The long lost Barnes

Rebuilding the Past

Day Ten: The First True Conversation

The compound had become a sanctuary. Or at least, it was supposed to be. For Bucky, the mission had become less about fighting Hydra and more about trying to piece together a life with a woman who didn't remember hers—or his. The silence in their shared quarters was deafening, and every glance at Leia reminded him of everything they had lost.

She had been avoiding him more often now. After the small breakthrough—the recognition of his name, and that fleeting moment of memory about his scars—Leia had retreated again. She'd been withdrawing into herself, her days filled with long silences and brief, fractured moments of recognition that quickly crumbled into confusion.

It wasn't just the memories that were gone. It was everything. The way she used to laugh at his bad jokes, the way she would always lean on him when things got tough, how they would finish each other's sentences. It wasn't just her identity that had been stolen—it was their shared bond, the trust between them. And that, above all else, was what hurt the most.

Bucky had tried everything he could think of. He'd talked to her about the old days, the missions they'd done together, the things they'd loved. He'd told her stories about their life before Hydra—their quiet nights in Brooklyn, the soft kiss goodnight under the streetlight outside their apartment. He'd hoped something, anything, would spark.

But every time he mentioned something familiar, the wall between them grew a little higher. She'd shut down, eyes filled with that same fear and confusion.

"I'm not sure I'm the person you think I am," she'd said one night, her voice trembling. "I don't even know who I am anymore."

Bucky hadn't known how to answer her. The words got caught in his throat, tangled with the frustration and pain of it all.

Day Twelve: A Flicker of Hope

It was late afternoon when Bucky found her in the training room. The compound's gym was almost empty, the quiet hum of machines filling the air as a few of the Avengers trained for their next mission. Bucky had just finished a sparring session with Sam, his body still humming with adrenaline, when he spotted Leia across the room.

She was standing in front of a punching bag, fists clenched, sweat beading along her brow. She wasn't wearing her usual gear, just a plain, loose shirt and sweatpants, but the tension in her posture was unmistakable.

It had been a while since he'd seen her outside her quarters. It had been even longer since she'd shown any interest in moving her body—beyond the occasional short walk in the compound, or sitting silently during meals.

At first, Bucky thought about leaving her alone. But something in the way she was hitting the bag caught his attention. She wasn't fighting with purpose—there was no flow, no rhythm to her strikes. She was angry. She was hurt. And it wasn't just a physical fight—it was a battle for control over the storm in her mind.

Without thinking, Bucky stepped forward, his footsteps steady but silent. He didn't want to startle her, not when she was so fragile. But when she heard him approach, she stiffened, her fists still pounding into the bag with vicious determination.

"Leia," Bucky said softly, his voice calm, careful.

She didn't stop, but her shoulders tensed. He could see the pulse of anger and frustration radiating off her in waves. She wasn't ready for a conversation. Not yet.

"You don't have to do this," Bucky continued, his tone gentle. "You're angry, and that's okay. But you don't have to carry it by yourself."

Her punches slowed slightly, but she didn't stop. Instead, she let out a harsh breath. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Bucky. I don't know who I am. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel anymore."