WHO: bucky and steve WHERE: their room, then the kitchen WHEN: backdated to March 4, before sunrise WHAT: going through old memories and making new ones STATUS: completed WARNINGS: PG13 (mentions of violence, abuse & torture)
He didn’t know where he was. And even though all the people around him kept trying to tell him, he didn’t know who he was either. Or, he just didn’t remember. Sergeant Barnes. James Buchanan.
Bucky.
These names weren’t familiar But somehow, he still knew them. Just like he knew the man sleeping in the other bed across the room. .
He’d been placed with Steve Rogers after his mission had been terminated. The reasons for it had been left unspoken between the three he’d encountered but he could assume that it was because of all of them, Rogers was the only one who could come close to subduing him if he went on the attack. Except the only thing he wanted to do once his head had been rattled free ....was run. When the nightmares brought him screaming back to consciousness, his first instinct was to fight against his restraints. Only there weren’t any and when he realized, his feet would hit the floor. Rogers never stopped him when he would take off but he would always find him. There weren’t many places to hide in the hotel and since he couldn’t leave (and he tried several times), he would fall back to Rogers’ side. Because even if he couldn’t remember why, there was a lingering feeling of familiarity associated with him that helped to put his mind at ease.
Or as near to it as was possible. He did try to remember but it was like wading through murky water. Some memories came out clearer than others while some remained hidden underneath the shadows. When he tried to reach for them, they would become distorted and vanish. A painful headache would follow and leave him frustrated. He could recall almost to the last detail all the executions HYDRA had ordered him to fulfill. But he couldn’t seem to remember why the tall blonde made him feel ....safe.
That morning was the first that he’d woken up on his own. He’d dreamed of somewhere else, of Rogers except he’d been different. Smaller. It had been an old memory, he was sure, that had been able to slip through the cracks. They had been on a train, laughing. The rest of the dream disappeared in a few blinks but that part remained. He held onto it as tight as he could, terrified it would slip back in the dark corners of his mind and lose it again. It wouldn’t leave him, to his surprise, even as he sat up and made his way into the bathroom. He tried to remember more in the shower but the hot water only reminded him of ice and after over half an hour of trying to forget that feeling, he stepped out unsatisfied.
But at least cleaner than he had been the last four days. Clothes were put back on in a hurry, the same he’d been wearing since he was dropped into the hotel. When he came out, the first thing he did was look for Rogers.
Bucky couldn't stay awake forever. At some point, he had to fall asleep. And when he did, he'd return to their room. Presumably. To Steve's understanding, that was how the hotel operated. On a positive note, Steve was correct. Bucky had been placed back in his bed. He just hadn't counted on the other man bolting out of the room so quickly..
Steve never tried to stop him. Honestly, there were a finite amount of places that Bucky could go. Initially, the blonde had been far more worried about Bucky lashing out at the other guests, either out of fear or a need for answers. However, Steve was fast to remember that there were enough Avengers and enhanced humans around the building to prevent any real chaos. Getting his friend to calm down enough to speak with him would be the real challenge..
But eventually, that morning would come. Steve awoke to the sound of the shower running. And since no one else had a key to the room, he assumed it had to be Bucky. Out of respect, he'd stay out of the bathroom while Bucky bathed, even if it was difficult to remind himself that they were no longer at a point where Steve could just invite himself in the shower with him..
When Bucky stepped out of the bathroom, he'd find Steve sitting on the edge of his bed, still dressed in his pajamas but fully awake despite the early hour. Steve had switched on a lamp and was fiddling around on his phone, obviously waiting for Bucky's attention. He'd lift his head, wondering if the other man would just try to run again before he could say anything of substance. "Hey," he began carefully, his eyes studying Bucky's face, "How are you feeling? I was thinking about going downstairs and whipping up some breakfast, if you're hungry..?"
He always wanted to run. Now that he had the freedom to go wherever he pleased, it was hard to not give in to the temptation to just go. Hide. Disappear. To put as much distance between him and anyone that would try to control him again.
But no one had tried since the incident in the elevator. Yet, a little voice warned.
With his metal hand, he gently switched off the bathroom light. His shoulders lowered in the dark and he blinked a few times, giving his eyes time to adjust to the soft light of the room. Rogers was still in his bed with his phone. In his pajamas. Asking him about breakfast. A feeling flowered in his chest but it quickly wilted and fractured into too many pieces to track. The smallest one lodged itself stubbornly against the inside of his ribcage. It burned, even hurt a little the longer he stared at Rogers. He cleared his throat and nodded. "Da."
