Lost + Found [Bucky Barnes] ✓

Chapter 11

"Chloe?"

Steve's voice breaks my thought process, drawing my attention away from the unconscious - or dead - man in front of me. I can't help but shiver at the thought that he might be dead, although I'm not quite certain why it would bother me so much. He did nearly kill me in DC - and shot Natasha - so it's not like he's all that innocent.

"What are you doing in here?" He asks, taking a step toward me.

His blue eyes look concerned, and a little confused, as he approaches me where I stand in front of Bucky.

"I couldn't sleep," I admit sheepishly.

Steve smiles, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly as he glances from me to Bucky, "Me neither."

We stand in silence for a moment, and I debate whether or not I should tell Steve that I overheard his conversation. I open my mouth to speak and close it, opting to keep that tidbit to myself. I may have intended to eavesdrop on Steve and T'Challa, but I feel guilty about intruding on what seems to have been a private moment.

"Is he..." My voice is soft as I turn back to face the brown-haired man in the cylinder. "Is he alive?"

Steve nods, pausing a moment before he speaks, "Sometimes I like to come in here and talk to him. I know he can't hear me, but it's...it's just not the same without him."

"Peaceful," I continue.

"Mhmm. And therapeutic," Steve adds. "He's the only person I ever trusted with all of my secrets. He was my best friend in the 40s, and he's my best friend now."

My eyes grow wide at his words, "So it's true? He's the same James Buchanan Barnes? The one who fought with you in the Howling Commandos?"

"The one and only," he says with a sad smile. I can see the memories flashing before his eyes, and suddenly I feel guilty for standing here with him.

"I'm sorry," I murmur. "It must be--"

"Don't be," Steve reassures me, lifting his hand to squeeze my shoulder. For a moment, I forget about my new...ability...and revel in the sensation. So much has happened in the last day, that it's nice to have a friend. "I'll leave you two alone."

My forehead furrows in confusion while Steve drops his hand and sticks it into his pocket.

What? Why is he leaving us alone?

His blue eyes linger on Bucky's face before turning to me. I can see sadness in their depths, yes, but also something I didn't notice before. Hope. It's clear that Steve misses his best friend, desperately, but it's also apparent that he believes that he can get his best friend back. Hell, maybe he already has.

"He's a good listener," he tells me as if reading my mind. "Always has been."

Just like that, he disappears as noiselessly as he arrived. I stare at the doorway for a moment, expecting him or someone else to come into the room and tell me to leave, but after a few seconds nothing happens. I'm left alone in a room with The Winter Soldier.

No, I'm in a room with James Buchanan Barnes, I tell myself.

I've seen the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian, because who hasn't, so I remember the story of their friendship well. I took Ari to the exhibit with me, hoping she would take an interest in something outside of clothes and boys, and she spent the whole time obsessing over the replica of Captain America's uniform and how muscular he must've been. Typical.

I never stopped for the Bucky Barnes memorial - other than briefly skimming the inscription - and suddenly I feel guilty for not giving this man more attention. Not only did he serve in World War II, he gave his life for his friend only to have it stolen away from him. Hydra made him a puppet, a slave to their cruel intentions, and I can't help but feel horrible at the thought.

He deserves so much more than this.

Checking over my shoulder once more, I reassure myself that I'm alone in the room before clearing my throat gently. The sleeping man in front of me still hasn't moved, obviously, but I'm jittery with nerves at the thought of speaking to him. My thoughts drift back to our first encounter in DC, and the memory of his blue eyes locking onto mine causes me to bite my lip as I take a deep breath.

"Hi, Bucky," I say quietly. "You...um...you probably don't remember me, but my name is Chloe. We met in, well...you almost killed me a few years ago. Really glad you didn't, by the way. Thanks."

Swallowing, I grab a nearby chair and pull it in front of the glass cylinder before plopping down.

"I, um...Steve told me I should talk to you," I say, toying with my leather gloves. Pulling them off, I stuff them in my pocket and run a hand through my hair. "I don't know what to say. It's...it's been a bad day. The worst day, actually, worse than the day we met."

Tears spring to my eyes, and I wipe them away with my fingertips, "My mom lied to me. My dad isn't my dad, and apparently my real father is still alive. My sister was kidnapped, and her friends were killed in my apartment."

More tears roll down my cheek and I choke back a sob, "And I...I, um...I killed two men. I didn't mean to. It-it was an accident...I didn't mean to..."