"Once your awareness becomes a flame, it burns up the whole slavery that the mind has created."
-Osho
Ophelia slid a black shirt over her head; the girl at the front desk had brought her a few things after a few days of them staying in the motel. Whether she was helping because she hated her job, or because she feared them, Ophelia could not say. On the television, there had been no mention of The Winter Soldier or herself, only mentions of SHIELD falling and the swelling list of casualties.
Every time Bucky came in when she had the TV on, she would quickly fumble to turn it off. He didn't need to see the wreckage he had left in his wake. Her mission was more than helping him remember, it was protecting him and how fragile he was at this point. She knew that he hated how much he couldn't remember, but he had not pressured her yet since the first night to link with him. Truth was, she was terrified.
Bucky had helped her change the gauze wrap on her ribs, and when they had unravelled the soiled material Bucky studied her HYDRA markings for longer than he should have. His fingertips darted gently to her, tracing the lines as if he had seen them before.
He had, a lifetime ago.
Though her rib wounds had not penetrated the skin, Ophelia knew that she had at least two broken ribs; the internal bruising on her left side was blackened and spread down her side like a disease. But it did not hinder the bright purple scars upon her stomach; everywhere she went, she was fully covered, and had never had someone look at them like this before. Feeling embarrassed, Ophelia had smiled weakly, and gently spread her fingers over the scars. He didn't stare after that, but she presumed it was the same as if she stared at that arm; it too screamed that he was HYDRA.
Bucky had pulled out the bullet in her shoulder before she woke in the motel, but his lack of tools left for a bigger wound, one that would not heal nicely; as with the one in her thigh. Although more of her was broken than not, Ophelia felt as though she was finally coming together. A few days had allowed for the superficial wounds to heal, and the deeper ones to begin their long process. Adding to the scars upon her body, these bullet wounds would also be a reminder of dark times. But they would remind her why she had chosen to do what she did; upon having a choice, she really was good inside. That thought made her smile, made her think that she deserved to be alive today.
Though Ophelia did not think that Bucky was ready, he insisted that they head to the Smithsonian where there was an exhibit for Captain America; the pamphlet had been tucked away in the nightstand drawer right next to the untouched Bible. He had found it, studied it for hours that morning, and then said he was going.
Walking was nearly impossible without leaning on Bucky; she was going to need crutches if she were to go anywhere outside of the motel without his help. Since she didn't have crutches, she had to lean on him, and he did not protest; there was a darkness in his eyes when he had to hold her up to do just about anything, because it was his fault in his mind. He had left to gather some clothes to blend in, and when he returned, it was almost noon. There would be people searching for him, and for Ophelia too, but he didn't care about the risk.
Looking like quite the oddball using Bucky for support, Ophelia felt as though everyone was staring at her as they walked to the museum. Though they were not far from the museum to begin with, Ophelia slowed Bucky down tremendously. Despite the fact that he was overly eager to see his origins, as well as Captain America's, he never once complained about her inability to move fast. It was dangerous to go somewhere that would be guarded and filled with civilians, but the people would give cover from searching eyes. Though Ophelia didn't think anyone was after her- other than friendly faces like Steve- Bucky had caused a lot of damage to the city and she was surprised they hadn't been arrested already. But who in their right mind would think to look for them in a museum?
Slipping through the doors and flashing the pamphlet, which gave them free access, Bucky and Ophelia were now within the confides of the large building. Following the few people that were there, given that it was midday on a Tuesday it was slow, Bucky and Ophelia sauntered down the ramp. The room was dark, giving them some shelter, and the videos and images projected onto the various screens and walls were a lot to take in. Intending to start at the beginning, Ophelia studied the image of Steve before his serum; she could hardly believe her eyes. He looked so drastically different, it was hard to imagine what he had been through during the serum. The serum HYDRA attempted to replicate, and had done so successfully at some point, but not with Red Skull. A failed attempt.
