Lost + Found [Bucky Barnes] ✓

Chapter 1: Meet Chloe

LET'S BE HONEST, right off the bat. I'm nothing special.

I'm just a girl with above average hair, below average height, and a penchant for healing. My mom wanted me to be a surgeon, said I had a gift, but I was never a big fan of the whole "blood and guts" thing. Sure, I love making people feel better. I might even be really good at it. Unfortunately, I'm squeamish as all get out, and I don't really see that changing in the near future.

We should probably backtrack for a moment.

My name is Chloe. Chloe Tuominen. It's a mouthful, I know, so you're allowed to forget it. My mom's from Wakanda (surprisingly enough, her last name was Smith), and my dad's family emigrated to the US from Finland two generations ago. That's right. I'm Finnish-African-American. I was born and raised in Bethesda, Maryland - a suburb of Washington, D.C. - where my father was a teacher and my mother is a doctor. Catch the was? Dad died when I was 10, and Mom never moved on. Instead, she threw herself into her work, conveniently forgetting that she had two daughters relying on her sorry ass.

Not that I'm bitter or anything.

My sister's name is Artemis, named after the Greek goddess of the hunt. (She hates going outside, just to be clear. Ari's hobbies include shopping, boys, and male models. Two of those things are the same, yes, but she likes to "diversify".) Our parents were obsessed with Greek mythology, which is why I was named after one of the many epithets for Demeter, goddess of the harvest, presider over sacred law and the cycle of life and death. Cheery, right?

Ari and I moved into DC proper when I was 18. Mom sprung for an apartment (because if she isn't able to provide for us with motherly care, at least her physician's salary is good for something, right?) in a nice part of town, decent building, while I went to college nearby. Ari, who was 13 at the time, was promptly enrolled into Maret School, a private co-ed school northeast of downtown DC. (Notable alumni include Rosalind Wiseman, aka author of "Queen Bees and Wannabees," the book that the movie Mean Girls was based upon. Ari was thrilled to be in attendance, while I was less-than-excited.)

That was seven years ago. Now, Ari is a sophomore at George Washington University, studying Italian Language and Literature ("because Italy is a hub of fashion, duh" is what she told me), and I'm a physical therapist at a nearby nursing home. Gift of healing, remember? I might not be able to stand gore, but somehow wrinkly old bodies don't bother me at all.

Let's get back to the present, the reason for this story. This is the day my life changed forever.

Cue dramatic music.

I just finished a shift at the nursing home, where my last session of the day was with Paul, a friendly man who had recently undergone a hip replacement. Paul was a favorite patient of mine, as he absolutely adored me. Some people might not like it when an 82-year-old man hits on them, but I happen to think it's cute. He loves my long, purple streaked black hair (my employer doesn't agree, but they were desperate for a PT, so ha), and he's always trying to convince me to join him for the weekly bingo night on Tuesdays.

Personally, I think the only reason Paul likes me is because I take his mind off his hip. I'm pretty good at my job, and I usually leave my patients feeling abnormally refreshed and relieved. Paul tells me that he's never felt pain relief like he has from my hands. Like I said, he's a flirt.

Walking home, I tuck my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, zipping it up to my neck to protect me from the heavy winds whipping through the city. It's only 6:30PM, but the sky is dark with incoming thunderheads and the tall buildings next to me only thrust me further into the shadows.

I cross the street, checking both ways for oncoming cars, before jogging to the other side. My apartment is four blocks ahead, and I'm currently debating between another night of Indian takeout or something a little more 'health-conscious'. I'm sure you can already guess, but the call of garlic naan is winning.