The stubble was forming again on his face and he'd let his hair grow significantly long, it would probably reach up to the lobe of his ears if he wore it the same way he did before and not slicked back.

James limited his actions to simply sit down in what I had now playfully claimed was his table and stare out the window. In the last month someone –presumably Steve Rogers, even if the man was still adapting to technology or hell, maybe someone else from the gang- provided him with a tablet that he made a habit of carrying around. He read and read file after file that was leaked, trying to soak up as much information as he could about the world that he was deprived from and about himself.

I tried to ignore the cracks and missing pieces of plastic from where he held the tablet with too much force with his left arm or the cracking sounds I could hear echoing through the café when those small incidents happened.

He frowned every time I wrote down the day's password on the bottom of his receipt, deeming it a useless antic; someone taught him to steal Wi-Fi passwords and he offered to teach me how in exchange of a cup of coffee with a slight smirk on his lips one day.

Today, he wasn't in the mood to talk but still managed to come here.
He usually came in the afternoons and left before it got dark, but today was the exception. The sunset occurred at around seven, and at eight o'clock the little bell above the door rang twice and James walked straight to his seat without even acknowledging my presence. I thought that, perhaps, he didn't want to talk but felt the need to do so…Or he simply was overly fond of the location.

I prepared an All-American with an extra shot of espresso and left it in front of him, watching his eyes shift from the window to the steam coming out from the mug that emitted a bitter aroma with an ashy undertone thanks to dark roasted coffee beans.

I dragged one of the chairs off the ground and took a seat in front of him, straightening my khaki apron in the process and quickly glancing around the café to see if anyone needed assistance at the time. The few customers that were inside were far too busy having joyful conversations or mesmerized by the screens of their laptops and cellphones to pay attention to the barista leaving the station.

Focusing back to James tired face I let out a small sigh. "You look terrible," It was a bold statement and, if he took it as an insult, his expression gave nothing away. "What's wrong?"

Slowly, he took the coffee cup with his right hand and let me see clearly the emotions on his face. He was frowning yet it wasn't a result of anger, it resembled more the state he was first in when I met him a few months ago: confusion, remorse and adding to that, was a touch of disappointment as he pursed his lips slightly before getting the mug to his lips.

"I had a relapse." He finally said as the cup clinked against the table's wooden surface when he placed it down. "They wanted to run tests on my brain to see if there was anything implanted. Something triggered memories in the hospital and I broke the doctor's arm and choked him when he tried to arrange the machine."

I concealed my surprise with a sympathetic smile, knowing better than to ask if the doctor was dead.

There were many things that I didn't knew about James, and some that I particularly would like to forget, but the sorrow he was feeling at the time was honest; he was a troubled man trying to pick up the pieces of his life. And unfortunately, he hadn't run with too much luck with that.

"How long ago was it?"

"Yesterday."

"So you ran away?"

He shook his head. "I didn't run away," His tone was harsh and, when he noted my raised eyebrow he exchanged it with an odd determination that sounded like he wanted to reassure himself. "I did what I had to do." He brought the mug back to his lips, savoring the harsh taste as he gripped the handle tightly.

"He lost you once, James," I glanced at his hand and then back to his eyes. "Don't do that to him again, he's doing everything he can to take care of you."

"I need to protect Steve from myself."

"You're not a monster."

He leaned forward slightly, glowering. "I almost killed a man that was trying to help me without hesitating, I felt nothing when my hands were around his throat and he was trying to defend himself." He paused, and I realized that my heart was beating erratically as thoughts about the possible outcomes of his rage flashed through my mind. "Parts of the Winter Soldier still live within me."

I made a pause and fought to hide my fear by focusing on his eyes, darting from one to the other. "You're James Buchanan Barnes now, aren't you?"

He frowned and then, with a confused expression on his face, nodded.

I leaned against the table, trying to show confidence through my body language even if the situation made me feel slightly uneasy. "Start acting like it."

Once James got an idea into his mind it was difficult try to coax him out of it but occasionally there were times that, if someone's words were carefully said with a certain edge, it would make him think twice and hopefully lead him another way.

