"Your blood work looks normal," the woman said, flipping through a clipboard. "So does your respiratory and immune tests."

He didn't say anything. He never said much, really. He gave a slight curt nod, but kept staring straight ahead at the white, windowless walls. His dark hair fell over him like a veil, shielding his blue eyes. The physician didn't mind, though, knowing that this was his normal behavior and had always been so for the past few months.

The physician placed the earbuds of a stethoscope in her ears and placed the end piece over the left side of his bare chest. After a few minutes, she hastily scribbled on her clipboard. She sat down at her desk and looked through the past physicals. A moment later, the physician turned back to look at him.

"How many hours of sleep are you having per night, James?"

"Six," he answered, his voice was barely audible and raw, like he hadn't spoken for years.

It was a lie. He'd only sleep for two hours every night, or sometimes not at all. He was exhausted but kept up the façade that he was well rested.

"Any new memories?" He shook his head. "Same nightmares?" This time he nodded.

It was always the same questions, the same answers, the same optimism and apathy radiating from the two people in the room. The nightmares haven't let up since Steve Rogers brought him to the underground base of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, and from time to time he resented the blond when he wondered if his mental health would've been better had he not come. But he was here now, and leaving wouldn't be possible.

"Is there any pain in your shoulder?" The physician nodded to his left arm, which shined under the bright white light.

He barely shrugged. "It's dull." More scribbling.

"Alright, James," she took off her glasses, rubbing the wrinkles along her eyes. "We're done here. Have a pleasant day."

His face didn't even twitch, not even a small smile. He pulled on his sweater over his chest and pushed himself off the examination table. He exited the room, with Steve waiting on the other side. The brunet walked passed him down the newly renovated walls, courtesy of Tony Stark's generous donation. Steve walked in step next to him as they made their way to the steel elevator.

"Want to eat at the café?" Steve asked, trying to offer him a smile as he pressed the button.

"No."

"Aw, come on, Buck," he followed the man into the elevator when it opened. "When was the last time you ate?"

Bucky ignored him, pressing the button to the fifth floor and made their descent. Steve stayed silent for a moment, eyeing his old friend, half hoping Bucky would suddenly spring back to his old self, the one from seventy years ago. It was hard to interact with the dark haired man when he barely gave anyone a glance or replied in short answers, or hardly any acknowledgement when he had this wall built up around him. Steve didn't blame Bucky, he understood his situation, and didn't wish to force anything on his friend, but he thought it was rather lonely. As time had went on, he noticed that Bucky had barely made an effort to ask a question or to have a conversation. The only people he did talk to was Steve, but that was all on Steve's part to force some human communication on him, and Natasha. But when the redhead did talk to him, it was just rile him up a bit and that was when they saw the most out of Bucky spilling out of his mouth in irritated bursts. But other than that he was mostly withdrawn.

Not a lot had changed since Steve had brought Bucky back after ten months of searching. He remembered when he and Sam had stopped by a pub to have a drink in Frankfurt, and upon entering he immediately spotted his friend leaning against the bar. Bucky was looking into his drink, a small bowl of peanuts beside him, wearing a large coat and a baseball cap hiding his fully bearded face. Steve remembered confronting his long-lost friend and nearly begged him to return to D.C., to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Of course, Bucky had been reluctant and almost punched Steve when he had been confronted, but he eventually gave in, knowing it would shut the blond up.

When they arrived to the newly built and underground (it was unknown to the government and public ever since the helicarrier incident) S.H.I.E.L.D., Bucky was immediately restrained by Fury, and Steve angrily questioned him. To which Fury replied, "Just in case." Bucky was in a room for questioning by Agent Hill and then examined by the physician, and when they decided he was checked out as no threat, S.H.I.E.L.D. took him in. But Fury, however didn't instill any trust him and had him live within the base and not step foot outside until he proved he could handle it. But not everyone thought he could handle life outside the base's safety, even Steve had a few doubts. Bucky was cautious about the idea, of setting foot onto the streets and getting bombarded with looks of fear and intolerance. But it was the thought of him suddenly snapping and going into a killing frenzy.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Steve asked again.

"Whatever you want," Bucky shrugged which made Steve sigh.

The two got off on the fifth floor and walked down the newly painted and floored halls (again, courtesy of Tony Stark). The fifth floor was built mainly as living quarters for agents, for those with living difficulties because of the information that was leaked to the internet or to be closer for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s missions, like Agent Barton for example. Fury had Bucky settle into one of the small apartments for close supervision. Bucky unlocked his door, the fourth one on the right, while Steve rambled on about nonsense; when Steve rambled, the brunet would start to tune out.

