𝙱𝚄𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃, 𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙰

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 when you had no idea how to use it.

Rebecca Barnes found herself overwhelmed in this modern world of endless options, caught between the debilitating fear of punishment and the newly-resurfacing human desire to experience.

She spent a lot of her time curled up by the window of her and Bucky's one-room apartment, watching hundreds of people pass down the streets, through the only small section of glass not covered by old newspapers.

It was a strange way to see them; un-fearing and leisure. Most of Becca's exposure to people was when they were about to become her prey, before she completed her mission and they were no longer.

Becca Barnes knew better than anyone that human beings acted differently when they knew they were being hunted.

It seemed as though none of the people in this new world believed they were.

Everyone these days seemed to have a personal agenda, not knowing or caring about what anyone else wanted them to do. The entire world was open to them, for them to use or abuse as they wished. Nothing mattered but what they wanted.

But Becca didn't know how to want.

Wanting was a dangerous thing. It gave you a false sense of self-righteousness, as though you deserved something from a cruel reality that only wanted to take. It only led to disappointment. Wanting got you beaten within an inch of your life. Wanting got you a mask nailed into your jaw.

Wanting was weakness. Wanting was a luxury Becca didn't have. Wanting implied she had agency.

Now, she did, though.

At least, that's what Bucky had started telling her. "You can make your own choices. You're allowed to want things."

So, it started with something small.

She was sitting one day in front of an old, cracked mirror- the one she'd taken from an alleyway dumpster and brought back to her and Bucky's apartment. It was ugly, and the white paint was terribly chipped, but it was hers.

And not many things were.

In the dim light, she studied her reflection. There were eight small, circular scars dotting her jawline, from when the billionaire Tony Stark had removed her mask. She still had a pale complexion, but the freckles dotting her nose and cheeks weren't as dim as they were before.

Her face was sunburned, as it usually was these days. Bucky liked to take her and walk through the city, to show Becca all of the things she things she didn't get to see while she was in cryofreeze. The skin on her neck and cheeks was pink, but her arms were a milky, blueish white from long sleeves preventing exposure to the sun.

Her hair was still hanging down past her hips, heavy on her scalp, tugging on her head uncomfortably. It felt relentlessly tedious to just tie it up every morning, but when she just left it hanging down, a dull pain bloomed between her eyes.

She wanted it gone, she decided.

A scary thought- she'd never been able to think about it before. Her Handlers had never cut her hair before, whether out of negligence or just having another thing to hold over her head, she had no idea.

But she did know that her Handlers weren't here anymore. The only person affected by her hair was her.

She clutched the scissors in her hand and sucked in a breath. Before she could stop herself, she quickly reached up and snipped off a large strand, watching dark red fall to the ground at her knees.

Becca froze.

She broke a rule.

Immediate panic seized her and her breath caught in her throat.

She broke a rule, and now the Handlers were going to find out. They were going to come and get her, and punish her, until her entire world erupted in pain and she was separated from her brother.

There was a figure in the corner of her vision, standing near the doorway, but she didn't sense any danger- and she was trying too hard to breath properly to really look. She clutched the scissors so hard her knuckles popped, staring at her reflection with blurred vision.

"Safe."

It was Bucky's voice. Becca realized he was kneeling down next to her, slowly easing the scissors out of her grip. "You're safe."

Becca choked out a panicked cry, letting him take her hand and relax her arm. A large chunk of her hair was gone now, cut just below the shoulder. Bucky reached out and gently ran his fingers through it, letting a couple stray hairs fall to the ground at his touch.

"You're alright," he said, quietly enough that it didn't scare her, but firmly enough to ground her. "Becca, look at me."

Becca did, her chest stuttering as she struggled to breath. She didn't realize she was crying until a tear slid down her cheek, hot and jarring.

Bucky held her gaze for a minute, breathing exaggeratedly so she'd follow his example.

"Look," he said, gesturing around the room. "No one's here, doll. We're safe. They're not here."

Becca's eyes scanned the apartment a bit wildly. The lump of blankets in the corner where she slept at night, the sleeping bag right next to the door where Bucky subconsciously planted himself very night, as if on watch. There was a small basket of fruit on the counter, next to their tiny stove that didn't function. A drawer next to the refrigerator, stacked with cash.

But... no Hydra.

"See?" Bucky said.

Becca's eyes fell back onto his, lip quivering and heart thudding. She nodded slowly.

Bucky nodded too.