And today was the day he needed a pat on the back and a hand on his back to guide him.

James said he wanted to spend the night in a hotel downtown, deeming that taking a cab back to Washington was out of the question for the time being. He said he wanted to sort things out, sift the memories he had form the incident the day before to localize the source that triggered his memory. I couldn't let him wander alone, not in the state he was in.

I could hear my keys clashing against each other as I rummaged through the contents of my handbag to open my apartment's door. The light under my neighbor's door shone brightly in the barely lit hallway and I was thankful that he didn't go out late at night. He was a stubborn elderly man that was still trying to cope with all the happenings that ensued in the city, and knowing that my guest for the night was the Winter Soldier wouldn't serve him well at all.

With a sigh, I unlocked the door and opened it, frowning when I heard the annoying creaking sound it made but feeling in no mood to oil the hinges. James didn't seem to be bothered by it.

I sighed as I took the sight of the messy apartment. I barely had time to clean up the kitchen properly, so the living room was a mess; a light layer of dust was on top the furniture and, decorating the coffee table in front of the loveseat that faced the television, were a range of dirty plates, mugs and glasses along with crumbled colorful wrappings of granola bars and potato chips.

At least the apartment smelt like a piercingly sweet arrangement of flowers, courtesy of the so-called spring aroma of the automatic air freshener in the corner of the living room.

"Sooner or later they'll know you're here." I stated the obvious as I stepped aside to let James in before locking the door behind me.

"They won't hurt you, if that's what you're worried about." James stated as he let his gaze roam the familiar space.

"I'm concerned about you."

"About what they could do to me or what I could do to you?"

"They are not going to do anything to you, and if they did it would go as far as a slap on the wrist, they didn't put a bullseye on your head." I turned my back to him as I walked towards the bedroom to fetch a few covers and pillows. The small closet in the bedroom had nothing that didn't smell like dust from being stored there for a long period of time, so James would have to settle with the flowered-pattered pillow I had as a spare and a monochromatic cover that I took from my bed. "And I know you'll do nothing; I trust you." I remarked on my way back to the living room and I shoved what I was carrying into his arms.

He tossed the pillow I gave him in a corner of the loveseat and folded the cover in half before placing it on top of the cushions and taking a seat in the middle.

"I remember that Steve and I used to put the couch cushions on the floor and use them as beds when we were kids." Lucidity was something that he was starting to regain bit by bit; from what I saw –and heard later on- he had his ups and downs. One day he was fine and the next one he would be oblivious of his location and sneer in Russian.

He turned down my offer of cereal or corned beef hash that I'd cooked for lunch, claiming that he wasn't hungry; he also shook his head when I offered milk or water. He accepted a bottle of beer though.

At around twelve I retreated to my room, locking the door behind me. With a sigh, I sat on the edge of the bed and got my cellphone out of one of the pockets of my jeans. I scrolled the contact list with my index finger until I found the name I was looking for nearly at the end of the list and glanced at the locked bedroom door.

I'd turned off the lights before stepping into my room, and by now I couldn't even hear the faint sound of the TV playing late night infomercials, but that couldn't give me the certainty that James was asleep. His footsteps were light considering the built of the man, which probably was a result of the years of training; no one would like an assassin that was unfamiliar with the word stealth.

I repeated on my head over and over again that it was for his sake before I touched the phone-shaped icon on the screen and waited for the dialing tones. His phone was turned off.

I heard the automated voice said that the user was unavailable to take my call and, after I heard the familiar tones indicating I could start talking, I repressed the urge to end the call.

"Captain, this is Madison Hobbs, the girl from New York. James is here with me and he's alright, he just wanted some time to sort things out because of the incident. He's lucid, but refused to eat and so far he only has coffee and alcohol on his stomach, but if he's still here tomorrow morning I'll try to make him eat breakfast…We'll be here all day tomorrow in case you want to pick him up." I ended the call and tossed the cellphone beside me, hoping I had made the right decision. It was only then, when I saw the phone discarded facing the covers, that I realized that a knot had formed in my stomach and I had no idea if it was a result of anxiety or guilt.

