"So, Mrs. Barnes, how are you coping with all of this?"

"Just call me Isabella, please."

"Isabella, how are you coping?"

That condition she was under, was seeing Doctor Raynor, also Bucky's therapist. She only had two days to breathe before she was sitting on a couch across from her, back in New York.

Bucky looked peeved when he heard she was being sent to Raynor, and now she understood why.

"I'm not comfortable talking to you."

"And why is that?"

"You're reporting our sessions to the government."

"You have to prove you're not a threat anymore-"

"So why did they say that I have a full pardon? Doesn't seem like it to me..."

"It's just a precaution."

She clicked her tongue, nodding.

She hated this.

She could feel Raynor's gaze on her, but she choose to avoid it by staring at her college diploma sitting behind her. She only looked at her when she heard Raynor laugh.

"You and Mister Barnes are the same with this. You both have that same look of discontentment on your faces, unwilling to say a word."

"Go figure."

"I'm sorry?"

"What else did you expect from two ex-HYDRA assassins? A gossip session about my mission in Taiwan or the torture mechanisms they used on us?"

She saw Raynor take out a notepad, writing things down. Isabella tried to peer over and see what she wrote, seeing only Taiwan on her notepad.

"Mrs-"

"No."

"Isabella, you have got to cooperate with me here. The sooner you start talking means the sooner I can help you and the sooner you'll be over with this. Okay?"

Isabella hardly said 3 more sentences that session.

She left the building, looking out at the streets of New York City. It was strange- she remembered bits and pieces of the city, but it was like muscle memory walking to the address Bucky gave her in Brooklyn.

She barely needed her iPhone- which was hard to use. Rather that, she was able to know which street to turn on to get to the subway and which one to get on. She certainly did not remember the subway being so... interesting.

It took her nearly an hour to get to her location, but most of that was due to her just taking in the sights around her. It was June in New York, so by the time she made it to the address, she had beads of sweat dripping down her face.

Bucky opened the door before she had the chance to knock.

"I really could've walked you-"

"Absolutely not," she replied mindlessly, taking in the townhome. There were boxes stacked up around the house, it smelled nostalgic.

She looked back at him questionably, "you can have this place," Bucky quietly said, "you own it, sort of."

"Sort of?"

He shyly closed the front door, standing a few feet away from his estranged wife. Crossing his arms, he at the fireplace, which he forgot to dust off.

"We lived here, for about two hours or so."

She stared at him blankly, "two hours?"

He didn't elaborate on that. He walked into the kitchen, pouring her a glass of water. She looked around the house, eyeing the upstairs. Bucky walked to her, handing her the water. She took it, eyeing the liquid before taking a drink.

"Where will you stay if I take this place?"

He shrugged, "haven't figured it out. But I'll be out by tonight."

Isabella shook her head, "no, no you can stay here. I won't just kick you out of your house."

"It's not just mine," he reminded her.

"Then one of us will take the couch. I-" she sighed, almost defeated, "I know you won't hurt me. And I don't think I'll hurt you... and we might be the only people who trusts one another enough to sleep around."

"You trust me?" Bucky asked hopefully.

"Somewhat," she replied, side eyeing the man.

She was warming up, slowly.

Isabella walked upstairs, going into the main bedroom. She nearly coughed at the dust.

"Have you been up here at all?"

"No... not since 1944."

She scoffed, fanning the dust away in the air. The amount of dust was enough to gross her out."

"It was kept up until 90s I heard. Stark made sure it only belonged to us."

"Stark?"

He nodded, "familiar?"

"Yeah..." she said, "how could it not be?"

He winced at the memory.

She looked at the photograph on the bedside table, it was the two of them at Coney Island.

"1939," he called out, "you dropped your ice cream in the sand and cried."

"See? Not remembering everything isn't so bad," she said sarcastically. He stayed back in the door frame, watching her explore the room. She walked up to a bookshelf, fingers tracing dozens of leather bound notebooks.

"You documented every single day of your life since you were nine. Seems like younger you knew you could need it one day..."

"Have you read any?"

Bucky quickly shook his head, giggling at a memory she didn't know of. "Hell no. You made it very clear that they were off limits. And I still wouldn't dare to touch them to this day."

She smiled faintly, eyes trailing to the horribly dusty mirror at the corner of the room.

Bucky smiled when he saw that mirror, giggling as he quickly looked down at the ground.

She turned, "what?"

"It's nothing," he said, cheeks going pink.

"What?" she asked again.

He giggled harder. Flesh hand covering his face. She even found the corners of her lips quirking up at his fit. "I don't think you wanna know, Bella."

"I do."

He shook his head, "it would ruin the mood."

"Tell me!" she demanded.

Bucky calmed himself down, "well, you had a mouth on you back then."

"... and?"

"When we picked out that mirror, you said in public very loudly that I-" he lost it again.

Isabella sighed, tapping her foot on the ground loudly.

"What?!"

He coughed, "you joked that I should- and I quote- 'fuck you in front of that mirror so that when we're old and ugly, we'll remember how hot and young we looked when we fucked,'"

Now it was her turn to blush.

"Oh..."

Bucky laughed harder, "the looks on everyone's face, it was priceless!"

"Well?"

"What?"

"Did you?"

He scratched the back of his neck, "no..."

"Why?"

"I was only living here for about two hours. I had orders to go back overseas, no time."

"Bummer."

"Yeah," he said, quicker than he probably shoulders, "big fucking bummer."