~Frederick County, Maryland, three months later~

Running never used to be a great love of hers, not even when she had two legs. In fact, she used to view it some form of torture when they forced her to run in freshman gym class, a time that seemed so long ago when she dwelled on it. She would become easily winded, needed frequent walking breaks, and always ached horribly the next day.

Lately, however, it had become an escape. With consistent practice and patience with her abilities, the activity was getting easier and easier to do. It was a time to focus on her. A chance to clear her mind of the stresses plaguing her mind. The latest tiff with Aunt Laura had prompted a need for this particular session.

Breathe in. One, two. Breathe out. One, two. That was her mantra as she jogged down the streets of her neighborhood. She felt lucky living in an area whose economy was based primarily on agriculture. Being only a forty-minute drive from the busy streets of Washington, D.C. was all well and good, but it hardly compared to the areas beyond city limits. Frederick County was richer in natural scenery and had many farms, which made for some beautiful jogs. These jogs had been more fulfilling in recent weeks, thanks to the latest prosthetic prototype she wore. The model had been contoured to the proportions of her body to make it appear more like an actual limb as opposed to a titanium replacement. Additionally, a stimulator had been implanted at the base of her spine, which sent signals from her brain to the prosthetic in order to make it move. The procedure had worked flawlessly; it truly moved like a real appendage, bending at the knee and behaving as any leg would while running. Compared to her J-shaped model, it felt as though she'd never even lost her right leg in the first place. Mr. Stark would be pleased to hear it.

Breathe in, breathe out. Rhythmic pounding of feet on pavement; music playing into her ears from her headphones; sweat evaporating from her brow to help cool her face. All the components kept her in a soothing trance.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Let it all fade from her mind.

Rounding the last corner of her route, Kim Proctor finally slowed to a walk, giving herself a chance to cool down from the five-mile trek. Her rapid heartbeat prompted her to continue taking in deep breaths, and as she brought her body to rest, her pulse gradually reduced to a normal rate. It had been her longest run yet, and she experienced very little soreness and a pleasant burn in her lungs. She was satisfied with her progress. She'd made good time, too: judging by the pink and orange hues in the sky, sunset was only about an hour away.

Half a mile further down the block, she stopped at the mailbox, then cut across the lawn of a modest two-story house, her home with Grandma Proctor for close to five years. Home. Sanctuary. This was where Kim received her second chance at a life worth living.

Once inside, Kim leafed through the mail as she slowly walked through the hallway. On her way, she passed several photographs hanging on the walls, some of them her kin from bygone eras. Over the years, she'd memorized their faces. Her great-grandparents, George and Winnie Barnes; her great-uncle, James Barnes, known affectionately to family and friends as Bucky; her grandfather, John Proctor; Grandma and Grandpa's first son, Johnny, who died young due to complications from tuberculosis; Aunt Laura; her mother, Grace, and father, Jim, whom Grandma had named in honor of the soldier, Bucky; the last photo ever taken of her little brother, Scotty. They watched over her as she continued down the hall, glancing through the notifications in her hands. Another medical bill for Grandma. A reminder from Red Cross that Kim was scheduled to donate blood at the end of the next week. Two pieces of junk mail. She smiled when she found an invitation to Sammy's birthday party scrawled with his childish penmanship. Sammy, the boy she currently volunteered her time with, was a survivor of last year's Boston Marathon bombing and a double-amputee. When he'd joined Iron Wings, Kim immediately requested that she be assigned as his mentor because of his Captain America t-shirt. How could she resist? He would often send her letters, since he liked keeping in touch with his "big sister" even beyond their sessions at the physical therapy center. By the card she found on the inside, it was clear that Sammy was planning an Avengers-themed party. Cute. All the mail was placed on the antique buffet at the end of the hall; she would take a closer look at the rest later.

After stretching her muscles, washing her face, donning a clean shirt and eating a quick sandwich, she made her way upstairs to her grandmother's room. Jen, their Hospice nurse, was giving the heart monitor and IV bag a final check for the evening. Her grandmother lay in bed, eyes half-open but very aware of her surroundings. At eighty-seven-years-old, Rebecca Proctor had lived a long, full life, which was gradually coming to a close due to a decade-long battle with breast cancer. Five months ago, she'd stopped responding to treatment, and she wanted nothing more than to come home to live out the remainder of her life. Kim tilted her head as she observed her. Beneath the withered skin and braided silver hair, she still resembled the same woman she'd had known and loved since she was a baby.