Bucky pulled away from her and Ophelia wavered slightly, unable to stand up right she gripped a table that had artifacts from the war underneath the glass cover. Glancing at Bucky, she knew exactly where he was headed. His origins were the most important thing to him; though he knew some of his past, he didn't know much more than what Ophelia had told him. Her flaw was that she knew very little of his past, and couldn't help him much beyond their encounters. Linking with Steve had helped her learn more; she realized that she would need Steve for this. It was their mission, and she couldn't complete it on her own. Only, she didn't know how to contact him, or if he was even still alive.
Limping over to Bucky, she placed her hand on his shoulder, startling him slightly, and then read his small bio. It explained that he and Steve had been childhood friends, and that he had left to fight in the war before Steve got the serum. When he had been captured by HYDRA, he had been rescued by the new and improved version of his best friend, but a lot of testing had been done on him by then. What the bio didn't know, was that those tests had saved his life when it came to the fall that lead him to meeting Ophelia.
"Do you remember any of this?" Ophelia whispered, as to not draw any more attention towards them. They had already turned a few heads, with their covered appearances and their bruised faces. Ophelia's limping didn't help at all either.
"I'm starting to," he replied, though it sounded pained, as usual.
Her real question had been 'do you remember me?' but she did not let the words slide off of her tongue, in fear of pressuring Bucky. If he couldn't remember her, so be it. He was still connected to her in ways he may never understand, but he could feel it. There was something between them that was more important than the memories, keeping Bucky around. She respected whatever was the cause, because without Bucky, she wasn't sure what she would do. It was a desperate feeling that she was not proud of, clinging onto someone like that, but he hadn't left yet so perhaps he was just as desperate.
"Let's go," he said, dropping his head so no one would see his face. Other than a few faded scars and his long hair, he looked exactly as he did seventy years ago, and so people might find it concerning that the supposedly dead soldier was still alive. He was, after all, standing right beside the picture of him that Ophelia found striking. In his uniform, he looked so different than he did now. She'd only ever seen him in pain, in fear, and so seeing his confident looking face staring down at her, it made her believe there was still a chance to bring him back.
***
Ophelia sat on the edge of the balcony once back at the motel, her legs straightened out in front of her; she had learned that it was the most comfortable position for her thigh. Her back was pressed against the dirty glass pane, keeping her ribs align. The sun was falling behind the distant city sky line, colouring the sky orange, pink, blue, and purple. She had never actually watched a sun set before, and though it pained her eyes, she didn't look away as it slowly inched into a temporary slumber. The night would take over soon, darkening the sky and the country. People would fall asleep, people would find time to be with their loved ones, passion would ignite throughout the world once the sun turned away its gaze, and love would be found among strangers.
So many things could happen after the sun went down.
The sliding glass door opened, and Bucky came out; Ophelia watched as he took a seat next to her. The remaining sun reflected off of his metal arm, glimmering like a diamond. Outside of the room, he kept it covered and wore gloves as well. But here, where he felt safe with Ophelia, he didn't bother. Though the arm was a part of him that reminded him of HYDRA, he could not get rid of it. It was a part of him, like any other body part, and he had to live with that. Ophelia had seen him trying to scratch away at the red star on the side, but he had not managed to make a dent in removing it. Just like the arm was a part of him, the star was a part of the metal itself.
"I need you to link with me," he said pointedly. "I can't do this on my own."
"Are you sure you are ready?" It was Ophelia who was not ready, in truth. Her wounds felt better, her head felt better; she had high hopes for this, but was terrified of the failure that might occur. She didn't know the chances of him remembering, but she had to think that they were low.
"Yes."
"Promise me one thing."
"Okay." He nodded.
"No matter what you remember, no matter what comes to mind, all the pain you went through... Just promise me that you will stay with me. For... For a while..." She feared that if he remembered that she had been a part of his mutilation and brainwashing, it was her stupid mistakes that got his memory wiped countless times, that he might not want to look at her anymore.
"I promise."