"You want my help?" he asked softly, holding up the scissors. He nodded at the mirror, directing her gaze to the short section of hair.

Now that she'd already started... she might as well finish.

She'd never failed a mission before. Maybe if she just thought of it as one...

Becca looked down at her shaking hands. She couldn't do this herself.

"Yes," she said, almost a whisper. She couldn't look Bucky in the eyes, but she knew he understood. He always did.

Bucky scooted so he was sitting behind her, before running his hands through her hair and moving it so it hung down her back. Becca jumped at the touch, her eyes fluttering shut on their own accord.

It felt good. Relaxing, almost.

Bucky snipped wordlessly, taking care to make sure he didn't touch her skin. Long pieces of hair fell to the ground in piles, and her head started to become significantly lighter.

Becca watched as she slowly transformed from the Asset into someone new.

The second time Becca took matters into her own hands, it was Bucky who was on the receiving end.

They were sitting on the floor together. Bucky was reading a book in Romanian, called Hobbitul. Becca was trying, frustratedly, to braid her hair, but she couldn't figure it out. She'd seen a pretty girl across the street do it, but she just couldn't move her hands the right way.

She huffed, letting go of the hair, feeling that empty feeling Bucky and had once described to her- with a smirk of amusement- as boredom.

She looked at Bucky and his book. He'd been reading it for a long time, sitting there in that quiet way of his. Occasionally she'd see a flicker of a smile poking at the corners of his mouth. She felt an almost pull to the book, for some reason. Almost like it was familiar.

She liked seeing him like this, she thought- (because whatever memory is as trying to resurface was hurting too much. She shoved it back down) somewhat relaxed- if that's as a thing they could be anymore.

"Hobbitul," She said finally, and Bucky looked up at her. Then in Russian, the language feeling more comfortable on her tongue, "Вы любите читать. О чем оно?" You like reading that. What is it about?

"The Hobbit," Bucky said, holding it up. "It's about fantasy. Dragons, and wizards, and orcs."

Becca's face screwed up in confusion. "что такое волшебник?" What is a wizard?

Bucky closed his book, putting a finger between the pages. "You're confusing it with a magician- the Russian translation. A magician's different. Say it in English."

Becca shook her head, making a sour face. "Английский - запутанный. Самый плохой язык, не так ли?" English is confusing- the inferior language, no?

Something flickered in Bucky's eyes. "No. It's not. Just- speak English while we're here."

Becca's jaw tightened. There was something else there, something deeper- a kind of pain, a bit of fear. "почему?" Why?

"Because we're not Russian," Bucky said harshly.

Becca glared at him, feeling the tensions rise. Her own defensiveness had gripped her like a vice. "нет." No.

Bucky wanted to to be defiant so badly? He wanted her to fight back, to use her agency? Fine.

Bucky's head darted up, his eyes shocked and angry. For the first time since Hydra, Becca wasn't listening to him. "What?"

"Я не буду." I will not.

"Becca," Bucky said angrily. Becca had never defied him like this- why should she, when all he ever did was keep her safe? "You knew English way before you knew Russian. Why won't you-"

Because she'd been beaten, and burned, and drowned, and tortured until the words were ingrained into her brain; "English is wrong, it is inferior, you are never to speak English again"...

Becca shook her head furiously, shouting suddenly and causing both her and Bucky to jump in surprise. "нет! нет, Я не буду!" No, I will not!

"English!" Bucky bellowed. His lip was quivering. "You are American! You ain't like them, you're like me!"

"Я знаю только Россию!" Becca sobbed. I only need Russian!

"No," Bucky shook his head desperately. "That wasn't even- Becs, was Hydra. You know English- you know my voice, you know these words. Not just for missions. You remember."

Becca was standing now, panic racing through her heart and her eyes hot with tears.  "Нет, не знаю, Баки, они забрали его." No, I don't, Bucky, they took it away.

"You remember," Bucky pleaded. He looked desperate. "You remember, you do. You- you remember Ma, singing to you. You remember me reading to you, right?"

He held up his book wildly. "I read this to you at night, in the Forty's! You know I did, I saw your face when I started readin' it. You recognize it."

No, no, no, no, no.

Becca stuck out her chin, chest heaving as she cried. "Нет! Стул забрал все!" No! The chair took everything!

And now she was breaking more rules, because she was lying- and her Handlers were going to punish her for it.

But when it came to thing from Before, she wasn't supposed to remember that either!