The inside of the apartment was furnished nicely with antique furniture and pale green walls, which was mostly Steve and Natasha's doing. The style was similar to that of the nineteen forties, which the blond man secretly hoped would help Bucky's memories resurface. The Captain even bought a record player and several records of forties jazz and swing and a record of Brian Crain's solo piano. That was actually the only thing Bucky seemed to use and only listened to Brian Crain while the computer and flat screen TV were barely touched.

Bucky went straight for the couch to lay down, resting his right arm over his face while his metal arm rested on his stomach. It was only noon and he felt completely exhausted, the weight of the previous night's lack of sleep making his head heavy. Steve made his way into the kitchen, taking the liberty of making himself a pastrami sandwich; most of the food in Bucky's small kitchen was devoured by Steve due to Bucky's lack of appetite.

When Steve wasn't on his missions, he was usually at Bucky's, eating or watching old reruns or trying to make conversation with the former Winter Soldier. There were times when Bucky did appreciate Steve's company, showing bits of gratitude when he'd suddenly remember a lost memory due to the blond's many habits, or pulling him out of his recurring nightmares. But sometimes it was hard to be around Steve; the fact that Bucky had tried to kill him and suppressing the urge to annihilate Steve ate away at him. Steve used to be his mission and here he was, letting Captain America eat his food.

Steve nudged Bucky's legs a little to sit down beside him. The one thing Steve enjoyed about the twenty-first century was the ability to watch television and eat at the same time. It was something he looked forward to after coming home from a long, hard mission.

A knock on the door interrupted the peace in the room.

"I'm coming in." The door opened with Natasha bustling in, wearing her civilian clothes. She waved an envelope above her head that had Fury's seal on the outside. "For you, Barnes."

Bucky took it without even glancing at her. She sat in the armchair, crossing her legs with an expectant look while he opened it. A letter fell out and his eyes scanned over it, slight confusion dawning his face.

"Good behavior?" He looked over to the smirking woman. "Release?"

Steve finished his last bite. "What's this about a release?"

"Well, as of today Fury is allowing you to leave the base when you please," Natasha explained while she examined her manicure. "Of course, you have to report every now and then to keep them updated. Good behavior does pay off, doesn't it, Barnes?"

Bucky slightly narrowed his eyes at her. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. Just that you're given the liberty to roam around but always come back for your checkups and whatnot. And Fury said to not let this get to your head; he still doesn't trust you."

"It sounds like he thinks I'm a housecat," he muttered.

Steve slapped his knee. "This is good news, Buck. Don't you want to go out and do something?"

"No."

"You keep hiding out in here, people will start to think you're creepy," Natasha yawned.

"Come on, name a place," Steve was very persistent. "We'll go anywhere you like. Movie theater?"

"No," the brunet felt his headache coming back.

"The mall?"

"No, too many people."

"Give it up, Cap," Natasha rose and stretched the muscles in her back. "He's just antisocial. Now if you'll both excuse me, I have errands to run, like normal people."

Bucky crumpled up the paper and threw it at her, which the redhead only dodged. He exhaled the short breath he had been holding in when he heard the door shut. He wasn't fond of Natasha's badgering to be a little normal. He wasn't even sure what normal is; he wasn't even sure if Natasha herself was normal. Steve washed his plate and placed it on the drying rack.

"You didn't sleep again," Steve noted, shifting his gaze to his friend on the couch. He knew everything just by taking one glance.

Bucky shut his eyes. "Yes."

"Nightmares again?" Bucky nodded. "Maybe they can prescribe someth-"

"No." He snapped, making Steve frown. "No pills."

"Any progress on your memories, then?" Steve quickly changed the subject.

"Just Hydra. And the train in the mountains." Bucky's face pinched in discomfort when his shoulder began to ache at the memories. There were times when he'd come across something, trying to distinguish if whether or not it was a memory or nightmare. It was often that Bucky had been trapped between the two, violently shaking and losing himself within the madness and frustration of finding himself in the mess of his mind. It was when Steve would pull him back into the fabric of reality, snapping into a cold sweat and dealing with the ache in his left shoulder. It was worse at night, when he would actually fall asleep, because no one was there to wake him up. Steve wasn't there to pull him out of the never ending darkness; the only thing that could wake him up was his screams and Bucky would find himself alone in his sweat soaked bed sheets.