His good hand rose and touched the elbow of his metal arm awkwardly. There had been no proper conversations. None that he'd waited around to listen to anyhow. He had seen how Rogers had tried in the days before and he hadn't given much back, even going so far as to respond only in Russian. Because even that little bit of control felt freeing.
But ...he was curious about the things he should know and didn't. He was quick with his boots and then stood obediently at the end of Rogers' bed, waiting. And watching. His eyes followed every wrist flick, every soft click of a kneecap. As if any little thing would help clear away the shadows in his mind.
Da. One of the few Russian vocabulary words that Steve actually understood. It was funny, how one tiny statement could fill Steve with such an incredible amount of hope. Which, from Bucky's perspective, might have seemed odd. There were deep purple bruises upon Steve's neck and shoulder from their scuffle in the hallway. And yet, the blonde did not appear to be the least bit resentful towards Bucky for it. In fact, he was visibly happy that his roommate had told him yes; that he had said anything at all and hadn't taken off like a feral cat at the sight of him.
Steve didn't even bother to change clothes, for fear of Bucky changing his mind and darting off again. Instead, he'd slip on his shoes, remaining in his pajamas. Normally, he would have felt rude or awkward, going out into public in his sleepwear. But this one time, he'd make an exception. This interaction was too important to lose traction on.
Once Bucky looked ready, Steve would lead him out of their room and towards the elevator - a space that currently held a bit of negative energy, but Steve would opt to ignore it - and pressed the button to hail it. While they waited, Steve crossed his arms, trying his damnest to act casual about the whole ordeal. Even though, internally, he was all over the place.
"Do you.. remember being here before? At the hotel, I mean?" There was a beat of hesitation and the elevator doors opened. Steve stepped in, holding it open for Bucky to follow. "I'm.. only asking because I want to help."
The expressions on Rogers' face were so easily readable. He wore everything out in the open. Those blue eyes lit up with such excitement, it made that stubborn piece twist inside his ribs. And Rogers hadn't even bothered to change before leaving. He led them out into the hall in the same thing he'd crawled out of bed in. HYDRA's weapon had never seen such a casual air displayed before by any of his handlers.
It was jarringly ...amusing.
He dutifully kept to Rogers' side, easily falling in with his steps as they made their way to the elevator. A place he had avoided for the last three days for obvious reasons. His eyes had swept left to the door he'd ripped off. It had appeared back in place the day after, as if nothing had happened at all. The walls and the floor were the same. Even the elevator looked untouched, boot marks and metal scrapes gone. The only thing that hadn't disappeared were the welts around Rogers' neck and shoulder.
As if commanded, he stepped into the elevator and took his spot on the far left. He looked over to the spot where he'd tried to kill the red woman, staring longer than he meant to before realizing there had been a question. Speaking hadn't been a priority for the Winter Soldier. It still took some getting used to; finding his voice again. He rattled out a short answer in Russian, then shook his head as he moved his gaze to the floor.
Slowly, his eyes slid to the right. He stared at Rogers' shoes, the bottom of his pajamas but went no higher. There was clearly something he wanted to ask but the elevator was moving quickly and the doors were opening again. This time, he stepped forward and with his good hand, held back the doors for Rogers to step through.
Steve didn't understand what Bucky had said in response to his question, but he did catch the subtle shake of his head, (unsurprisingly) indicating he didn't recall being there. He leaned back against the elevator wall, trying to give Bucky as much breathing room as he could afford. "I'm.. under the impression there's a lot you don't remember. It's okay, don't worry. We'll sort it out. We don't even have to talk about it, if you don't want to. We can talk about something else instead. Like.. the beds in the room. They're too soft, aren't they? I'd almost prefer to sleep on the floor half the time."
He tried to smile. Normally, Steve wasn't this chatty, but given the situation, he was almost afraid to let uneasy silence float between them. He wanted Bucky to feel comfortable. Or at least, as close to comfortable as he could get. Fortunately, Steve had been through this stage of Bucky's memory loss before and somewhat knew how to navigate it. If he pushed too hard, Bucky would retreat, both emotionally and physically. He just had to tread lightly and not overwhelm him with information and emotions. Which was difficult, considering how badly Steve wanted to pull Bucky into his arms and hold him.