She didn't know how to win here- there was no winning, but she didn't know the right answer. It was wrong, and she was going to be punished-

"You speak English," Bucky was shouting. His metal hand glinted in the dim light, the rest covered by his sleeve. "You've always spoken English, and you just won't right now 'cause you're scared!"

"SO ARE YOU!" Becca screamed.

The room was plunged into silence. Bucky flinched in shock, watching as his baby sister gripped her choppily-cut hair and buried her face in her hands.

Becca's mind had exploded into turmoil- English, English, English- the way it felt so familiar to her, yet so foreign, displaced by trauma after so long.

Her Russian accent was thick- she'd spent more time speaking the Mother Tongue after all- but it was undeniably what Bucky had wanted.

"You are scared," Becca sobbed, barely able to breathe as she hiccuped. "You are scared, brother. You run away, and you pretend you are not the Soldier!"

Her vocabulary was limited- she's only needed to know a few scarcely relevant terms in English as the Asset, and she was a child Before. Hydra had very successfully hidden that part of her life for decades.

Bucky's face was screwed up in an expression of horror and fury. "I- I'm not the Soldier. You're not the Asset. The people who made us into that- they're gone. They can't make you speak Russian anymore, why're you lettin' em win?!"

Letting them win? There wasn't even a comparison! There was only pain, or avoiding punishment- the bare minimum necessary for survival. The only ones "winning" were the ones in power.

And Hydra still had power, didn't they?

They still plagued her every thought. They were sewn into her every action.

"You can't let 'em win anymore, Becca," Bucky said. He slumped back down to the ground, burying his face in his hands. His posture was limp, resigned.

Bucky was fighting his own battle. Becca knew that- she could see it. It was him that would force them to leave the apartment to go get fresh air, doing little things just to defy their past Handlers.

Bucky had had a whole life before Hydra. He'd been a soldier, he'd grown up in Brooklyn, he'd loved someone with his entire being- he'd gotten to experience and grow. He'd been an entire person before Hydra.

Becca didn't have that.

Becca had been eight years old when she'd been taken. She'd gotten half of childhood, before being thrust into cryofreeze after Bucky had saved her life. She'd been in and out of time-freezing cold for decades at a time, until Hydra decided they could use her for more than just leverage.

Even her body agreed that she'd been stumped, time stolen from her. She was extremely short, and flat-chested, with big child-like eyes and tiny hands. When Hydra had given her the serum they gave Bucky, it had interrupted her growth- until her mind was getting older, but her body was aging far more slowly.

All Hydra had done was win. Even now, she was still stuck in the body they'd ruined.

"It's too late," Becca said, wiping her eyes with stuttering sobs. "Too late. They won already."

Bucky looked up with his own red eyes.

"We're here, aren't we?" he rasped. "We're together, we survived. That's a win. They're not here anymore. Nobody can make us do anything we don't want to."

They both knew that wasn't true. They were on the run for a reason- from their past, from the government, and especially from the Avengers.

Bucky was right about one thing, though- they were together.

As long as they stayed under the radar and monitored the news, making sure Steve Rogers' search for them wasn't anywhere near Bucharest, they could stay that way. They hadn't hurt anyone. They were minding their own business.

For once, Becca wasn't just surviving. She was living.

And that- that was a win.

"English," Becca said quietly. She sat across the room now, looking at Bucky sitting opposite her against the wall.

"English," Bucky repeated. His eyes were begging her to start taking back. Take back what they stole from you.

I win, she told herself. I win.

There was a girl across the street, outside the window.

Becca had been watching her for a while now.

She walked out the front door at around the same time every morning and come back several hours later, a backpack slung over her shoulder, wearing a white-and-green school uniform.

She was pretty, with dark hair and blue eyes and a bright smile, and Becca had an odd fluttering sensation in her stomach when she looked at her.

It wasn't unpleasant- just confusing. Similar to what she'd felt for a brief second when the girl- Charlie- had been nice to her so long ago.

It was a kind of simple happiness- almost excitement- and at first it scared her. But it didn't seem to be hurting anyone, and she found that she kind of like the feeling.

It was intriguing. She didn't understand it.

Bucky noticed.

He looked at the girl outside, and the soft smile on Becca's face as she watched her, and something in his heart sank.

He remembered how things used to be with Steve- growing up and realizing that he loved that stupid, stubborn, sickly blond boy. Not just as a friend, but something more.

He remembered living together after Steve's Ma died- having to keep hushed voices and be careful with their longing glances when they went out in public. Having to keep the window shutters closed, keep the house carefully inconspicuous, as if he and Steve weren't living together like a married couple would. He remembered that it was all worth it- as long as he and Steve could love each other in private.

