Bucharest || Bucky Barnes

7

It was a month full of silence and visits from his memories that kept popping up.

When his phone rang, he was finishing up the passage he had written in the notebook. It was now a quarter full and filled with his past, and every new entry lifted a bit more fog from his mind till he started to think more clearly.

Answering his phone, he was surprised to hear her voice.

"Bucky?"

"Clarissa?"

"Yeah, its me."

Silence settled at both ends and he realized he had missed her voice.

"Where were you?"

"Can you meet me tonight? At Curtea Veche?"

Her voice was urgent and desperate, and he knew he couldn't refuse.

"What time?"

"Midnight."

The sound of a click resonated in his ear as she hung up, and he was left staring at his phone.

Something was seriously wrong.

So for the rest of the hours of waiting, he took out his knife and began to sharpen it.

The sound formed a steady rhythm to his ears, and it was ten minutes till twelve when he came back to reality.

Pocketing the knife in his boot, he changed from a red T-shirt to a black one. Throwing on his overcoat, he left his cap, trusting the night to hide him.

The streets were void of life, void of sound. And by the time Curtea Veche came into sight, he was itching to grab his knife for a sense of comfort.

But he resisted as he hopped over the steel fence and navigated his way to the courtyard where the sight of her made his mind settle.

She was standing, and staring at the starlit sky. Pale arms crossed over her chest, stark against her plain clothes of black. Her hair shifted slightly as her head turned to face him, eyes searching.

"You came." Was all she said as if she didn't trust his words.

Not answering, he continued to walk forward till he stood three feet away from her thin figure. It was then he noticed the dark circles around her eyes and the smudges of dark on her pale neck.

"What happened?"

His voice was sharp and she seemed to flinch.

"Nothing."

Her hands moved her hair forward to hide the bruises, and his hands clenched.

"Who did this to you?"

Clarissa didn't answer, just gazed at him sadly. "I know who you are."

He froze.

"While I was away, I figured out why you looked so familiar." She continued. "You're the Winter Soldier, aren't you?"

He let the silence stretch before muttering a yes.

She didn't react the way he thought she would. Instead she raised one hand to rest on his cheek, which made him tense.

"I don't blame you for not telling me." She whispered. "But from now on, no more secrets. You can trust me."

Gently he placed his real hand over hers, using his thumb to stroke her soft skin.

"I have no reason too."

In response she smiled brighter than the moon could ever gleam, and in that moment she was the most beautiful thing on earth.

He dropped his hand from over hers, and cupped the back of her head to draw her in. She didn't resist as he kissed her. Instead she seemed to lean into it, responding.

In that moment he didn't care if it was too soon. For him, it wasn't soon enough.

When they both broke the kiss, he noticed with surprise she was crying silently.

He wiped away her tears with his thumbs, concerned. "Why are you crying?"

"Because," she whispered. "I don't know what will come next."

He embraced her, and held her under the moon. Feeling more at peace in that moment, and more clear-headed as if she was the medicine to his pain.

And he didn't want to let her go.