Optimism wasn't really his cup of tea.

The blond sighed again, looking at the man who was crumpled up on the couch. He would've laughed for the fact that the couch was too small for Bucky's large form, causing his legs to dangle off the side. But this... this was just sad. He didn't blame the poor guy for his constant self loathing and dark thoughts, but there were times when Steve wanted to force Bucky to swallow an entire bottle of Xanax and become the good ol', fun Bucky Barnes that he once was.

A few hours afterwards, Steve left Bucky to his thoughts and went home, promising to come back the next day. The only thing that Bucky was left with was silence and his even breathing. He hadn't left his place on the couch, staring at the ceiling for so long that everything merged into the color of cream. He'd been lying there for hours, but this was usually his daily routine.

It wasn't the fact that he had nothing to do (which was true because the ex-assassin was stuck into the pit of boredom) but he was just too afraid to do anything. The last thing he did before coming to S.H.I.E.L.D. was get drunk in Germany, and before that he had killed several people during the Project Insight incident. Deep down whether he liked it or not, he couldn't risk participating in anything with the risk of accidentally killing anyone. Locked away in his mind, the Winter Soldier part of him shook and gnawed at the bars, threatening to spring back and crush a skull beneath his fingertips.

After a while his back began to whine in protest after being in such an uncomfortable position for a long time. He sat up, rubbing his right hand over his face and his heavy eyes. His feet dragged along the floor into the kitchen where he filled a glass with water, bringing the glass to his lips. He set the glass down and stared down into the kitchen drain, wondering to himself how far down it went into the darkness. That was his life, a kitchen drain full of leftovers and crap and murky water.

Bucky Barnes was the most depressing person alive. If there was an award for being the most depressing, he'd most definitely win it.

The crumpled letter he had thrown at Natasha was still on the floor. Bucky picked it up and smoothed it, re-reading it again.

"...Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes has proved to be in standard health physically and to an extent his mental state is in terms acceptable. Due to regular, calm behavior, Sergeant Barnes has earned S.H.I.E.L.D.'s trust should he continue to suppress urges to harm the public and avoid possible confrontation with Hydra. Therefore, Sergeant Barnes has earned the right to set foot off S.H.I.E.L.D. grounds and reside within the city by choice so long as he..."

Bucky snorted quietly to himself when he had read the part about his mental state. They had no idea what his mental state was like. It was strange though, the idea of having freedom felt foreign in his head. For as long as he had been with Hydra, the idea of freedom had never existed nor had it ever crossed his mind. He didn't even have the ability to think for himself, only addressing his rage and will to kill. When he actually made a decision for himself for the first time, he panicked and punched a hole into a wall. Nowadays, however, his mind just shut down, mostly because of exhaustion and not knowing what to think about.

A tiny little voice inside Bucky, one he tried to stamp down into the dirt, wondered if it would be alright to go out into public for a little while. He rubbed his temples, sighing. Sometimes thinking for himself was harder than keeping himself from going wild and killing everyone.

He threw the letter on his coffee table and went to his room, falling onto his bed with a thump. It was sometimes hard to lie on his bed; his body wasn't used to something so soft. For decades his body always rested on something that felt like a rock. He felt as if he'd melt through. Bucky stared up at the dark ceiling, another night filled with horrors and wide eyes.

For the next few days whenever Steve wasn't looking, Bucky would always glance at the wrinkled letter on the coffee table. Despite the fact that he could care less, he was drawn to the piece of paper. It was always the part that said, "...the right to set foot..." that kept receiving his attention. It itched away at his mind, an unidentifiable urge to do something. He'd sit at the couch, arms crossed and shaking his leg before picking up the letter, reading it, then setting it back down. He'd get up and pace, running a hand through his greasy hair (God knows how long it's been since he's washed it) and walk back over to reread the goddamn letter.

It wasn't until one day that Bucky had shoved Steve's coat into his chest, muttering with great irritation that he wanted to go somewhere.

"What?" Steve blinked, looking at the ex-assassin as if he'd gone crazy and killed someone, which wouldn't be a surprise. The brunet always looked like he was about to kill someone.

"I want to go out," Bucky scowled, shoving his hair underneath a baseball cap. He pulled on a hooded sweatshirt and glove over his metal hand "Don't make me change my mind."