Especially after Bucky held the elevator door for him. Steve's jaw nearly hit the floor. Well. That was progress. Not only was Bucky not clawing at the walls to get away from him, he was also being polite. Not that Steve would make a scene about it. He'd nod his thanks and keep walking, as if this wasn't a huge deal.
Before Bucky's hop through time, it might have been awkward, being in the kitchen with the other man. Specifically after what had happened on Valentine's Day. Luckily, Steve could afford to shrug off that uneasiness, because Bucky not only did not remember what occurred between Tony and Steve, he also likely didn't care. All the same, Steve would use the opportunity as a chance to fish out a memory. He was already digging out ingredients, glancing back at Bucky over his shoulder.
"I was thinking.. pancakes, and maybe some hashbrowns, if that's okay?" He paused, spreading the ingredients out over the counter. "Would you like some coffee?"
He didn’t want to be a problem or an unpleasant chore. Rogers had been kind so far and he wanted to at least display appreciation for that on some level. There had been many who had been less than gentle. He was used to being touched, whether he wanted to be or not. It was worth noting that Rogers had yet to try.
The way to the kitchen was an easy one to remember. It held plenty of space, several ovens and counter tops arranged throughout the room. He still kept close to Rogers as they entered, stuck to the back of his heel like a shadow. After a quick visual sweep of the room, he was relieved to see that they were the only ones here. He counted the doors, noting there were only two ways in or out.
Coffee was good. He nodded. As far as food went, as long as it wasn’t poisoned, he would eat it. Another nod. He watched as Rogers started to pull everything out of the cupboards and drawers to begin cooking. At first, he stood and waited, expecting to be given an order. But there were only questions given.
After some hesitation, he moved away from Rogers and began to root through the cupboards for cups. The coffee pot was an easy find. It did take him a few minutes to figure out how the machine worked out but eventually he was able to start it on his own. The smell of coffee was immediate but it was Rogers’ cooking that really made his stomach growl. He looked over, eyes flickering between the stove and Rogers’ face.
“If you don’t like the bed, why not sleep on the floor ...”
He was speaking. He was speaking. And he was making coffee for them. Oh, Steve was having a much more difficult time now in masking his joy. He was still afraid that Bucky might abruptly change his mind and disappear. But this was a breakthrough that couldn't be ignored. The blonde was blatantly smiling now, letting his attention fall back to the other man every minute or so, equally dividing his focus between the pancakes and Bucky.
"I've considered it. And if we weren't here, at the hotel, I probably would. But.. this place, it's notorious for messing with the guests. I'm a little skeptical of tempting fate. But maybe, if I had someone to sleep on the floor with, I'd give it a try."
He lifted his brows at Bucky, that smile broadened a bit. Honestly, honestly, Steve was only flirting in an attempt to lighten the mood. He was fully aware that Bucky was in no position to receive or give romantic attention. Jokes, on the other hand, might help him relax and realize that no one was out to get him here. Except for maybe the ghosts. That part, Steve was entirely serious about.
"Is there.. anything you want to talk about?" Steve tried to maintain that lighthearted tone. Even if Bucky said no, even if he didn't say anything at all, just having him in the same room and not trying to murder anyone was more than enough. "I'm not sure I can answer everything, but I can try."
Rogers was beaming. There was no other word for it. This man that he’d nearly killed, who still had a necklace of dark bruises, was smiling at him. It was bright and warm and real and-
He caught the edge of his mouth as it started to pull. A small smile had tried to surface. He tugged it back and looked away. It was so strange to have that feeling of knowing without the understanding. He remembered with near perfect clarity everything that he had done under HYDRA. But his life before that was where it got fuzzy and it frustrated him that he couldn’t recall why he’d wanted to smile back. But he had wanted to. That counted for something.
When he looked back up to Rogers, he noticed that his smile had turned into something playful. He blinked and stared for a long minute, then nodded and turned to watch the coffee drip. “Da.” Rogers hadn’t given him an order. He hadn’t even technically asked anything of him. Yet, the implied suggestion was obvious. “I don’t like the beds either.”
Or talking. But Rogers was asking and he was inclined to give into the request solely on the fact that he hadn’t demanded anything from him. And there was something that had been on his mind since he’d opened his eyes that morning. He reached out with his metal hand and tapped on the top of the percolator gently as the last of the hot water drained through.