He also remembered the pain, and the fear, of it all.

He remembered the arrests, and the beatings, and the "therapy", and the mental institutions that he and Steve's queer friends faced when they were caught.

He remembered pushing Steve away at first- we can't, they're going to catch us, you wouldn't survive prison, we'd be killed...

It had been a darker time.

Of course Becca would be the same as him. She was in every way- but Bucky had prayed that this one thing would be easier for her.

There was such a childlike innocence in the way she looked at that girl. A beautiful ignorance to the cruelty of the world outside. Something Bucky would die to protect for her.

She didn't know people thought it was wrong- why would she? She'd never seen the world outside. She didn't see any difference between boys and girls and all of that shit- she just saw love. She just knew that when she looked at that girl, she felt something wonderful.

Yet another reason it was better to be on the run, to make sure Steve Rogers never found them- she could be herself without the judgement and cruelty, when it was just the two of them.

Bucky so desperately wanted her to have this- the one thing Hydra hadn't tainted.

So he just smiled.

Becca, however, was more transfixed than he realized.

She was looking out the window one morning, just observing. It was one of the days when the girl didn't have her backpack on- the weekend, Bucky had explained to her. Kids don't go to school on the weekends.

The girl was sitting outside, sewing something Becca could barely see. Her hair hung over her shoulder, catching the sun, feet pointed inwards, before she looked up.

Becca froze, unsure what to do.

The girl smiled softly, dimpling her cheeks, and waved.

Becca waved back uncertainly, and the girl seemed to laugh. She made a gesture that said come here.

Becca slowly backed away from the window, her heart thumping. She looked around desperately- Bucky was gone getting food, so she was alone.

Really, what harm could it do?

She'd been wanting to talk to the girl forever. It wasn't like anyone knew who she was, and she and Bucky had been here for nearly a year now, walking through the streets and going to the marketplaces.

She grabbed Bucky's sweater and put on her shoes.

Her heart pounded and her hands fidgeted with her sleeves, expertly climbing down the apartment stairs in almost complete silence.

When Becca walked out of the apartment complex, the girl was sitting on the front porch of her house, smiling gently at her. She waved again, before patting the concrete steps next to her.

Becca looked around at the bustling, busy street. Hundreds of people walking around, laughing and smiling, on their cell phones of holding hands. Nobody except the girl was paying her any mind.

... She crossed the street, heart still thudding.

The girl was still smiling as Becca uncertainly approached her, with her choppy red hair and baggy clothes sticking out like a sore thumb.

"Te uitai pe fereastră la mine," the girl said in smooth Romanian. Her eyes were bright, amused. You were watching me in the window.

Becca didn't know act to say.

"Sta," the girl said. She patted the empty space next to her, her eyes flirting over Becca's frame. "Eu nu musc." Sit. I don't bite.

Becca sat down. The girl stared at her before reaching forward, adjusting a strand of Becca's hair that was sticking out strangely on the back of her head.

Becca's stomach fluttered.

"Numele meu este Viviana," she said. She tilted her head. "Ce-i al tau?" My name is Viviana. What's yours?

Becca stared at her, completely at a loss. The girl was even prettier up close, and was leaning in towards her, eyes twinkling. While Becca was completely thrown out of her element, she didn't sense that the girl was any kind of a threat.

"Becca," She said, her mouth dry.

Viviana nodded, satisfied. "Mă bucur să te cunosc, Becca." It's nice to meet you, Becca.

She held up the sewing project she'd been working on. It was a stuffed rag doll, with twisted red yarn for hair and a yellow gingham dress hanging over its frame. Viviana seemed to be sewing the fabric together for its left leg. "Ea are părul roșcat, ca și tine." She has red hair, like you.

Becca leaned forward, intrigued. Something flickered in the back of her mind- something to do with Bucky, and a name- Jamie. A doll with red hair-

Her brain hurt too much to think much about it, so she shoved it away. "Da," she said, quietly. Yes.

"Fac o mulțime de acestea," Viviana said, her long, thin fingers sticking the needle and thread into the fabric back and forth. The leg slowly began to stitch together. "Sunt pentru școala fratelui meu. Le dau la orfelinatul din josul străzii." I do a lot of these. They're for my brother's school. They give them to the orphanage down the street.

Becca didn't know quite what to say to that. The word 'orphan' struck up another memory, but Becca was too focused on Viviana.

