Till the End of the Line

Sarah woke up with a start. She squinted around the darkened room, convinced someone was chasing her, until she realised it had been a dream. The room was completely empty, except for the usual stray clothes that littered the floor. Outside, rain pattered on the window and thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. Wiping a strand of long, tangled hair out of her eyes, Sarah sat up straight. According to her phone it was eight-thirty in the morning. She groaned, how was this possible on a Sunday, after a jet lag. Then she remembered everything that had happened the night before and the unexpected guest who was now crashing on her couch. The fact that she couldn't manage sleeping in seemed fairly reasonable when she ran over the events from the previous day again.
She was still wearing the knitted jumper when she got out of bed, and after adding a pair of leggings and socks to her Sunday morning attire, she went downstairs. She moved silently, in case Bucky was still asleep. But when the living room came into view she saw there was no need for her to be quiet: Bucky was already up and about. He'd moved the coffee-table aside to clear a space for himself and was apparently halfway through his morning exercises. Sarah paused on the stairs a moment, staring. Not just because a handsome man was doing shirtless sit-ups on her living room floor, but because his left arm seemed to be encased entirely in silver.
As he had his back to her, Bucky hadn't noticed Sarah coming down yet. She made sure to take the last few steps a bit more noisily than she normally would, to alert him of her presence. He looked over his shoulder, then quickly pulled his shirt back over his head and got to his feet.
"Were you just bored or is this seriously how you start your day?" she asked, grinning.
"It's a habit," he said, a little abashed.
"Yeah, but still… On a Sunday?" He shrugged and sat down on the couch.
"How long have you been up?" she asked, walking to the stove to make coffee.
"Eh, a while…"
"Couldn't sleep?"
He shrugged again, "It's not so much that I can't, it's more that it just doesn't really work for me."
"Bad dreams?" she asked.
"Something like that…" he answered vaguely. "Hey, can I turn the TV on? I'd like to watch the news, if you don't mind," he asked, looking up at her.
"Sure."

Sarah started making breakfast, looking over her shoulder every now and then to see Bucky watching the news on the edge of his seat. When the table was set and she'd finished cooking, she heard him turn the television off.
"Anything interesting?" she inquired while he joined her in the kitchen.
"No, not really. Not to me anyway," he said, looking at the rain-flecked window.
"Breakfast's ready," Sarah said, gesturing at the table as an invitation for him to take a seat.
At first Bucky seemed very careful, trying the food as if eggs and bacon were foreign to him. But after a few bites he was stuffing himself as if he hadn't eaten for weeks. Sarah smiled, pleased to see the food was to his liking. It was strange to see him do anything as human as eating. He seemed somehow altered from when he had first appeared in her house, or maybe the way she saw him was different now, she wasn't sure.
She examined him from the corner of her eye and when she was finished eating she put her fork down and folded her fingers under her chin to look at him properly. A thought had struck her, no doubt because of her remembering the way in which he had come to be with her in the first place. She waited until he was done as well, and without preamble she asked: "How did you know where I live?"
He looked a little taken aback, surprised at the sudden inquisitive tone she had fallen into. He ran his hand through his hair, something Sarah had noticed him doing whenever he was thinking hard.
"I'm quite good at finding people," he said quietly. Sarah pursed her lips to show this answer didn't satisfy her. He sighed and peered down at his empty plate with a frown while he continued.
"Well… The museum had some information about my life during the war, but there were still so many gaps I needed to fill in. You told me your name and that you were related to a Howling Commando. I figured the museum would've asked you to contribute to the exhibition, or at least have some record of useful contacts, like you. After closing time I broke in and looked through their records. You were the only one closely related to anyone who had known me back then who lived nearby. So I thought it was worth a try to search your house for information."
He kept his eyes fixed on his plate while he spoke, apparently reluctant to meet her gaze. Sarah sat back a little, processing.
"I heard Captain Rogers lives in D.C., why didn't you go to him? You guys were best friends, right? Why didn't you ask him for help?"
Now he was definitely avoiding her eyes. He fidgeted with his fork, shoulders hanging, frowning again.
"I don't think he will want to see me."
"Why?"
He shook his head convulsively, closing his eyes for a moment. Sarah wanted to continue questioning him, but her conscience didn't allow it: not when he looked so wretchedly unhappy. While her mind was still running wild with unanswered questions Bucky started clearing the table and putting the dishes in the sink.
"You don't have to do that," Sarah said quickly, rising from her chair.
"No, I want to," he insisted.
Sarah smiled. She had seen and heard a lot of strange things in the last twenty-four hours, but seeing James Buchanan Barnes doing the dishes for her was by far the strangest thing yet.