“We were on a train. We’d snuck on.” When was unclear but he felt that it was quite some time ago.. “You were ...shorter.” Thinner. He’d been smiling just as he was now, which had triggered the memory back to the front of his mind. “Where was that?”
In the past, whenever Bucky had been grappling with his memories and fighting what HYDRA had done to him, the situation had always been more pressing. They usually only had a short amount of time to sort things out, all while under a great deal of stress. This time, no one had died. This time, no one was lurking around a corner, trying to contain or re-capture Bucky. There were no Accords to fight over, no exterior tension. They could take as much time as they needed. And honestly, that made this scenario so much more tolerable. Even if Steve wished that HYDRA had never gotten ahold of Bucky in the first place..
"That was in New York. We were on our way back to Brooklyn.. " Steve paused, his attention settling on the pancakes. It was difficult, finding that fine line between 'just enough' and 'too much' information. The blonde still appeared to be in pleasant spirits though, despite the lull in conversation, because it was a good memory. "And yeah, I was smaller back then, before the serum. You used to call me a little punk and pull me out of street fights. Does.. that ring any bells?"
Steve then turned away from the stove, moving to face Bucky. This was one of those tricky subjects. The past, in general, was iffy territory. But bringing up their friendship always seemed to bristle Bucky the most. "I realize that it's difficult, hearing all of this. I just want you to try, okay? Try to remember. You told me once that HYDRA wanted to erase your memories, and if anything ever returned to you, they'd just wipe the slate clean all over again. But I promise, no one's going to do that to you here. You're safe here."
Rogers turned towards him and he tensed.
Safe?
He disagreed with a firm shake of his head. “It’s not me that you should be worried about.” HYDRA had built him to withstand almost anything thrown at him. And if there was something bigger and meaner than he was, well, he wasn’t scared of to die. Some nights, he’d wish for it if only to put an end to the never-ending nightmare. But here there were only pancakes and coffee. Not shackles.
But I knew him- Yes, there were bells singing. He just didn’t know from where.
The machine whistled and he started to pull out the pot. He filled each mug, the dark liquid falling slow and careful as he tried his best to think. It was hard at first, like pushing back a heavy curtain. Brooklyn. Images of the coast came first. “Rockaway Beach,” and when the name fell out, the rest came rushing back like the tide. “I spent all our money trying to win a stuffed animal.” He couldn’t exactly recall the girl’s face but he’d tried to impress her. “We had ....hot dogs.” He thought he might have smelled them even but then realized that Rogers had forgotten the stove.
Bucky turned to look at Steve, then the pan. “You’re burning them again.”
It was almost amusing to Steve, which memories rang out as most important to Bucky as he reached for the past. The fact that Steve's mother's name was Sarah, or recalling that the blonde always tried to make himself taller by wedging folds of newspapers in his shoes. Trying to win a stuffed bear for Dot. Little things, never anything life-altering.
This is what Steve had been reflecting on when Bucky pointed out that he was burning the hashbrowns. If only Tony were here to have a laugh about it. Not so easy to perfect breakfast potatoes, was it?
Steve whipped around, quickly taking the pan off the heat. Whoops. Although, Bucky had said 'again'. As in.. he remembered them being burnt before? Steve tried not to get too excited. The process of getting Bucky to remember things couldn't be rushed. But oh, how difficult it was to not just allow things to fly out of his mouth..
He scooped some pancakes and over-crispy hashbrowns onto a few plates, bringing them over to the small seating area off to the side. He then pulled a chair out for Bucky, hoping he'd still join him despite nearly setting the potatoes on fire. Those blue eyes met with Bucky's face, and this was the first time he had really been able to take a proper look at his friend since his time jump.
"Does it hurt? When you remember things like that? Physically, I mean." Mentally and emotionally, Steve knew damn well this was an absolute rollercoaster for Bucky. "I just.. don't want to make you uncomfortable."
For a Level 6 threat, Rogers was easily distracted. A flash of amusement crossed his face as he watched the blonde turn and scramble to save their breakfast. He got the feeling this wasn't the first time Rogers had cooked for him. Not just here. But back before. He wouldn't have made any mention of the condition of the breakfast but something had clicked in his head -a tiny spark- and the words fell out. Again. If only he could remember exactly when...