Discreetly pulling her iPhone from her pocket, she typed a quick message to a recipient labeled only as Private Number: Grandma had stroke. Please call if you can."

Once the device was back in her pocket, she crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. "She stay pretty calm while I was out?"

Rebecca seemed to hear her voice, turning her head to see her granddaughter in the doorway. It might have been a trick of the light, but her face appeared to brighten when she saw her.

Jen turned and smiled. "She did. You have a good run?"

"Yeah."

"How's the new leg working out?"

"I'm almost tempted to never take it off," she stuck her prosthetic out to inspect it. The appendage started above where her knee used to be, and extended all the way to the rounded end of her artificial foot. "Even when I walk, I don't feel like I'm limping anymore. It fits me really, really well."

"That's fantastic! Mr. Stark is really going to change some lives with those models."

"He already is," she mused. "I might see if I can play soccer with Ginny if things keep working out the way they do."

"Which one is Ginny again? You've mentioned her name once before."

"Twelve-year-old, lost her arm during a rock slide while camping with her family. Loves to play soccer."

"Right, now I remember. I'd love to see you guys play someday. From what you've said, she can be pretty ruthless during the game."

She laughed. "Yeah, she's a little bulldog out there."

Jen gave a chuckle, then glanced back at her patient. "Everything's pretty stable as far as her vitals, and the morphine drip is in place, so she should sleep well. Are you in for the night?"

Kim nodded. "If you're all set, you can head out."

"I have a few cleaning supplies to put away downstairs, but then I'll be off after that."

"Thanks, Jen. See you tomorrow."

"Have a good night," she placed a comforting hand on Kim's shoulder as she passed. She appreciated the gesture.

Once alone, Kim came in and pulled a chair up beside Rebecca's bed. Though sadness was in her heart, she offered the elderly woman a gentle smile as she placed a hand atop hers. A recent stroke had paralyzed the woman's facial muscles, rendering her incapable of speech. Despite this, it seemed as though her hooded green eyes were smiling, even if her mouth couldn't. This was another reason why Kim needed the escape that jogging offered her: very slowly, her bedridden grandmother was wasting away before her eyes. The person who had taken her in and, essentially, saved her life…she was fading. The representatives at Hospice couldn't say for sure how much longer she had. Days? Weeks, perhaps? Difficult to say. Yet another person she loved being cruelly taken from her, and this time, she had to endure the suffering of gradual loss.

Kim's heart broke every time she saw her grandmother like this, but she needed to be strong for her. She would be strong. If they only had so little time left together, then sitting around crying was no way to spend it. At the very least, she could try to make Rebecca's remaining days as happy as possible. "I know you overheard us, but my run was good tonight. I made it all the way to Silver Spring Road this time. I know, not super far or anything to brag about, but I didn't want to go too far from home. I think you'd get a kick out of seeing me run now." A pause. "Maybe I'll have Jen take a video on her phone so you can see."

The bottom lids of her eyes twitched, indicative of an emotional response.

That made her smile a little more. "Yeah, I thought you might like that. Almost makes me feel normal again. I think I'm getting stronger in my legs, too. It's a good feeling." It was such simple and light conversation, but that's how she wanted to keep it. She preferred not to burden her grandmother's ears with the strained conversation between her and Aunt Laura earlier today.

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she gave her head a shake and said, "Alright, it's eight thirty, so no more boring talk about exercise. You're probably sick of hearing about it every day," she said as she stood. "You ready? I've been practicing a little more with this prototype," she patted her right thigh. "Feels different from the other one, you know? I mean that in a good way."

Crossing the room to the shelves containing her grandmother's vinyl record collection, she began flipping through the albums. "No; nope; no; I know which one I want tonight…Ah, found it!" She triumphantly pulled out the large square case she had been seeking. On the dresser was an old record player, where Kim placed the large black disk and set the needle on its surface. It took only seconds for Ritchie Valens' "Oh Donna" to fill the room. She smiled; the song was a favorite of both her and her grandmother.