"Nu vorbești prea mult, nu-i așa?" Viviana gently nudged Becca with her elbow. Becca felt a small smile grow on her face in spite of herself at the teasing gesture. You don't talk much, do you?

"Ce ar trebui să spun?" Becca asked, feeling herself blush as Viviana flashed those dimples at her. What should I say?

Viviana finished sewing the leg of the doll for a moment, before tying the thread and breaking it off with her teeth. She held up the finished product for Becca to see. "Ei bine, ai vrea să păstrezi această păpușă?" Well, would you like to keep this doll?

Becca felt a flash of fear.

What was the right answer here? Was that an order? Was she really expecting Becca to take the doll and keep it? If she didn't, if she said no, would she be punished? Or was it a test, and she was supposed to say no?

Viviana gently set the doll onto Becca's lap, nudging her with her elbow again. "Te gândești prea mult, dragă." You think too much, dear.

Becca looked up, trying to free the breath caught in her throat. Viviana's pretty blue eyes- more blue than Bucky's, who were a bit more grey- studied hers. It took a moment to realize that Viviana was serious- she wasn't trying to threaten Becca.

She just wanted her to have the doll.

Becca gently picked up it, careful as though it were going to break in her hands. She ran her hand over the soft red hair.

"Drăguță. Ca tine." Viviana smiled at Becca, who stared at her. "Pretty. Like you."

Pretty.

Pretty.

The word echoed through Becca's mind for the next hour, as she walked back to her apartment and stared at the doll. She couldn't stop touching its hair- red, like yours.

Viviana thought she was pretty.

It hadn't ever occurred of Becca to think of herself that way. She'd thought other people were pretty- Charlie Stark- Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and the one nice woman who gave Becca and Bucky plums for them to take home every Friday.

But living like she did, she'd never cared enough to focus on it.

She was so lost in thought, staring at that doll and thinking about Viviana, that she missed Bucky walk in the front door.

He stopped, slowly setting down the three gallons of water he'd been carrying. His eyes flickered over to his sister, brows furrowing at the way she was so transfixed at the rag doll.

"Where'd ya get that?" he asked.

Becca jumped, her fingers curled over the doll, pulling it close to her. She felt a sudden panic.

"It's mine," she said quickly. In English, so Bucky would have no excuse not to listen. "You can't take it. It's mine."

Something flickered in her brother's eyes.

"Where did you get it?" Bucky repeated. His voice betrayed no emotion, but his eyes had narrowed just a little bit.

To both their horror, Becca's eyes began to well up with tears.

"It's mine," she choked out. She didn't understand what was wrong with her- emotion was weakness, she knew that. The Asset didn't feel emotion. There was no reason for her to be upset and irrational. But she felt such a connection to the doll. "Please? It's mine. I didn't disobey."

Bucky knelt in front of her as her breath quickened, a hot tear slipping down her cheek as she clung desperately to the doll.

"I'm not gonna take it," Bucky said quietly, feeling lost. It was a bit out of his element here, but there was an instinct in him, long dead and buried, starting to resurface.

He wanted nothing more in this world than for her not to cry.

"It's yours," he said desperately. "Becca, it's okay."

She barely heard him, rocking back and forth as her body shook in fear. She didn't want to be punished, she didn't want to be hurt, but she couldn't let go of the doll. It was hers- and nothing in this world was hers but her brother.

"You can punish me," she wheezed out, and nothing made sense. "Just don't take- please, I'm sorry, don't take it-"

Bucky's face crumbled. "I'm not going to punish you. You didn' do nothin' wrong. Becca, I'd never."

But Becca was inconsolable. Her choppy red hair hung over her face, her eyes red and puffy with tears, and she was shaking.

Bucky's hands, one flesh and one metal, hovered uncertainly.

It was like flickering back in time, to a four-year-old Rebecca with her braided back and a heavy winter coat on her shoulders, clutching a toy and crying because she didn't want to leave the house without it.

A little girl with a lot of big emotions, not having idea what to do about them but cry.

This- this wasn't much different. Processing emotions wasn't something Becca had ever had to take liberty to do- she just shoved them away and pretended they didn't exist. Emotions were dangerous.

She'd had to learn how to shut down as a little kid. Now, somewhere inside the Becca in 2016, there was a little girl trying to figure out how to feel things again.

"Becca," Bucky said, watching as she hiccuped and sobbed. "Becca."