Rogers led them to one of the tables. He followed automatically, coffee mugs in hand. When the chair was pulled out for him, he hesitated at first as if he had forgotten the actual concept of sitting. Or of enjoying it. There was one chair he was all too familiar with and that had always come with pain. He stood there awkwardly, glaring at the chair for too long. Only once he was able to tear his eyes away from it and look instead into calm blue waters did he start to move.
He dropped himself heavily into his seat. Miraculously, without spilling a drop of coffee. He set the mugs on the table, using his right hand to push one of them towards Rogers. The plate of food smelled too good. Using his hands, he started to pick the pancakes into pieces, tossing them into his mouth as fast as he could.
"No," the half-lie slipped out as he reached for the coffee to gulp that down. That answer would have been it had he not looked across the table. "Not always," he admitted after falling again under the spell of those blue eyes. "It's like ...getting your hair pulled. One or two hurt a little but you grab a handful ...it's not pleasant." Was he still trying? Yes. He wanted to remember who he was, rememeber what HYDRA had taken from him.
"If you're that worried about my comfort, you could get me slippers."
"Slippers?" Steve lifted his brows, unsure if Bucky was joking, or if he actually meant the statement.. It was difficult to tell when Bucky was in this in-between stage. Steve knew he was capable of being lighthearted when he was like this, unlikely as it might have seemed. But it was still delivered in that same deadpan tone.. "Does this mean you'll actually wear pajamas when you come to bed, too?"
If he came to bed. And when he did, it certainly wouldn't be under Steve's sheets. The blonde's heart sank a little at the thought, though he tried not to let it show on his face. "Can we.. talk about what else you remember?" Steve cautiously slide utensils in Bucky's direction. He had watched the other man eat pancakes with his hands before, so honestly, that part really wasn't so odd. However, he might want a fork for those crunchy hashbrowns. "Do you remember anything else about me? That we're.. friends?"
More than friends. But again, Steve didn't want to push too hard. "Or, do you at least believe me when I tell you that we're not enemies?"
Bucky couldn't remember the last time he'd worn anything outside of what HYDRA had made for him. His clothes weren't his choice, just like everything else in his life. It wasn't to say that his uniform was of bad quality. Actually the opposite. They were essentially light-weight armor. Tough to pierce through though with a few exceptions. He'd come back to HYDRA once with his stomach bleeding out into his hands. It hadn't been fatal but he remembered how there had been more concern about the condition of his uniform than about him. He would wear anything else if he could. Even if it was just pajamas. "I might." He almost grinned. "The other clothes in the closet, they don't smell like you. Are they mine? Otherwise, I might have to borrow yours."
His eyes were drawn instantly to the movement on the table. Rogers was pushing over a fork for him. This time, he didn't need to look at Rogers' face before reaching out, using it to start devouring the hashbrowns next. He had been cautious at first, unsure of what he knew and what he was supposed to remember. This was the first time he'd been taken by someone outside of HYDRA. As far as he knew, he was just a weapon changing hands. Except Steve wanted him to remember-
That we're friends...
He glared down at the now empty plate and scraped the fork down the side. "I know that I trust you. And not just because you made me breakfast." Which begged the question why. That was a difficult one to answer. That was more of a feeling to him than anything. But why else would HYDRA try so hard to push someone out of his mind, to erase so much of something ...it implied importance. The memories that he did have, the few that were able to slip through the cracks, had been bringing a strange blush to his cheeks. Admiration. Someone who could make him feel that way, or how it used to feel, that was someone worth remembering. Or he was delusional. After all the lovely 'therapy' he'd recieved under Zola, it was a miracle his brain wasn't more scrambled.
Realizing he had been quiet for too long and that his cheeks were pink, he cleared his throat and broke the silence. "You were someone that meant something to me."
The other clothes in the closet didn't smell like him? ..borrow his? Steve's mind was leaping, bounding too far in one direction. He'd have to force himself to reel those emotions back in. This was not the same Bucky that he had slept with on Valentine's Day. Or rather, it was physically the same person. Just not mentally. And yet, he couldn't stop himself from slowly reaching across the table, offering his hand to Bucky.
"I'd like to think that I still mean something to you. Otherwise, you probably wouldn't be sitting here with me right now.."
..and wouldn't be casually mentioning that he knew what Steve smelled like. Which was probably just a Winter Soldier thing. Bucky probably knew what everyone smelled like, not just Steve. Regardless, it was something the blonde would take personally.