After he finished the dishes Sarah showed Bucky where the shower was. She offered to wash his clothes for him and gave him a shirt and a pair of sweatpants her brother once left behind. While he was in the shower Sarah went downstairs to her study. It was a small room with one window. The grey sky outside was visible through the open blinds, filling the room with a gloomy half-light. She switched on the desk-lamp, to make the place a little more cheerful, and started searching through her grandfather's things, sorting out anything that might be relevant to Bucky.
To make the replica of Bucky's uniform, which was now being worn by a mannequin at the Smithsonian, she'd gathered as many photographs of him as possible, which she now placed on the desk along with anything else that might interest him, such as newspaper clippings and some of the letters he had tried to steal the night before. She picked up one photo of all the Howling Commandos together, which had dropped to the floor earlier. Her grandfather smiled bravely into the camera from under his beret. Behind him stood Bucky, looking determinedly brave as well. Sarah ran a finger over the picture, wishing there was a way to restore that look in his eyes to their real-life counterparts. She liked looking at his eyes: they were both fascinating and daunting, always troubled, always restless, but with a natural beauty of openness and curiosity.
Sarah jumped when a voice spoke from behind her.
"Thanks for the clothes," Bucky said from the doorway, smoothing his wet hair back. Sarah smiled in reply, a little nervous from his sudden appearance, then gestured for him to join her by the desk. "This is all I have," she said, "I'm going for a shower, but just shout if you need anything."

Twenty minutes later, Sarah returned to the study, showered and dressed. A cup of steaming tea in one hand, she rapped on the door with the other before pushing it open. Bucky didn't look up when she entered, apparently still engrossed in his perusal of the items Sarah had assembled for him. "I made you some tea," she said, placing the cup on an uncluttered part of the desk. She was already on her way back to the door when she heard him say: "Wait…"
A little surprised, Sarah halted, her hand on the door-handle.
"Can you stay a while?"
"Of course," she said after a pause. She pulled up a three-legged stool beside him and sat down. For a while he said nothing, simply staring absent-mindedly into his cup while the rain outside was joined by a crackle of thunder.
"How are you feeling?" Sarah asked tentatively, breaking the silence.
"I don't know," he murmured, eyes still fixed on his tea, "I'm not sure what to feel. It's just.. a lot to take in."
She nodded understandingly, pulling a newspaper clipping towards her. The headline read: 'Captain America Saves 107th'. Under it was a picture of the of the rescued men, Captain Rogers up front, Bucky by his side. The caption stated that the unit that was retrieved from behind enemy lines was led by Sgt. James Barnes. Finally tearing his eyes away from the interior of his cup, Bucky glanced at the picture as well.
"Sergeant James Barnes…" he sighed, taking the clipping from Sarah. "I may look like him, but I don't think he's here anymore," he pointed a silver finger at his chest.
"What do you mean?" Sarah asked, frowning, "you don't remember any of this?"
"Well, some things are certainly coming back… But not all of them are from before I fell, and I don't think this guy," he tapped a finger on his picture, "would do any of those things."
Sarah bit her lip, trying to restrain her curiosity. She wanted to know what he was talking about, what he was seeing in his mind's eye. She wanted to know what things he was referring to and why he was suddenly looking so miserable. But she didn't want to force him. She took the clipping from him, pushing it to the far side of the desk.
"Come on, you," she said, getting to her feet and taking a few steps towards the door. He looked up, evidently confused, and she motioned for him to follow her.

