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Midnight not a sound from the pavement
Has the moon lost her memory?
The Asset pulls its thin jacket closer around its body as he walks through the black, yet never really dark night of Brooklyn. Over its head thick clouds open here and there, letting the nearly too bright silvery shine of the moon illuminate the lonely alleyways, painting bizarre shadows that form into all kinds of monsters under a watchers eyes.
Carefully, it avoids the silvery patches of light, staying in the looming shadows, lurking through their thickness, hiding.
She is smiling alone
In the lamplight, the withered leaves collect at my feet
And the wind begins to moan
It hesitates as the narrow alleys open up to big trees, leaves rustling in a chilly breeze.
A slight shudder claims its body and the urge to bury more in the thin cloth that holds nearly none of the warmth overcomes its mind.
It doesn’t like the cold. No.
Its cold, it freezes, and ouch ah it hurts so bad-
The golden shine of the streetlamps lining the edge of the park just reaches its feet and it hesitates, assessing the situation.
Then, in a blur of frighteningly silent motion, The Asset crosses the illuminated empty street, easily jumping over the fenced border of the park, landing nearly soundless with a slight rustle of the withered autumn leaves under its boot clad feet. The scent of the nightly city nearly vanishes and The Asset greedily sucks in the fresher tasting fragrance of nature, listens to the rustle of the fallen leaves dancing around his feet, carried by the wind that caresses the crown of the trees and plays with the long strands of his dark hair.
Memory, All alone in the moonlight
As it starts to wander, a feeling of familiarity claims its senses. It must have had a mission here, once upon a time. Its target was that young boy, the one with the sunny hair and the eyes of the sea.
A beautiful boy...
I can smile at the old days
The target probably looked a bit like his latest target: Rogers, Steven Grant, Alias: Captain America, eliminate at sight, method not important, make sure that target is dea- no no no nonononoNoNO!
The Asset shakes its head. Why did it interrupt his mission?
It realizes that it stopped mid step and continues to walk forward, all the time carefully staying in the secure shadows of the trees, not wandering the paths.
But pictures continue flashing in his mind, like they did all the time since it saved its target: Rogers, Steven Grant, Alias: Captain America, eliminate at- NO!
The violence of that thought word pulls it out of its head again.
But pictures continue to flash.
Laughter.
A light body.
A smirk.
A… Kiss.
Hair like the sun.
Ocean eyes.
Stevie…
I was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again
Stevie? No. No, no, Target Rogers, Steven Grand, Alias: Cap-Stevie Oh God no No NO!
It shakes its head violently, but something in his chest flutters strangely.
Why was it malfunctioning so much?
Every streetlamp seems to beat
A fatalistic warning
Stevie? Who was that? Or who is that? A t-target: Rogers, Steven Gr- no, stop, please -ant, Alias: Captain America - “Did it hurt?” “A little.” - eliminate at s-sight, no wait, m-m-method not imp-p-portant-t-t-NO! Who was it? Who am it? Me – I - … w-who am I-I? “Bucky?” The man on the bridge- “I knew him.” “Wipe him.” Pain pain painpainpainPainPAIN ohgod so much PAIN -
“Argh-No-” The Asset startles at the chocked sob that broke out of its body.
“107th, Sargent James Barnes, shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.”
“This isn't a back alley, Steve. It's war!” Steve…
“I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.” Steve...
“Bucky! NO!” A hand, and falling falling falling… pain-
He starts running.
Someone mutters and the street lamp gutters
Skillfully it avoids the people that are already on the streets even with his panic and confusion, noone sees him.
The chilly autumn air cuts through his clothes.
Why… why is it so… bright?
And soon
And then, a bridge… he’s on top of a bridge… Brooklyn Bridge it supplies, sitting on top of that gate like pillar, looking out at East River.
It will be morning
Yes… he sat here… before…
Steve-
His head hurts.
And then...
Daylight
I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life
And I mustn't give in.
When the dawn comes, tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin
And then the sun rises warm and gold, light bleeding over the horizon, softening the sharp edges of the glass and steel buildings of the awakening city, softly kissing it good morning, like a lover.
And he remembers.
Bucky remembers.
Burnt out ends of smoky days
The stale cold smell of morning
The streetlamp dies, another night is over
Another day is dawning…
There is someone behind him.
“...Buck?”
A tiny smile graces The Assets – Buckys lips – and his muscles lose the tension that had been there for over seventy years.
Since they told him that Steve was dead.
“Stevie...”, he breathed, voice raspy and scratchy like he breathed in lungs of smoke.
Raw from the lack of use.
His ears pick up a sharp intake of breath behind him, followed by a choked sob.
“Oh Buck!”
And warm, strong arms engulf his body, familiar and oh so achingly new.
Like they did so many times before.
Touch me!
It's so easy to leave me
All alone with the memory
Of my days in the sun...
If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is
Look, a new day has begun.
And they sit there, watching the sunrise, entangled in each other, warmed by the weak beams of the autumn sun that reflects on their tear tracks.
Happy for the first time in seventy years.
Steve found him.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Finally.