It took a moment for Steve to understand what Bucky was asking before a blinding grin grew on his face. He threw his jacket on and the two left the quiet apartment. The walk into the suburbs of D.C. wasn't very long from the base, about a twenty minute walk. It was a busy Tuesday afternoon, the October chill settling in the air even though the sun shined. Bucky kept his eyes on the ground, feeling incredibly uncomfortable with all people in the streets, whereas Steve breathed in the fresh air.

They looked like an odd pair; Captain America walking the streets with a big smile on his face while the former assassin was glaring from underneath his hat at every person who had the misfortune of setting their eyes on him.

"So is there any place you wanted to go in mind?" Steve asked him after crossing a street.

Bucky chewed on the inside of his lip. "I actually didn't think I'd get this far."

The blond laughed lightly. "Well, do you have an idea?"

"Somewhere quiet."

"The park?"

"And with a minimal amount of people."

"Have you been to the library?" Bucky shook his head. "Let's go there, minimal people and it's quiet. There's something I've been meaning to read anyway."

The brunet grunted and followed Steve through the busy streets. His skin itched when he walked past people, his hands flexing inside the pockets where he stuffed them in his jeans. Every time they passed an alleyway, he felt the need to bolt down the murky darkness and hide. Isolating himself for so long really took it's toll on him. All the sounds around him flooded his ears. The birds chirping, the sound of engines and tires, people chatting away amongst themselves or on their phones... the sounds meshed together into one giant hum of white noise that made Bucky's ears ring. He pulled his flesh hand out of his pocket and rubbed his temple, trying to rid the pulsing within his head.

The two super-soldiers passed many shops that people walked in and out of. There was a bustling bakery they passed that emitted a delicious smell, filled with cakes and sweet breads. A memory triggered and flashed beneath his eyelids: his mother baking rolls for dinner. The memory was a little fuzzy, but the aroma was so clear. The little voice wondered if it would be alright to stop by on the way back.

The library was one of the older buildings in town. It was large with red brick walls and white sculpted pillars in the front. The borders along the windows were also painted a coat of white. At the second level, a large balcony looked over the city, a place where the public could read or study, only no one was there because of the chill in the air. Two small lion statues were placed on either side of the concrete steps to the entrance and a sign with magnetic letters informed the public of their open hours.

Steve held the door open for Bucky and the two were met with tall bookcases, going all the way to the back wall. A staircase was in front of the door, where more bookcases stood at the top floor. Just as Steve had said, it was quiet and very few people were there as well as for the few librarians. Whenever someone coughed, it echoed throughout the whole building.

"I'm going to look at this row here," Steve turned to his friend. "Take a look around."

Before he could say anything, Bucky had watched Steve disappear into the shelves and he was left all alone. He sighed, hoping it wasn't loud enough to echo. His feet took him to the staircase and he held on to the carved, wooden railing. It squeaked under his weight when he ascended the steps. His nose tickled when he breathed in the dusty, papyrus-scented air. He wandered through the rows that towered over him, glancing at the many tables with glowing lamps situated on top of the dark wood. A few students from the nearby university were studying, piles of books resting by their heads, not taking any notice to Bucky.

He was reminded of one of his past missions, when he had assassinated a senator in a library similar to this one. The violent piece of him that was locked away inside of them craved to see him use his arm to bash one of the student's head through the desk. A chill ran down his spine and he shook off the image.

He looked at every book on every shelf, taking note of which ones were more frequently checked out to the ones that hadn't been touched in years. Some were coated in dust so thick that he couldn't make out the title or author. Eventually he had wandered into the "classics" section, stopping to look at some titles he had never even seen. He picked up a worn copy of The Great Gatsby and noticed that its copyright was dated back into the nineteen twenties, wondering if maybe he had read the book in his past life.

His body tensed up when he heard a scuffling sound followed by a light whine a few rows behind him. He put the book back in its place on the shelf and slowly moved along the sides of the bookshelves, keeping every one of his footsteps mute. With his back pressed firmly against the wood, he tilted his head to peer around the corner.

A girl stood on a small ladder, a stack of books in one arm while the other tried to reach as far as it could to a high shelf. Her face was scrunched up in concentration while her glasses rested precariously on the tip of her nose. Her head was tilted so far back that her hair band was starting to slide off her bobbed, dark brown hair. Bucky's muscles relaxed when he realized he had been alert for nothing. The ladder was teetering when her feet stood on her toes, and Bucky already foresaw her fall when the girl wobbled dangerously and lost her balance.