Sarah had always been able to keep herself in check whenever her emotions seemed to get the better of her. From a very young age she had learned to distract herself when she felt distressed; to entertain herself for a while until her head was cleared, after which she could deal with her problems in a more sensible, rational way. She decided to exercise this method on Bucky, as the trip down his memory lane was obviously causing him a considerable amount of mental anguish, and she was resolved to make him feel better.
She directed him to the kitchen where she told him to take a seat. He complied without question, a bemused expression appearing on his face. Sarah rummaged through the cupboards and started putting various objects on the table.
"Alright," she said, placing a kitchen scale and a bag of flour in front of him, "we need about six ounces of flour and four ounces of butter and sugar." She pointed the aforementioned items out to him and handed him a large mixing bowl. Still looking thoroughly confused, Bucky gingerly picked up the bag of flour and examined it, then looked back at Sarah who had just taken a handful of apples from a basket on the shelf.
"What exactly are we doing?" he inquired, holding the bag open and peering inside.
"We're making apple crumble," Sarah replied, in a matter-of-fact tone. Bucky gave an amused snort, shaking his head a little as he started to weigh the ingredients.
Sarah washed, peeled and cut the apples, then swept the slices into another bowl. She had made a very conscious decision not to let Bucky handle anything sharp. The image of him pointing a gun at her was still etched into her memory, and even though he had been nothing but docile ever since, she didn't know what to expect from him now that he was being confronted with his past.

When the crumble was in the oven Sarah handed Bucky a towel to clean some of the dough off his hands. As he did so, Sarah found herself unable to look away from his left arm, the metal now clearly visible from under the rolled up sleeves of his shirt. He noticed her staring, following her gaze until he, too, was looking down at his silver hand. He held it out in front of him, showing it to her.
"You can ask, if you want," he said, giving her a sideways glance.
"What happened?" she asked quietly.
He looked at his hand again, turning it and flexing the silvery fingers. "I remember… falling from a train and waking up in the snow. I lost part of my arm when I fell, I was barely conscious, but somehow I survived. I don't remember much of what happened next, but I was found and my arm was replaced…" he spread his fingers again, his brow furrowed.
"You don't remember anything after that?" Sarah asked breathlessly.
He sighed. "I don't know… I mean: I'm not sure. Sometimes bits come back but I can never tell if they're dreams or memories…"
"That's why you don't sleep…" she muttered, more to herself than to him.
In the silence that followed Sarah bit her lip. On one hand she was disappointed not to learn the rest of his story, but on the other hand she felt sorry for him. She wondered who had found him, what else they had done to him besides replacing his arm. She remembered the man in the car telling her Bucky was dangerous and that he was on the run. What had happened to him? What had he done?
She was still looking at his arm. She reached out her hand and touched her fingers to the cold metal. She had no idea why she was doing it, and as soon as she realised what she was doing she withdrew her hand.
"I'm sorry," she murmured awkwardly, trying to fix her eyes on something else, her face suddenly felt very hot.
"It's okay," he said.
"Does it bother you? I mean, can you feel it?"
Something seemed to twitch in his face. "Not so much. They fixed it pretty thoroughly."
"How.. how far up does it go?"
He hesitated, giving her a calculating look, then pulled the left half of his shirt over his head, uncovering his arm and shoulder. She moved a little closer to get a better look. The metal was attached to just over his shoulder, the skin around where it was welded to his body looked red and blistered.
"Did it hurt?" she heard herself whisper, almost unconsciously running a finger over the large red star engraved on his shoulder.
"It did in the beginning," he muttered back. He watched her while she was still examining his arm, now feeling the grooves in the metal. She was transfixed, a little disturbed, but nonetheless fascinated. He didn't seem to mind, he even twisted his arm around a bit so she could feel how it moved.

The spell between them was broken when a sudden buzz rang from the hallway. They both jumped and Sarah let go of Bucky's arm. She stared at the door to the hallway, her heart pounding violently. Bucky pulled his shirt back on, looking almost as alarmed as Sarah felt. "I'm not expecting anyone," she had no idea why her voice had dropped to an anxious whisper. The buzzer went off again. "Upstairs, now! Go!" she urged, but he was already halfway up the stairs.