Chapter Twenty Three

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~Winter's POV~

Amelie was still asleep.

It was early.

The sun hadn't fully risen yet, but as the spring was slowly bringing a warmth, I knew it would look like a good day outside.

I vaguely remembered this was what I used to do when I was on the run. Wake early, watch the sky, check the weather, and formulate a plan.

Which meant hiking from wherever my hiding place was, to Amelie's old apartment. I would watch and wait, and check on the calls between HYDRA agents.

But now these early mornings were different, but somehow more intense.

I knew Amelie wanted me to open up, be more independent.

But this time in the morning was the only time that I knew 100% that she was safe.

So I would take a notebook, a pen, and my bag, and set up camp by the window.

I would use the little light available to jot down anything that came to mind.

Most recently, the price of sugar during the war, and the complete lyrics to a song I heard last week.

I knew the dance to go with it to. I couldn't remember listening to the song, or dancing with anyone, but I knew it. Like a strange power.

And against my better judgement, I knew only one single person who knew exactly how I felt.

Who knew what it was like to live before, and in this time.

I just hated that it was Steve Rogers.

I had been putting it off. He had slipped up and called me Bucky too many times, making me uncomfortable and filling me with a rage that I was only now beginning to get a handle on.

And Amelie liked him. She would smile, say hello, ask about his day.

And he would tell her.

He could tell her exactly what his day was like, what his plans were, express more than a single fucking emotion.

I gripped the roots of my hair, and resigned myself to the fact that I needed to talk to him.

He had given me the bare minimum when it came to James 'Bucky' Barnes. Amelie had tried to fill in the gaps when we went through the photos.

I didn't want to look at them anymore.

I stood up, stretched, and took one last look at Amelie as she burrowed further beneath the blankets, a frizzy, knotted bundle of hair masking the pillows.

The ache in my chest loosened, and I took a step outside.

The lift took me straight to the gym. I didn't have to ask JARVIS.

I followed the sound of dull thuds, and fists meeting leather. I rounded the corner, and saw his back, tensed under his top.

His body swung with a practiced ease, his breathing even and perfected. He was definitely a soldier.

He must have sensed me standing there, as his punches slowed and he bent to take a swig from his water bottle.

He waited for me to speak. He just turned, nodded, and moved to a bag that was unzipped on the floor, pushed beneath a window. I watched as he lifted a towel, and pulled it over his face.

An image of a small blond boy with muddy cheeks appeared in my mind, laughing as he brushed a damp towel over his face. He had scraped hands, small cuts and a cough.

"Stevie."

He whipped his head to look at me, those same eyes, the same face. "What-?"

"That's what... that was your name."

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