"Okay," she stood up straight, "foxtrot tonight." She proceeded to hold her arms up, miming as though she had a partner—one hand on his shoulder, the other holding his hand—and began the steps to the dance. It was a nightly ritual they'd started after she moved here, as well as a form of physical therapy for Kim: dances like the waltz, foxtrot, and jitterbug helped her with coordination and fine-tuned her motor skills. Even though Rebecca could no longer be her partner, it didn't stop Kim from continuing to practice. She loved doing it, and the steps really strengthened her abilities. In addition to this, she knew her grandmother loved watching her do something they had once shared.

In her head, she counted the steps. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Turn, two, three, four…The serene accompaniment of music filtering from the record player combined with Valens' lovely voice gave her the perfect tempo, and she felt herself relax into it. She still counted, but her movements became more fluid as she let go.

Successfully taking a turning step, she smiled over at Rebecca. "See? Look how smoothly I'm moving," she gave another turn into the next step. "If I'd ever gone to prom, I would have forced the guy to dance with me like this." She slid a step back, moved to the left. "Grandpa used to say he loved dancing with you when you were younger, and that's what I want to find: someone who's willing to dance with me whenever I want to," she spun herself around with a giggle.

There'll be time later, she thought, to think about the negative things going on. You need me right now, Grandma, and I know that even you need an escape every once in a while. I hated being confined to a wheelchair probably as much as you hate being confined to your bed. You need an escape, and I will make sure you get it.

Valens continued to croon about the love of his life.

One, two, three, four…

Rebecca's eyes continued to twinkle as she silently watched her granddaughter make her so proud.

It was close to nine o'clock when she finally kissed her grandmother good night and exited the room. The door was left open in case a monitor sounded an alert in the middle of the night. Kim made her way to the stairs, going over a mental checklist of what chores still needed to be done. It was good to have those kinds of distractions. I've got a load of laundry to do; dishwasher needs to be emptied; have we still got cookies? I really want some cookies. Oh, and I better get my blog updated tonight before Mr. Stark gets on my case for—

Halfway down the stairs, a vibration in her pocket indicated an incoming call. When she saw the caller displayed as Private Number on the screen, she sighed in relief and brought the phone to her ear. "Hey. I just really needed to talk tonight."

"That was pretty clear from the message you sent me," Steve Rogers replied, concern evident in his voice. The man had become a dear friend to her over the past three years. Being the best friend of her Uncle Bucky, he'd taken it upon himself to track down the remaining members of the Barnes family. It was a way for him to connect with the life he once had. "When did it happen, Kim?"

"Four days ago," she descended the remaining stairs, making sure she was out of earshot of her grandmother. "I should have called you as soon as possible, but—"

"I'm sure you were otherwise occupied getting Rebecca the care she needed," he interrupted, "so you don't need to apologize or make any excuses. Family always comes first."

"I know, but…you knew her back in the nineteen-forties, and she's one of the last living people you know from that era. I feel like you should what's going on with her as soon as it happens."

"Kim, I know you, and I can only imagine how traumatizing a situation like this must be. You needed to take time for yourself before contacting me, and trust me: you did the right thing for you. That is not selfish."

He was using that protective tone with her, which, despite her worries, made her smile softly in appreciation. "Thanks, Steve."

"How is she?"

"Facial muscles and the left side of her body are paralyzed; she'll never be able to leave her bed again."

"Oh, God…"

"Yeah." Crossing through the kitchen, she slipped out the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. The dark sky and mild air of the July night greeted her, accompanied by the incessant chirping of nocturnal insects. She'd always liked their backyard. A large, grassy expanse bordered by a thick patch of trees at the property's far edge, offering a degree of privacy from their neighbors. It also used to be a place for her and Scotty to run around and explore as children. "All we can do is make her as comfortable as possible now."

"How are you holding up, Kim?"

She heard herself sigh into the receiver. It was a question he asked her numerous times, but she understood why he did it. Much like when he first met her, Steve wanted her to get the hurt out of her system, which was precisely what she did. The last time she'd made the mistake of bottling up her emotions, she'd given herself a pair of matching scars on her wrists. Steve wouldn't let her go down that path again. Ever. He really was looking out for her.

