for a better option.

"Or...I could come to work tomorrow. I could work with the horses, haul bales of hay, fix things, all of that. At least until you can find a replacement, if that's what you want. You don't deserve to be left to run things all on your own again. I'd keep my distance. I don't...I mean, I expect nothing. I never expected any of this. I feel so lucky to have met you, Y/N. No matter what happens, that photograph brought me to you and I will be forever grateful," he said with a quivering voice and a smile that you were finally able to mirror with one of your own for a moment.

Turning it over in your mind, you still didn't have all the answers, but came to a conclusion that gave you time to figure it all out.

"Okay. Tomorrow," you replied, hoping it was the best course of action.

James let out a genuine smile then, causing your heart to flutter unexpectedly. He still had such an affect on you, even after what he'd told you. It was all confusing now. He slowly turned his metal hand over as your fingers still rested on his wrist. The cool metal of his hand brushed the underside of your arm, sending a chill across your skin, but not an unpleasant one. You remained in that position a moment before pulling your hand away with fingertips grazing the cool steel of his palm.

You stood then and James followed, buttoning his shirt sleeve and donning his leather jacket. He slipped the glove back into place on his left hand and lingered a moment before wordlessly leaving the room. The front door close behind him and you followed after shortly, sliding the lock into place before heading to bed.

____________________

Even in the safety of your own home, you felt uneasy that night. You were a grown woman and yet being alone in a house that often felt small and now seemed echoing and cavernous was unsettling. Sleep eluded you, tossing and turning before you gave up and turned on your bedside lamp. The photo was still on the side table where you had left it so you picked it up, staring at the faces of the happy couple. You turned it over, lightly tracing over the letters of the inscription left by your grandmother.

It all seemed so...impossible...and yet James' story also kind of made sense. You wanted to find out for yourself, though. Tossing off the covers, you walked to your desk and turned on the computer, waiting for it to boot up. You grabbed a blanket from your bed and wrapped it around you, then taking a seat in front of the screen.

The search engine popped up as soon as you opened the icon for your browser, so you typed in the first prompt that came to mind: The Smithsonian. There was a link on the website for Captain America's exhibit and from there you found the Howling Commandos. Clicking on the photo to enlarge it, your breath caught in your throat. There he was. James. It was down the rabbit hole from there, reading and searching the internet until you crawled into bed in the early hours, exhausted.

______________________

Saturday morning broke and without Caleb or your mother to feed, you stayed in bed a little longer than normal. You began to hear familiar sounds, though: the low creak as the stable doors were opened wide and the repetitive thump as hay bales were hauled from the truck bed to the dirt beside the stables. He had come, just as he said he would. With a nervous clench of your stomach, you slipped out of bed and parted the window curtains just enough to confirm his presence.

James was back in his usual attire of well-fitting jeans and multiple layers of jackets that still couldn't hide his muscular physique. You let out a sigh and stepped away from the window to get ready for the day.

You ate a simple breakfast, stepped out onto the porch, and took a deep breath before descending the stairs down to the grass. Countless thoughts swirled around in your mind as you crossed the wide lawn toward the stables. Some of what you read last night coincided with what James had told you, but you were still struggling to reconcile the man you've known for months with who he used to be. Or might still be, you weren't sure.

Approaching the stable doors, you shivered in your jacket and peered in, finding James in front of Jasper's stall. The man was quietly stroking the horse's nose and talking softly. He definitely had the touch when it came to horses. Yet another contradiction to all you now knew about him.

Taking a few steps toward him, he turned your way with a look of apprehension in his eyes. Had anything changed since last night? To you, everything...and yet nothing. He still looked at you with that tender expression that made you turn to jelly. However, you tried to stand your ground as you walked toward each other and met in the middle of the stables.

Clearing your throat, you spoke directly and without greeting. "Here are the training schedules for today. I'll need you to put Lightning in the trailer when his owners arrive around 11am. Also, the vet will be coming by to drain the rest of the fluid from the mass near Jasper's leg. If you could assist, that would be very helpful," you said with a professional tone, almost cold.

James' shoulder's sagged slightly at your way of speaking, but he must have expected it. He still gave a smile and nodded in compliance. "Understood. I'll take care of it," he replied in a soft voice, gently taking the papers from your hands.

Lingering a short moment, you opened your mouth to speak, but then thought against it. Turning on your heel, you walked directly out of the stables and back into the house to take care of bills and other paperwork.