"Девушка дала его мне," Becca cried, clutching the doll, her words slipping back into Russian. The girl gave it to me.

Bucky rested his metal arm in his lap, trying to show he wasn't going to touch it. "English, Becca. You can do it, come on."

Focusing on speaking English seems to calm her down a bit. She was still white as a sheet, chest heaving, stuttering on her words, but she was a bit more centered. "The- the girl gave it to me. She said I can keep it. She t-told me it was pretty, like me."

Bucky was at a loss. Then, a bit of fear. "What girl? The girl from the window? Wait- Becca, did she come up here?"

Becca shook her head furiously. "No! She- she waved at me. I went down to see her. She was making dolls." She held up the rag doll in her hands, like a small child showing her big brother a school project.

The desperation in Becca's eyes... Bucky couldn't be mad. Scared, terrified even- that, he couldn't help, but he couldn't be angry at her.

"Becca," he said carefully. "You can't do that. You can't- you can't go out, without me. Okay?"

Becca's eyes were full of tears. So incredibly vulnerable, listening to the one person she had in her life to help guide her as she grew up.

"It has red hair," Bucky noted weakly, trying to salvage some of the new and happiness Becca had felt before he walked in.

"Yes," She said, wiping her nose with the sleeve of the sweater she'd stolen from him. "Like me."

"Like you," Bucky agreed. "Do you want to name her?"

Becca seemed to think for a moment, before her eyes narrowed in slight confusion. her mouth opened for a moment, like she was thinking heavily about something. "Jamie?"

It came out a question, and Bucky flinched in surprise. "J-Jamie."

A doll lying in the snow, with beautiful red hair.

A little girl running out to grab it, hands red from the cold, swamped in Bucky's winter coat, just like she was now.

The doll sliding from her grip as a Hydra agent picked her up, granting Bucky's final wish to let her live.

That doll was what had started all of this. Becca being stolen out of her time, being turned into the Asset, now on the run- when she should be almost eighty years old right now, having lived a long and fulfilling life.

"Jamie," Bucky said, feeling nauseous. His fault, his fault, his fault. He'd gotten her that doll, and ruined everything. "That's..."

Becca was looking at the doll, with its red hair a little dress. She looked up at him slowly. "You... you're Jamie. James Barnes."

Bucky nodded, his mouth dry. Where was she going with this?

"I had a doll," Becca said softly. She had a crease between her brows, sill sniffling from her breakdown. She looked like thinking about it was hurting her- it probably was, if it was a memory from Before that Hydra had wiped. "With... red hair. Jamie... you gave it to me."

"Yes," Bucky said, unable to breathe. He almost didn't want to look at her; if she blamed him, if she hated him and didn't want to be around him anymore- he didn't know what he'd do.

Becca looked at him, her eyes red, studying him like she could see how he was feeling. She held the doll tighter against her chest before her eyes flickered to the floor. "I lost my old Jamie. This- this one is mine. I will keep this safe."

And good Lord- there were so many layers to that.

Bucky was never going to be the same big brother he was in the forties. James Barnes was dead and buried. Then again, so was Rebecca Barnes. They'd each lost their sibling, in that sense.

Now, all they could do was move forward. Together, growing into the people they were forced to become, finding themselves after Hydra, in the wrong century.

"Jamie will keep you safe too," Bucky said softly.

By God, he meant it.

A/N:
Hello lovelies!

Bucky and Becca are so precious to me.

Bucky's trying to hard to protect Becca, because he doesn't realize how much the world has changed. But he also knows that Steve is searching for them and won't stop, and that if Steve finds them, they're not going to be able to live like this anymore.

Becca is experiencing all these big things she missed out on as a kid- having a doll, having her first crush- and since she's been so stunted growing up, she doesn't know how to handle it. She's going to act like a little kid sometimes because she doesn't know what else to do.

I threw in the having a crush on Viviana, because it's something Bucky and Becca have in common. Becca is, you heard it here first, a LESBIAN!! hooray. Bucky obviously loved Steve too, and he doesn't realize that the world (in my book) is completely accepting and doesn't care anymore. He wants so badly to protect Becca, because she doesn't have any idea. She just has a crush, She was raised in an environment where that was never brought up.

ugh, i love them. i'm so glad they've had this past year together, being able to discover themselves outside of Hydra.

Coming soon, the plot thickens! we will be diving into Civil War next chapter. Y'all aren't prepared, i'm sorry.

Let me know what you thought about this chapter!

drink some water! go to sleep! love y'all!❤️