"Kim."

"I'm okay, and I do mean it," she finally said. "Some days are harder than others, but I'm hanging in there, Steve."

"I'm glad to hear it. Is it just Hospice assisting with her care? Has your Aunt Laura been around at all?"

She pursed her lips when an unpleasant burn flared in the pit of her stomach, then she slowly began pacing around the yard in a large circle. Maybe it would help to alleviate the internal pain. "She comes every weekend to help out, and she's amazing with how she takes care of Grandma, but…" She shook her head. "Steve, it seems like we're fighting more and more lately."

"Why are you guys fighting?"

She sighed, not pleased with the idea of telling him the reason. "She keeps bringing up my suicide attempt."

"Still? You've got to be kidding me," he sounded exasperated.

"No."

"Why does she feel the need to keep dragging this up? That incident was over four years ago! That's unfair for her to be constantly reminding you of it, especially when you've moved on with your life. It's time for her to move on with hers."

She half-shrugged, nearing the trees as she continued her great circle. "She's angry. Something kind of snapped in her ever since Dad died. You didn't know him, and you never saw them together, but those two were really close." She let a breath pass through her nostrils. "Sometimes, I think she sort of resents me for being the only one to survive that crash."

"Kim—!"

But she wasn't done. "I know I hurt her back then, and no matter how many times I've apologized, she never really got over what I tried to do in her own house. She took that really hard. Plus, now her mother's health is failing, so it's making things even worse between us."

"Kim," he said firmly, "you're making excuses for potentially abusive behavior."

It was almost like a slap in the face because she hadn't thought about it that way. She bit her lip, realizing the truth in his statement. "It's hard because I do still feel guilty about what I did, and she's my aunt: I do love her. I have so little family left, and when Grandma's gone, it'll just be her and me. I know that somewhere down the road, we're probably going to need each other. I can't just turn my back on her."

"Hey, you listen to me, and you listen well: as human beings, we're bound to make mistakes. You were not at fault for the car crash. And while you may have consciously made the decision to try taking your own life, you soon realized the potential repercussions your actions would have had on everyone around you. You made a mistake, but you were just a kid. There's so much you've learned since then, and even Rebecca commented to me what a great change there'd been in you."

Her breaths became shallower, and she tried to ward off the tears that stung behind her eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yes. Family is supposed to be there for one another, and it sounds like Laura has some personal issues to sort out for herself, and that does not and should not fall on your shoulders. You don't control anyone's behavior but your own, and I, for one, am damn proud of how you've turned out, Kim."

Whether she liked it or not, a few quiet tears flowed down her cheeks, which she quickly wiped away. "You mean that?"

"Every single word. I know you don't have much family left, but I want you to know that I think of you as the little sister I never had."

A pain pierced her heart, but this time, it was sweet pain. "You do?"

"Of course. You're my best friend's youngest niece, and that makes you like family to me. As such, I feel a personal responsibility to look out for your well-being, and remember: you can always talk to me about anything, especially when it's something affecting your heart."

By now, she was holding her forehead in her free hand, completely overwhelmed by his proclamation. Wiping a few more errant tears, she could feel the smile lighting her entire face. "I swear, Steve, if you make me cry, I'm going to kick your super-soldier butt the next time I see you."

He laughed. "And just think: you're stuck with big brother Steve for the rest of your life."

Unable to help it, she released a snicker.

"What was that? Was that a laugh I finally heard?"

"Shut up," she grinned, earning another laugh from him.

"It's good to hear humor in your voice, Kim; makes me happy to hear you laugh. Don't ever lose that."

"I'll work on it," she resumed pacing.

"I just wish I could be there for you. I should have called you before her health really started to decline. You're only eighteen; you shouldn't feel like you have to go through this alone."

She smiled again, a little sadder this time. "I appreciate that, but there's nothing you could have done to—" A twig snapped somewhere in the trees beside her, causing her to jerk her head around at the noise. Scanning the vegetation, she detected nothing out of the ordinary.

"Kim?"