The rest of the day went on in that same vein, your interactions with James strictly professional with an underlying tension. There was so much you wanted to ask, so much you needed to say, but you held back for unknown reasons.

In the late afternoon, Kevin returned to drop off Caleb. You saw his car approach and stepped out onto the porch with arms crossed over your chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw James duck into the stables and out of sight.

Caleb exited the car along with his father, who got the boy's duffle out of the trunk and handed it to him with a hug. The scrawny blond scampered up the steps toward you and offered you a hug as well. Your ex, on the other hand, just raised a hand in goodbye and climbed into his car before driving back the way he came. Thank heavens. Could he possibly have listened to your words from the day before and decided to leave you alone?

James left the stables as the sound of Kevin's car faded. The brunet turned your way and you met his gaze from a distance briefly. Finally breaking eye contact, you made your way back into the house only to see Caleb running into the living room with his beloved sketch book from James. It was often the first thing he did after returning from his dad's, eager to work on a project he has spent days itching to draw. The boy would purposefully leave his drawing materials at home, since his father had often given him grief over the hobby in the past. It broke your heart that he felt like he needed to hide that side of himself around Kevin, but on the other hand, James encouraged it. Yet another item to add to your list of contradicting traits concerning the two sides of James Buchanan Barnes.

As dinner time approached, you watch from the window as James returned the horses to the stables and closed the doors. With one last look at the house, he then turned toward the road and began to walk away. Your heart squeezed at that, thinking of the dozens of times when he would have been heading your way to join you for dinner around this time. Caleb even asked if James would be coming for dinner, excited to share his new drawings. You felt a tight squeeze of your heart as you told your son about James not coming that night and seeing his hopeful expression fall about did you in.

Your mother returned from her weekend of debauchery after dinner. Regaling you with stories of her wild times, you hoped at least some of it was exaggeration. She seemed to notice the change in your demeanor, also wondering where James was that evening, but you shook it off and left the room. Caleb was in bed shortly after and you settled down with a book in the living room. Your mind didn't allow you to focus, however and after 15 minutes of trying, you gave up and headed for your mother's room.

Knocking lightly, you entered to see your mother propped up on a pillow with a book of her own in hand. She beckoned you to come in and you sat on the end of her bed. She could tell something was bothering you, so she waited until you were ready.

With a heavy sigh, you began to share what you had learned about James the night before. Your mother gasped at certain parts and felt the same anger you had at times. She let you get it all out, though, before commenting.

"Well," she said with a sigh, removing her reading glasses and setting them aside, "this is all my fault. I'm the one who hired him and shoved you toward him. I'm sorry, sweetheart," she said, resting a hand on yours.

You sniffled then, surprised by the sudden flood of emotion inside you. "No, it's not your fault. He found me and I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't hired him, but I still feel like I was meant to meet him, you know? My brain can't even comprehend what he's been through and yet he still seems like such a good man, mom. How do I handle that? What do I do now?" you asked in desparation.

"I can't tell you that, honey. I think there are a lot of people in this world who deserve what happens to them because of their own choices. Many shouldn't get a second chance or the benefit of the doubt, but James might be one of those few who deserves it. If what he says is true, then it wasn't his choice. Maybe he deserves at least an honest conversation. It's up to you, though, love," she said with a pat of her hand.

Considering her words for a moment, you stood then, having made a decision. "You know, you're right. I don't think I can sit on this any longer. Will you watch over Caleb for me?"

"Of course, honey. You be careful," she urged you.

You gave her a smile. "I will. Thank you, mom. I love you."

"Love you, too, pumpkin," she said as you slipped out of the room.

Driving down the main road late at night, you very nearly missed the turn that was now overgrown with brush and weeds. Your headlights swept over the rundown Blackhurst house as you put the truck in park and climbed out. Approaching hesitantly, the weight of your footsteps cause the porch stairs to creak before you raised a hand and knocked on the screen door.

Part 8 coming soon...

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Yowzah. That was a lot, right? Oof. I hope it wasn't too heavy in details! I've had this all stuck in my head for months, so I've had plenty of time to obsess over it. What did you think of the tie-in of the reader's grandfather? And the photograph? Kind of amazing how it brought them together. What are you theories on why she's knocking on his door? hmmm?? I'd love to hear your thoughts! Love you guys!! <3