September, 2014.

South of Aberdeen, Scotland, United Kingdom.

Bucky rolled around next to me, and the old mattress tossed me in return. I corrected myself before I ended up between the bed and the wall, and made sure Bucky was okay. He had woken up once before to spend two hours writing down a memory. I had sat up with him.

I watched mutely as he sat up in bed and stared into space. He rose from the bed, I was shifted again by the change in weight, and he left the room. I laid back on my pillow and tried to listen for him, but he was too quiet to hear. Eventually I fell asleep waiting on him to return.

A squeak in the floor woke me God knows how much later. My paradoxical sleeping habits triggered a rush of adrenaline as I heard the out of place sound. My eyes popped open, and I was entirely clear-headed. I sat up quickly, which caused my eyes to blur for a split second before adjusting. Bucky was standing in the darkened doorway between the bedroom and the rest of the house.

"You coming back to bed?" I said quietly. My voice wasn't quite its usual, with me having just woken up and all. With the mystery threat identified, I lowered myself just a little, from being propped up on my hand to my elbow.

Bucky gazed at me from across the room. He didn't move at all.

Then I saw it. The knife in his hand.

It was a combat blade, like a long KA-BAR with a more low-profile bolster. I had seen it before when Bucky was emptying his backpack and rearranging the contents. He had picked up on my nervous habit just a little.

He held it with reverence. He was a soldier and that was his weapon; it deserved to be respected.

"Bucky, come back to bed," I asked. Now it was strategy. Bucky wasn't in his right mind at the moment. He had only had the one, short flashback, a little under three weeks before.

He took a step forward and kept the knife against his thigh. He held his knife in a lax position with his pinky close to the butt, as if he wasn't seeing me as a threat.

"Buck, come on," I urged.

"What is my mission?"

Again with the Russian.

"You don't have one," I told him. I pushed myself onto my hand again, and Bucky tensed. "You're in Scotland. Do you remember me?"

"No," he answered shortly. "Who is my target?"

"You don't have a target. You don't have a mission," I assured him. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, but my feet didn't quite meet the floor. Bucky twitched. The blade tipped upward as his hand clenched. He was reassessing me, trying to decide if I could be a threat.

I stood up cautiously and tried to make myself look small. I was several inches shorter than Bucky, and I probably at least fifty pounds lighter, if not more. When wearing nothing but a t-shirt and underwear, I couldn't have possibly been threatening. I just didn't know how hard the line was between his memories as Bucky and his memories as the Winter Soldier. Would Bucky's memories of me overtaking him in Nova Scotia clue in the Winter Soldier to my skillset?

"You aren't with Hydra anymore, Bucky. You're with me. You got away, and you're safe," I said. It wasn't a bad mantra, but the less I said it the better.

He didn't move until I did. I took a single step forward, bare feet on the wooden floor, and he moved too. He wasn't wearing shoes and was half undressed. The change in weather had made him start wearing a t-shirt to bed in addition to his underwear.

"Please, come back to bed," I said. I was nearly six feet away from him, and I could see the look on his face. His eyes were blank.

I raised my hand, palm up, offering him a lifeline. Oh boy, did he take it.

I was ready for a jolt, but he grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me into his personal space. His left hand did all the work, and he spun me around so his metal arm pinned me to his chest like a vice grip. I could feel the knife pricking at my skin every time I breathed.

"What is my mission? Where is my target?" he demanded in my ear.

"Bucky, you don't have a mission, and you never will. Not anymore," I told him. The knife moved away from neck, but it came right back. There was a change in the pressure though, a hesitance to push it any farther.

Then it dropped. The knife hit the floor, and I breathed a massive sigh of relief even though I was still locked in Bucky's arms. He began to sink, and I went with him. It was a gentle descent.

When my knees hit the floor Bucky released me, and I immediately turned to face him. He startled and stared at me. No, not me. My neck. I could feel a small trickle of blood.

"Gail, what did I do?" he whispered.

"If I had to guess, PTSD-induced flashback. Complete with Russian subtitles and a knife," I joked lamely. Bucky clutched his head and bowed at the waist. I intercepted him before he could bang his head on the ground and just hugged him. It was the polar opposite of our previous embrace. This was vulnerable.

"Why does this keep happening?" he asked no one in particular. He pushed against me, which was a little insulting, and skittered across the floor. He knocked the knife out of the way with one hand, and it only seemed to make things worse. "Get away from me, Gail. I could have killed you."

He wasn't wrong.

"I'm not going anywhere, Barnes," I informed. I closed the gap between us and once again held his head between my hands. "I have seen much worse. People trying to build walls in their little suburban yards. People running others off the road because a plastic bag looked like an IED. People hurting their families, hurting themselves. I can handle whatever you throw at me and then some."

He stared at me, and his eyes were no longer blank. They were wet and sober, doleful and scared.

"Whatever just happened will probably happen again because you're mind doesn't quite know what to do with itself," I warned him. "But I'm going to be there every single time."

I stood up and offered him my hand again. He took it.

"We both need sleep, Buck. Come on back to bed," I suggested. He did most of the work hauling himself off the floor, but he followed me back to the bed. I made him get in first, and he got as close to the wall as possible.

I laid down in his old spot, and rolled onto my side. I faced the room, with my back to Bucky. He terrified me, but I still trusted him not to kill me in my sleep.

It took me an hour to fall asleep, though.