"Sorry, just heard a raccoon or something. Anyway, don't beat yourself up over that. Between your work with SHIELD and finding out that HYDRA is still around, I'd say you have your hands quite full. Even I know that needs to come first for you, Steve."

"Very true, but it doesn't change the fact that I wish I could be there when you need me."

"Your calls do more for my heart than you realize." A pause. "You still can't you tell me where you are, can you?"

"I'd like to, but it's best if I don't disclose that information. The less you know, the safer you are from any potential threats. I don't want anyone using you to get to me."

HYDRA, her mind whispered. While initially disappointed, she completely understood his rationale. She was just glad Mr. Stark had installed the auditory cloaking chips in their phones to provide a secure line of communication between them. At least they could keep unwanted ears from listening for the time being. "Can you at least tell me what this mission of yours is? What you're doing…wherever it is you are? All you said was that you're looking for someone."

He seemed to hesitate on his end. "I can't go into great detail, but there's something that HYDRA has done that I need get to the bottom of. Something that came up during those days in D.C., and I need answers."

She recognized the underlying hurt in his voice. "What did they do, Steve? What is it you're trying to find out?"

Quiet. Then, "All I can tell you is that they destroyed the mind of someone I care about. I need to find him, and will stop at nothing until I do."

She dug her fingernails into her palm. What flashed through her mind was the memory of Steve's stricken face whenever he spoke about the day Uncle Bucky died. She knew that HYDRA was responsible for his death, and they had to get what they deserved. If it hadn't been for them, perhaps he would have still been alive when she was born, and perhaps she could have known him for herself. For all the lives they'd ruined, the chaos they created, and for the atrocities they continued to commit, she wanted to see the organization annihilated. "I hope you find him."

He released his breath in a gentle huff. "So do I. We'll see what the outcome is." He paused. "While I have you on the line, there's something I've been meaning to ask you. You know how SHIELD and HYDRA's files were leaked on the Internet?"

"Yeah; from the sounds of it, it was one a hell of a leak."

"Have you had a chance to browse through any of those files for yourself? SHIELD or HYDRA's?"

Her brow furrowed briefly at the question, but he must have had a reason for asking. "No. With everything I've had going on at home, I really haven't had time to just sit and surf the web. The big exceptions have been filling out online forms for my apprenticeship, and Skyping with Mr. Stark. Beyond that, really haven't looked for much else."

He seemed to consider this. "I think that's for the best. Along those lines, have you noticed anything out of the ordinary in your area?"

"No."

"Any suspicious people or activity, or anything that you think warrants a closer look?"

He'd been asking those same questions ever since the Helicarrier incident in April. "Not that I've seen, no."

"Okay. Promise me you'll keep being vigilant of the things going on around you. If anything happens that makes you suspect something is more than what it seems, you contact me right away."

"I can do that." She quickly checked the time on her phone. "Alright, it's getting late here, and I should get myself ready for bed. But Steve? Thanks; thank you for calling me."

"My pleasure, Kim. Thank you for sharing everything that you did with me. It puts me more at ease when you're not holding it all in."

"I know. But you promise me you'll be careful, no matter where this mission of yours takes you. Okay?"

"I do promise. Oh, and I meant to ask: are you still practicing your dances?"

"Every night."

"Good. I still don't know how to dance, so when things settle down, maybe you can teach me."

Beaming, she said, "Absolutely."

"Great. Until I see you again, please watch over your grandmother. She needs you."

"Hey, she's my lady; you know I will."

"I know you will," he echoed.

"Oh, and Steve?"

"Yeah?"

She smirked when she said, "You're still a punk."

He chuckled softly. "And you'll always be a brat. Take care."

"You, too. Bye, Steve."

Ending the call, she took a deep breath and released it slowly, her shoulders relaxing at last. She felt much better after their conversation, and thought about how lucky she was to have him as a friend. Maybe next time Aunt Laura came out, they could try having another chat.

She glanced up at the moon, which shone pale light onto the world below. Judging by its size, it was the beginning of the waning phase. Grandma taught me all the moon phases, she thought absently; I think I knew them before I could even form complete sentences. She smiled at the thought. Releasing a sigh, she began walking back to the house, still entranced by the lunar orb. Someday, I'll look up there and think of Grandma, imagine that she's watching over me every night. Both she and Uncle Bucky high above me, sister and brother together again—

A hand clamped firmly over her mouth. At first, she could only gasp in fear; then, overcoming the initial shock, began struggling while trying to yell past the attacker's palm.