"We used to take art classes together, you and I. There was one day where we were instructed to do self portraits. You walked away from your sketchpad for a minute, and while you were gone, I leaned over and drew a mustache onto your self portrait.. And when you came back, you didn't get angry. Not even a little. You know what you did? You drew a mustache on yourself. A goofy, mismatched mustache, just like I had scribbled onto your portrait, all because you thought it was funny."
Steve smiled, scooting his chair slightly closer, his hand inching that much more near.. "You're not what HYDRA tried to make of you, Bucky. You're so much more. I know, because I've seen it."
They were sitting together casually eating breakfast and exchanging memories of the good old times like they were old friends. Good ones. The kind that still would talk to each other even after a fight. His eyes were drawn again to Steve’s neck. Those purple welts were healing fast but not fast enough. A deep and angry feeling of guilt welled up inside him. His mind had not been his own but it had still been his arm around his friend’s throat.
And still Steve was reaching out for him.
“Your fingers would get so black.” A chuckle rattled out of his throat suddenly, the memory causing his eyes to glaze over heavily. They dropped to Steve’s hand that was traveling across the table toward him. He hesitated at first, even as the image of Steve laughing came fresh to his mind, then cautiously slid his own hand near. This memory was harder to recall. An electric shiver rose like a ghost up his spine. He wanted to ignore it but the more he tried to focus, the harder he tried to pull at the corners, the less he was able to see. Flashes of a dark room he remembered too well threatened to steal the memory back as it loomed at the edge of his mind. He stretched his hand out a little more, the back of his pinkie brushing against two of Steve’s fingers.
An explosion of color flooded his mind. He smiled, recollecting with crystal clarity that day in the old brick building. It had been a frustrating lesson. No matter how hard he tried, his lines weren’t as perfect as he wanted and his self-portrait was becoming a poor reflection. He had mentioned wanting to throw the whole thing in the trash to Steve before walking away to grab a drink of water to calm himself down. It hadn’t worked and he’d gone back to his seat, annoyed and disappointed with himself. When he came back and saw what Steve had done, all of that went away. “You always could make me feel better.”
But then his hand retreated. The smile fell. “I’m exactly what HYDRA made. You haven’t seen everything.” He pulled his arms in and dropped his hands into his lap. His fingers spun with each other, metal and flesh, mimicking what he’d done earlier with Steve’s. The physical touch had seemed to help him remember. But it was difficult to know for sure without trying again. He glanced up and saw that Steve was closer now. Enough that he could move a leg and touch him. But he remained still. “I have no control over my own mind. Only memories. How am I better off?”
"I haven't seen everything, no. But I've seen enough.. Enough to know that there's still plenty of good in you." This time, Steve was the one to initiate physical contact, reaching out and brushing his fingers along Bucky's forearm. "Listen, I come from a few years in the future. I know this doesn't really make sense.. Nothing makes sense here at the hotel. But I know what happens to you. You're not HYDRA's weapon. Not anymore."
Well, presumably. Steve didn't actually know at what point in time Bucky was coming from, but he had a pretty good idea. "A woman named Shuri figured out how to help you. I'm not sure what she did, but she was able to undo the HYDRA programming in your mind. She isn't here, but surely we can figure something out. A way to move past it.."
Point being, it was possible.
But it was one thing to hear the equivalent of 'it'll get better' and actually see it. And Steve knew that. He leaned away, crossing his arms. "The weather is nice. Do you.. want to go for a walk? Get some air?"
Even when he couldn’t remember his own name, he’d held onto the hope that some day ....it would all be over. He would escape HYDRA and never be forced to return. The memories would always be there to keep him company but at least he wouldn’t be forced to kill anymore. That was a list too long to ever forget. As long as he outlived his handlers and destroyed that damn book, eventually he would be able to have a life of his own again. But the hope of being able to remove the control words completely sounded too good to be true.
“They can take it out?” For the first time in too many years, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Someone could actually go in and just erase the words? He squirmed in his seat at just the idea of it being a possibility. “Then I won’t forget everything ...or you again?” It was too much to hope for. But the promise had been made and Steve looked determined to follow through.
A smile came, easier than before. “A walk sounds nice. Just don’t ask me to run. I’m an old man.” A full stomach was all it took, apparently, to help him remember a bit of who he was. There was still so much that he didn’t remember, pieces of himself that he’d lost. But as hard as HYDRA had tried, there was still a part of him that they hadn’t been able to destroy. He’d just needed someone to remind him of that.