She made a small squeak when the air rushed out from beneath her and Bucky's legs moved so fast, arms already up to catch her as she fell. The books dropped around them, thudding and echoing off the walls. The girl looked up at Bucky with surprise, eyes magnified from her large glasses. He looked back down at her with just as much surprise sprawled across his face.

Relief flooded her face. "Oh, God, thank you. Jeez, a second sooner and I'd have broke my neck."

Bucky set her down gently. "Ye... yeah."

"Seriously, thanks, I owe you one," she said as she smoothed her sweater out and bent down to pick up the books.

Bucky had somehow followed her to the floor and collected them into a stack. His eyes flickered to her face, seeing that her glasses were now tucked into the pocket of her sweater, making her brown eyes appear normal sized rather than buggy. A nametag was pinned to the front, reading, "Eva" with little stars doodled around it. She tucked a short piece of dark hair behind her ear and he pondered if girls usually cut their hair as short as a boy's. He mentally rolled his eyes, because his hair wasn't exactly cut to a guy's standards.

She looked up at him and a sudden heat burned his ears when he didn't look back down fast enough. She squinted at him which made the man puzzled for a moment. He grew uncomfortable at the way she squinted him down with her light pink lips pursed in thought.

"World War Two," she said suddenly.

Bucky's face paled and he suddenly wondered if the girl knew about who he was and the events that happened in the nineteen forties.

"What?" He managed to spit out.

"You're looking for novels related to World War Two, right?"

Oh. Books. He let out an internal sigh of relief. He looked up slightly to see the sign hanging behind her indicating that this was the World War Two novel section. He nodded as if to go with what she said.

"Yes... World War Two."

She gave him a smile, standing up to set the stack of books on the ladder and Bucky followed suit. He watched her look up at the shelves, fingertips drumming against her lips before reaching to pull out a paperback book. She handed it to him, smile still etched on her face.

"Night by Elie Weisel," she told him. "One of the greatest books I've ever read. Sad, heart-breaking, soul crushing, but nevertheless one of the greatest."

He stared down at the dark cover before looking back up at her again.

"Thank you... uh..."

"Eva," she tapped a finger against her nametag that he'd already forgotten about. "And you're welcome."

Bucky kept moving his eyes from the cover to the girl's, Eva's, face. He shoved his left hand in his pocket and held the book to his side in his right.

"Right, so..." he cleared his throat. "I should... probably, uh... get... get going now."

She just smiled again, making Bucky wonder if the girl was ever not smiling. "Alright. Hope you enjoy the book."

He nodded. "Thanks again."

He went to turn the corner and heard Eva say, "See you next time."

He walked away quickly and swiftly down the staircase, heat creeping up his neck and ears. He couldn't tell what exactly was wrong with him, but he suddenly felt silly for coming here, for leaving the security of his apartment. He could care less about being socially inept; Bucky just wanted to find Steve and leave the goddamn place. It took him a few minutes to find the blond, who had a couple books in his arms. Bucky had to forcefully steer him away from the shelves and towards the checkout area.

It irritated Bucky to watch Steve take his library card out from his wallet as slowly as humanly possible. But Steve was past human, but then so was Bucky. The ex-assassin literally ripped the card out of the super-soldier's hands, sliding the card and scanning each book before Steve had time to blink. He shoved the card back in Steve's hands along with his books. Bucky took the book Eva suggested and gripped it so tightly his fingers threatened to rip through.

"Let's go already," he muttered and took off ahead of Steve.

The Captain sighed and rolled his eyes, walking quickly to catch up to his friend. The books nearly fell out of his arms when he caught the brunet's arm outside of a diner.

"Bucky, talk to me," Steve felt as if the other man was going to throw a sudden punch. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

Bucky's head whipped around to glare at him, strands of his hair falling out from the baseball cap; he should really invest in a hair tie.

"Nothing happened. I just feel weird and want to get back to the base."

Steve blew the air out of his mouth before nodding and not questioning Bucky any further. They managed to get back to headquarters before the evening traffic, without the two of them uttering a word to each other. Steve was pulled away from Bucky when Agent Hill caught up to them by handing him a folder on his next mission. He gave Bucky an apologetic look and promised to catch up with him later. The dark haired man sighed to himself, taking the letter and unlocking his apartment.

He threw the book onto the coffee table and fell onto the couch. The clock on the far wall ticked away and once again, Bucky was met with the crushingly empty silence he always faced.