Oh, God! Oh my God!

She dropped her iPhone when something cold—cold—wrapped around her, instantly pinning her arms to her sides. An arm? Her eyes went wide at the frigid sensation, and she struggled even harder. Futile, maybe, but she tried everything she could to worm out of his grasp.

No! Let me go!

From behind, this person felt much larger than she, and there was no doubt in her mind that it was a man. Words like kidnap, rape, and murder entered her mind, but they were followed by something just as horrific: HYDRA. She thought about Steve's ongoing battle with them, and wondered if they'd found her.

Oh, God, no!

She continued to fight against him, but the arms around her were incredibly strong. Unyielding. However, everything inside her told her not to give up. Then the cold arm tightened around her, squeezing like a snake, and she released a small whimper of pain.

For some reason, that caused him to relent, but only slightly. Nevertheless, she took it as a chance to writhe frantically again, but he maintained his hold. Without really thinking, she stomped her right foot on the ground as hard as she could. To her surprise, there was a certain degree of kick-back with that action, and it seemed to make her assailant stumble back a step. She seized the opportunity and did it again, stomping even harder, trying everything she could to get away. But the hand on her mouth became firmer, pressing her head back against his chest.

Steve…Steve… Her eyes snapped shut as despair flooded her heart.

Steve, help me! Please!

"At ease, soldier."

It took a moment, but as the words registered, she opened her eyes and gradually ceased struggling. Her heart still pounded furiously, and short, shaky breaths passed through her flaring nostrils.

That phrase…

Soon enough, she became completely still in the sturdy arms, save for the incessant trembling of her body. She made a soft questioning noise in her throat.

"At ease," he repeated in a hoarse whisper. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Despite her obvious fear, the low voice beside her ear wasn't completely sinister. Her panting breaths blew gently onto the hand covering her mouth, though they were slowing.

"I'm going to let you go; I only ask that you don't scream."

Her mind was racing, but something inside her told her he would keep his word. Could she trust that? Did she have any choice? As best as she could, she gave a stiff nod.

Sure enough, she was released.

"Ahhhh…." Hands rubbed at her shaking arms, where the intense pressure had been applied. Then, turning slowly, she got her first glimpse of her attacker. He stood in the dimness of the trees' shadows, but she could tell he was several inches taller than her, and his dark clothes couldn't disguise the powerful physique he obviously possessed. Actually, she wasn't sure if 'clothing' was the right term; the leather and various straps adorning it looked akin to some kind of uniform. His long, disheveled hair fell into his face, which he kept averted. In fact, he'd angled his body so that she was only seeing his right side. She didn't scream; just stared, thinking about what he had initially said to her.

In a careful, hushed voice, she asked, "Why did you say that?"

He didn't answer. He simply stood, unmoving.

"You said, 'At ease, soldier.' Why?"

Still, he remained silent, but his stance was not immediately threatening.

Her eyes never left him. "Are you HYDRA?"

His hands clenched into fists. "No," he hissed.

A flicker of relief passed through her, though she remained wary. "Who are you?"

His chest rose and fell a few times before he finally turned to her. "I was hoping you could tell me."

Her brow furrowed, mostly at his response, but also as she examined his face. In the shadows, it was hard to tell what color his eyes were, but they were steely and intense as they bore into her. What really stood out, though, was how much pain she detected within them, which affected her more than she wanted to admit. His chin was covered with several days' worth of stubble. That unruly hair was either black or a deep shade of brown; she couldn't be sure. Then she was struck with a sense of déjà vu. She…had seen this man before. A while ago. "I remember you," she said quietly. "You were at the Smithsonian."

He pressed his lips into a flat line. "How do you remember?"

She pondered that a moment, truly unsure of why she remembered this random stranger. "I don't know; I just do." Her confusion only grew. "You were hiding in the trees. What are you doing here?"

