In Your Eyes // Steve Rogers

52

Against the wall of my cell, I curled into a ball, sobbing softly into my knees. I was so lost. An internal rage between attempting or leaving it alone shook me to the core. 

Maybe Tony intercepted the electric choker, maybe he did ensure General Ross didn't hear he and Sam's conversation, maybe he really did believe in me to time travel, but all of that didn't matter. Whether or not he believed in me, or the extend he did so, I didn't believe in him. I couldn't trust his word, not anymore. 

Time travel. Where had the idea come from? What possessed General Ross to think that locations wasn't the extent of my powers? What tests were they possibly going to do in order to test the theory? 

How much more could they hurt me? I thought bitterly. 

Trembling hands reached to my face, ferociously wiping under my eyes. At last, understanding it wasn't going to stop, I dropped my head deep into my knees. I hugged my knees as tight as possible.

Few instances in my life made me despise my power. Meeting Steve, being with Steve, I felt at home. I felt safe and free to expose what I could do. I was proud to be who I had become.

Then, with no less than a day, my confidence was shattered, by someone I once called my friend. 

Wishing didn't justify what I felt. I yearned to be elsewhere. I wished that I never joined S.H.I.E.L.D, that I never exposed her powers to the Avengers, that I hadn't met... No. That's not true. Meeting Steve was the greatest thing to happen in my life. Regret against him didn't exist. I only wanted to feel safe with him again. 

I was too far into my own head to notice the sapphire begin to exhibit from my hands. I failed to notice it engulf her body. Intently trying to calm my breathing, the breeze against my skin wasn't felt, nor the sun beating against my scalp. I hadn't noticed that I had done it.

"Ma'am, are you all right?" asked a man softly. "Ma'am? Where did you come from?"

"I'm fine," I sniffled. 

"Now, you say that, but I don't believe it would be very kind of me to leave a pretty little lady such as yourself alone."

Angry, I snapped my chin into the air to ward off the prying man. Any emotion other than confusion slipped from my body, the second I saw exactly where I was not. I was sitting in plain sight, curled in an alleyway of a bustling, busy city. 

I clutched at the ends of her hair. My knuckles bumped into the choker. I stared straight ahead at the red bricks, eyes widened in fear. No electric shock happened. Their weapon of fear was useless against her, however far away I was. 

"Where am I?" I whispered.

"You're in Brooklyn, doll," answered the man. 

"No, no, you don't understand, I mean..." I raised her head. "Bucky?"

Bucky Barnes himself, dressed in a soldier's uniform and a smile, extended his hand. "I think I would have remembered a face like yours," he admitted. 

"He always did said you were a flirt back in the day," I muttered. I stood. "Bucky, please listen to me, okay? You said I'm in Brooklyn, fine, but when am I?"

"1941, doll."

I felt my heart stop. "Holy shit."

"Whoa, there!" panicked Bucky. He had to catch me from falling over. "Whoa, uh, are you okay there?"

I stared at his arms, specifically the left hand that clutched me. His fingers were soft, warm. Normal. 

"You don't have it," I gasped. I poked his arm. "Jesus Christ. I did it. I went..."

"Where did you get these clothes?" interrupted Bucky. He truly believed I was suffering from some type of mental break, perhaps broke free from a mental asylum. 

"Forget that. Where are you heading?" I asked.

"I'm on my way to meet a friend of mine," said Bucky. His eyes brightened. "Why don't you join us? He could be of some help."

"Cant exactly hurt."

Bucky let his hands fall from my shoulders. He looked me up and down, then frowned. He asked me to stay in the alleyway until he returned. His return brought a shopping bag into my hands. 

"Why did you buy me clothes?" I asked. 

"Unless you would rather have people thinking you escaped an asylum," he said. 

I changed into the navy blue, polka dotted dress. I slipped on the white ballerina flats. I tied my hair up, pinned by a silver hairpin Bucky added into his purchase. He added a white neck tie for the choker. 

"I sure know how to dress a woman," smirked Bucky when he saw me. 

I decided to stay quiet. I entered onto the sidewalk. I walked timidly, uncomfortably. The times were changed. The people was different. The atmosphere of 1941 Brooklyn was unlike anything I lived before. It terrified me. 

Bucky led the way. "So, where do you come from?"

"France," I mumbled. 

"I meant, when did you come to America?"

"Ten minutes ago."

"Oh. Huh. Listen, don't get offended by this, but have you recently experienced a trauma?"

"That's one way to describe it," I admitted.

Bucky didn't respond, a bit preoccupied peering around my body. He did once more, a little later. It seemed as though every alley they passed by, he did a general sweep of. 

 "Why do you keep doing that?" I asked. 

"Call me crazy, but I have a strong hunch Steve's getting beat up in one," said Bucky. 

I came to a skidding stop. Breathlessly, I mumbled, "Steve?"

"Yes, that's him. How do you know him?" he laughed. 

"I-I have to go," I said. I started to stumble back the way we came.

"Wait! Wait, you never told me your name!" protested Bucky. He took my arm, halting me, desperate for an answer. 

"It won't matter until later," I insisted. 

"'Later?'" repeated Bucky, confused. "What are you--"

I took his face in my hands. I studied him, Bucky, the one Steve talked so fondly of. For him, I tried to smile, as I knew then that was the final chance I would have to know the real Bucky Barnes. 

"Are you okay, doll?" he asked softly.  

"No, I'm not," I said honestly, blinking through my watery eyes. "I'm so sorry, for what's going to happen, Bucky Barnes, but I need you to remember that you're going to be all right, okay? I'm going to make sure of it. I promise."