I woke up as rays of sunshine filtered through the dim curtains and hit me in the face, forcing me to open my eyes and regret the action. With a grimace, I shielded my eyes with the palm of my hand and, sighing, adopted a sitting position.

There was no noise coming from the living room and that meant that either James was fast asleep or gone. I grabbed my cellphone from the nightstand and clicked a small button on the upper side and noticed with disdain that it was six thirty. I took that as a cue to get out of bed.

I stopped when I reached the door and unlocked it, gripping the handle with hesitation. I just knew that if James had snuck out during the night it would feel like a low blow; I didn't expect him to stay, not when he had a riot on his mind and pretty much said he wanted to be alone with his thoughts, but I sincerely hoped he did.

I figured that, perhaps, if I got used to the idea of picturing an empty couch with the cover pooling into the ground it wouldn't be as shocking.

I took a deep breath and opened the door, noticing a mop of brown hair standing out from the cream colored sofa. I carefully walked over the couch, trying to make minimal sound with my bare feet. Even if I tried, I knew that I couldn't wipe the small smile that formed on my lips.

He'd taken off his jacket and perched it against the recliner next to the couch, which was far too small for his height, making him sleep in an uncomfortable fetal position with his feet resting on top of the armrest. He looked at ease, serene, and I found slightly amusing the way his hair dangled across his face in a frizzy mess.

His chest heaved in and out rhythmically, moving the cover slightly; I feared that it would soon fall off his body since at least half of it had slid down from his upper body, allowing me to stare freely at his metal arm. Somehow, I thought the first thing he'd be inclined to do in his recovery would be to get rid of the red star on his arm.

I shook my head slightly at my rudeness and grabbed the empty bottle of beer from the nightstand to throw it into the garbage can when I noticed from the corner of my eye slight movement coming from the sleepy form beside me.

James awoke with a blank expression on his face and a wary look on his eyes. I slowly left the bottle back on the table, letting him assess the situation accordingly. His eyes quickly darted across the room before he reached under the covers to something that I couldn't see and that struck a panic alert on my body.

"I'm Madison and you're in my apartment in New York," My words seemed to have no effect on him as he realized that whatever he was looking for couldn't be found on him. "You said you were going to spend the night here, remember?"

Remember was always a triggering word.

He frowned and I found my fingers twitching at the intensity of his stare. The movement placed him slightly on edge but, slowly, he was able to hold it down as he took in his surroundings, letting the tension on his muscles slip into a comfortable state.

"Are you alright?"

James nodded. "Sorry."

"Want some coffee?"

This time, he didn't turn down my offer of scrambled eggs with a side of bacon and a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

I left my fork down when I heard a knock on the door and gave James an apologetic smile that he returned with smirk before leaving the table. I checked the peephole and make sure it was the guest I was expecting before opening the door and stepping aside.

James wasn't too pleased when he saw him.

He agreed to go in peace with Steve Rogers after the star spangled hero convinced him that they could work it out with the therapist James was seeing. He'd been unsure at first, but he had no reason to mistrust his friend's words.

Thankfully James didn't took it as a personal attack that I've recurred to Steve for help, but that didn't mean that he was grateful with the course of action I took.

At one point, James decided he wanted to move to Brooklyn and Steve obliged with his request. For a couple of months the Captain lived with him in a decent apartment complex until work got in the way and he figured that being in Washington suited him better than living in Brooklyn. James didn't seem to mind. After all, if Rogers didn't visit him on the weekends they could still see each other at the end of James' therapy sessions and Steve always welcomed his company with open arms.

At first, James went to a therapist four times a week, then gradually the numbers lowered to once a month and ultimately he decided he didn't require that kind of assistance anymore.

Now that he lived closer, I saw him more often sitting in the northeast table of the café, still drinking the same kind of coffee and turning down my offers to try something new. Little by little things started to change: he got rid of the stubble but kept his hair long, sometimes tying it back to a low ponytail, he started to discard the long sleeved clothing and gloves in public and, in the end, if someone asked about his name he'd say Bucky, Bucky Barnes.

And if that didn't mean that he was alright now, then I don't know what would.

Thank you for reading!

Disclaimer: Captain America and its characters belong to Marvel.