"Kimberly Jean Proctor," she stiffened when he said her name, "born March twenty-fourth, 1996 in Rochester, New York; daughter of James Proctor and Grace Owens; descendant of one of the Howling Commandos of World War II; transfemoral amputee since the age of fourteen; served as an inspiration for the establishment of Tony Stark's Iron Wings division of Big Brothers Big Sisters of America; favorite book is Catch-22, favorite movies are those in the original Star Wars trilogy; loves to spend as much time outdoors as possible."

The fact that he'd rattled off these details wasn't the part that fazed her. There were plenty of people out there who could do the same thing. "I see you read the blurb about me on the Iron Wings website," she hoped she was able to hide the bare tremor in her words. "So what? What do you want from me?"

Again, he went silent, but then reached within the folds of his intricate leather shirt. Kim took a timid step back, thinking he was going to pull a gun on her, but instead, he pulled out something small and white. He didn't exactly present it to her, but held it in a way so that she could identify what it was: a worn envelope. She wasn't sure what was going on, but the longer she stared at it, the more she realized the handwriting on it…was hers.

Her lower lip quivered. Sgt. James Barnes.

"My…" He'd taken it from the memorial at the museum. Momentarily forgetting her fear, her eyes flashed angrily at him. "You bastard, you stole my letter!"

"No," he said quite clearly, grasp tightening on the envelope. "You wrote it to me."

She blinked. "What?"

He kept his eyes locked with hers. "You wrote it to me."

Very, very slowly, her eyes went wide as her stomach dropped. What…did he…?

The man took a couple steps forward, and while her first instinct was to run, her feet seemed rooted in place. He came only close enough for her to really see him.

And that's when everything in her mind came to a screeching halt. His face…She'd seen the curves of those cheeks before, the shape of his mouth, those eyes with the penetrating gaze. She'd seen them…

In photographs. In her household.

Her jaw slowly dropped. His face…he…looks like…No, she thought. No…it can't be, it's…it's not…But as much as she tried to deny it, it dawned on her as to who this man was standing before her. A hand flew to her mouth as she gasped harshly, tears pooling in her eyes. Oh...my God…

He didn't move; he was waiting for her.

For the longest time, she could only stand there and stare at him, unable to form words, let alone fathom who she was seeing. Much like before, tears spilled down her cheeks in hot lines.

Dear God…it is…

When she lowered her shaking hand, it took several tries before she was able to breathlessly whisper the one word trying to escape her throat. "Bucky?"

Something passed through his eyes, temporarily interrupting the hardness of his gaze, and his grip relaxed on the envelope he held. "At ease, soldier," he said quietly.

She gaped at him, head shaking mutely in disbelief as more tears fell. Bucky? Bucky Barnes? Uncle Bucky? His army portrait hung in the hallway of her house, one of those she'd memorized…the handsome young man who had served his country so valiantly…that same face was right in front of her! Not the same face, not the same face, she tried to convince herself. But it was. This man is my great-uncle from 1944? Too many questions emerged, and she didn't know if there were enough logical explanations to answer them. "H…h…how?" She squeaked.

"Think of Steve Rogers," he said, now breaking his gaze, "and it may be less difficult to accept."

Steve. Her mind raced. Steve had crash-landed the HYDRA plane somewhere in the Arctic in 1945, where he was originally thought dead, but ended up frozen for the next seventy years…She swallowed hard. He couldn't have been in a situation identical to Steve's. Could he? "Then you…" she choked out, but then shook her head. "No. No! My uncle is dead! He died!"

"Sergeant Barnes may have died," he returned his eyes to hers, "but the Winter Soldier lives."

Oh. God. Despite all the fear and confusion filling her, it pierced her heart to hear him say that. What did that even mean? Why did he call himself the Winter Soldier? Scanning him over, she gasped again, feeling an ill sensation seize her insides when moonlight glinted off his left arm: it was completely metallic from his shoulder to his fingertips. Almost a technologically advanced version of her prosthetic leg. "Holy…" she retreated a step. "What…happened to you?"

He clenched his jaw. "I don't know."

Her hands gripped at her scalp, still trying to make sense of all this. "Bucky…Bucky…Oh, my God, I can't believe this," her whispers were barely audible this time. "You were…you were at the museum…"

"But I had no clue who you were. Not until I overheard your conversation...and read this," held up the envelope again.

