Cornelia Street - Avengers

James

"Time has come as we all fall, go down."

Bucharest, Romania

(Way down We Go, KALEO)

...

James Barnes calmly, yet cautiously, strolled around the markets. He was trying to find the cheapest thing he could buy, using the limited amount of money he had. He had lost Alina a while back after she took off in the night, so now he was back to isolation and selfish living. 

Something he had grown accustomed to. He didn't have many choices considering his situation; he couldn't steal money without putting his face out there, and he couldn't get a normal job with his metal arm. 

So, he had tried to be helpful to the people around him in exchange for money, mostly the elderly who appreciated the help, and who paid him better. 

At least it helped clear his conscience, knowing that he had done something good, even if nobody else would know.

Tightening the black cap on his head, he reached the section where most of the fruits were sold. "Excuse me?" James asked softly to the elderly couple tending the booth. "Which fruit is best for memory..." he asked softly, finding it hard to meet her eyes.

 It felt strange to ask such a thing, but desperation had driven him to this moment, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing what little he had left of her. The woman didn't question him, didn't pry or judge. She simply pointed to a basket of dark purple fruit between them.

"Plums," she said gently, her voice full of warmth and understanding. "They're good for the brain. Helps with memory."

"Are they good?" He grabbed a few plums with his left hand, hidden by a glove.

The woman prepared a bag for him, holding it out. "Perfectly ripe," her husband answered, helping with the bag. Bucky looked between them for a second, thinking about how he could've been like them, to grow old with someone he loved by his side.

After a second of thought, he lightly squeezed the fruit, although he couldn't feel much with his arm, "Uh...alright, then give me...six of them. Please."

Pulling out his crumpled money, he looked over his shoulder again, like it was completely second nature. The constant feeling that someone was after him.

"Here you are, sir," the older woman handed him his back, giving him a soft albeit tired smile.

"Thank you," he lowered his head, walking across the street to get the rest of his shopping list. Waiting in the middle of the road in order for it to clear to cross, he noticed a man in a newspaper booth eyeing him suspiciously, back and forth from his newspaper before up at him.

Bucky turned away from him, looking from the corner of his eyes as he approached. But all the man did was sprint from his stand upon his arrival. Bucky quickened his pace, picking up the newspaper that the man had been reading.

He stared at the front page, in utter disbelief. He knew his memories weren't fully back, but he could have sworn he hadn't killed anyone lately.

James could have sworn it.

...

Steve Rogers felt a pang of insatiable guilt as he sat in the SHIELD-issued Quinjet, besides spare drawers of suits the team had worn, hidden snack piles and the photo of the girl he had just left behind in his suit pocket. 

His body almost felt on fire with the need to go back, to go back home to her, to his family, to all of it. But he wouldn't.

His thumb skimmed down the star on his chest, almost hesitantly. Was he even an Avenger anymore, since he didn't sign? The question caused him to swallow dryly as Wilson landed the jet a couple of blocks back from where Bucky had been staying, trying to draw as little attention as possible.