Her throat had gone so dry, but as tears continued to flow down her face, she couldn't help but look at this man and admit how everything he said was resonating with her in a way that…made her believe him. Again, she shook her head, hands gripping her scalp harder. "Uncle Bucky?" She rasped.

"Kim."

She gasped when he said her name, almost…affectionately?

He took another step forward, but she quickly took several steps back, raising her hands in a silent gesture to keep his distance. He moved no further.

Still, her attention remained on the face she'd only known in photographs since childhood. The same face, but there were differences in what she observed. There was no smile present, which she was used to seeing. Truth be told, this man looked as though he hadn't smiled in a very long time. The pain and rage swimming in his eyes; the way his posture seemed slightly hunched forward; the metallic arm that had been so cold against her skin…"Who did this to you?"

His tone was absolute when he said, "HYDRA."

She held her breath. In the back of her mind, she reminded herself of what Steve had said regarding his current mission, and how it involved HYDRA. All I can tell you is that they destroyed the mind of someone I care about. Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary in your area? Any suspicious people or activity?

Destroyed his mind…Son of a bitch; it all made sense now. Retreating another step, she said, "You're the one Steve's looking for."

He said nothing, though seemed to wince when she said Steve's name.

"Oh, my God," she tore her eyes away, tangling her fingers into her hair. The sharp sting she felt wasn't enough to distract herself. "This is not real. It isn't real!" Her voice was still coming out so quietly, despite the intensity of her words. "Not real…not real…"

His left hand reached out to her. "Kim—"

Eyes bulging at the metal extension, she finally snapped. "No!" She screeched, stumbling backwards again. "Stay away from me! Don't come any closer!"

He did as she commanded, letting his hand drop. "Listen to me: I won't hurt you. You're Sergeant Barnes' niece, and that makes you my—"

"Stop it! Stop it right now!" She covered her ears, blocking any further words from him. Her tears were coming rapidly now. "I can't…I can't deal with this right now…"

"Kim."

"Just leave me alone! Please!" She shrieked, falling to her knees and covering her eyes as she cried uncontrollably, sobs wracking her body as she let the emotions rush through her. She didn't care how undignified it might have appeared; her mind simply couldn't handle everything that had been thrown at her in the past ten minutes. Between the wrenching sobs, she somehow managed to gasp, "J-just go away! Please…"

She cried. For everything she'd lost, was going to lose, and what had come back to haunt her, she cried. Hard, long, and relentlessly. She couldn't stop. It had been too much too fast, and her heart was mourning from the painful memories that had been resurrected.

Make it stop; please make it stop…

Several minutes later, her weeping had subsided significantly, though that didn't stop the tears from flowing. When she looked up again, she was not surprised to discover the man who'd claimed to be her long-lost uncle had disappeared. Gone. A ghost in the night. Save for the steady hum of insects, everything was still and silent. It was as though no one else had disturbed this place.

Except for one crucial piece of evidence: on the spot where he'd stood, he'd left the crumpled envelope containing the letter she'd written months ago. Taking a breath, she crawled over to retrieve it, shaking fingers stroking over the letters of Sgt. James Barnes once more. Sniffling, she took the letter out to reread it, and was amazed at how soft and wrinkled the pages were in her hands. It was as though someone had read it at least a thousand times…

She could feel her own chin quivering, then cast a final glance into the trees. Somehow, she knew he wouldn't return.

The Winter Soldier, her mind whispered. Steve is out there looking for you.

Swaying ever so slightly—even in her seated position—she suddenly became aware of how fatigued she was by the night's events. Grabbing her iPhone from the grass, she pushed herself to stand on wobbly legs and took a moment to regain her balance, the letter clutched tightly in her hand. With a great, heaving sigh, she wrapped her arms around herself and made her way back into the house, desperately needing to seek the solace of sleep. She had a feeling her frantic thoughts and vacillating emotions wouldn't allow that to come true.

TBC...

A/N: In comic canon, Bucky Barnes really does have a great-niece (grandniece) named Kim Proctor. However, aside from her name, there is no information on her character, so I decided to create a background for her.