howlingplayground | The Memening... Soulmate/Arranged Marriage Bucky Only

"You might not want to pull on that thread."

Nat's warning to Steve echoed in her mind as she drove. To him it sounded like a warning... but she was also buying herself more time. Just a little hesitation, just an attempt by Sam to dissuade him from searching... that was all she needed.

She wanted to find him first.

To Steve he was Bucky. But the Winter Soldier had been of particular interest to her for quite a while. The story she'd told Steve was true, but she'd heard of him before. And after seeing his arm... she had to know. So she did what she did best - misdirection. Everyone else thought she was going to disappear to create new identities for herself. No, she was looking for someone else who was likely doing the exact same thing she'd do in his shoes.

She brought the car to a stop by a side exit to the museum, the one closest to the shiny exhibit about the Star Spangled Hero. Steve's face was plastered all over the city, advertising it. What better way to learn about Steve and his best friend? She waited as long as it took until she saw someone exit who was decidedly not an employee. Stepping out of the car, she held her hands open at her sides and smiled at him.

"You look like a man who needs to disappear."

There's a memorial to him. A memorial in the Smithsonian to him. He stares at it for a long while, listening to the memories of World War II around him, to the memories of those that lived it. He also listens to the accomplishments of the man... Christ, how does he even describe... Steve? Steve, who'd knocked some things loose, who'd made him think, who'd made him question, who'd called him "Bucky".

He ducks his head and leaves the exhibit. The ability to cry has been trained, beaten and wiped out of him. But damned if he doesn't want to at the moment.

Bucky - not Soldat - is only still in DC because he had to know if the man he'd pulled from the river had survived. When the news broke that he did, Bucky - it's as good a name as any - had come here, to see one final thing, before leaving. There are still HYDRA safehouses, buried in his mind, that have funds, materials, and things that'll help get him the hell out of this country. He needs to be anonymous and lay low for a while.

The words, though, pour of him like warm honey. He knows that voice. He turns to look at her. His hands stuffed deep in the pockets of the old army jacket he'd stolen. "Why are you here?" The Russian slips out, before he can even begin to parse English.

He didn't attack her or run... That's something. Though her eyes flick to his hands. He could have a weapon in his pocket. The Smithsonian had tight security, but that's nothing to someone like him.

Her own hands remain in sight. She shrugs, folding them in front of her. She switches to Russian, matching his adopted language, "You need to disappear. I can make that happen." The city has ears. Even with HYDRA crippled there's still a chance someone could be listening. She takes a couple steps closer, lowering her voice slightly. "If there's anyone left, they'll be watching the safe houses. I know of ones that are neither HYDRA nor SHIELD controlled."

He watches her, flatly. His metal hand folds into a fist in his pocket. Luckily, his arm hadn't set off the metal detectors when he'd stepped in. That's good.

But she steps forward and he almost instinctually almost steps back. But he locks his knees and stays put. She has a point, but he'd counted on that, and had wanted to put his fist through more than a few of them. He'd show them the Fist of HYDRA.

"And why should I trust you?" He asks, just as softly. He knows she was with Steve, that he'd shot her, in DC, in Odessa. He remembers her and the nuclear scientist.

He's right to be cautious. He has no reason to trust her, especially given their history. But she has her reasons for wanting to keep him from SHIELD and Steve until he's ready.

"You have a tattoo you can't explain." She tells him simply. Information enough for him to understand her meaning, but vague enough that anyone listening won't. "Now, can we continue this conversation somewhere more private?" She gestures to the car.

He pauses for just a moment. He does. On his right shoulder, a black spider with red web covers his skin. But how did she know that? He wonders what else she knows. But the only way to find out is to go out with her.

He walks around the car and slides into the seat. He hates being driven, because it just reminds him of being the Winter Soldier.

"Where are we going?" He asks, the English rusty in his throat. He'd spoken to Steve, when they'd been on the helicarrier, but it still feels odd to be using his birth language.

Nat slides into the driver's seat. She barely waits for the passenger door to close before throwing the car into gear and merging onto the road.

Glancing over at him, she smirks. "We can stick to Russian if you'd prefer. We're heading to one of my personal safe houses outside the city. It's completely off the grid. Do you need anything?"

He thinks. No, he just needs out of this country. Preferably to some backwater no nothing country where he won't stick out too much. He's thinking Eastern Europe. His accent won't stick out too much there, and he'll be able to read the damned signage anyway.

"Just out of the country." He says, softly, sticking to English. He stares out the window, able to smell her in the close confines of the car. "He's alive?" Why does he care? He doesn't know, but he does. He cares if Steve is alive and well... his total and complete opposite.

She nod, understanding. The longer he stays in the country, the higher the risk of Steve finding him. Steve might not have a lick of espionage training, but he's not an idiot. "One step at a time. We get out of the city, then I'll hit up a few contacts and get us out of the country."

Her mind was already spinning with all the possibilities. She may have burned all of her aliases, but she had a hell of a lot of contacts from her days before SHIELD, contacts that never made it into any databases or lists. Everyone would be looking for Bucky, so getting him on a plane would be difficult, but not impossible. Their best bet would be to get to another country first before hopping on a plane. Either that or finding a ship. Both of those could work.

Bucky's question draws her out of her planning. "Yes." She glances over at him, "He's alive and looking for you."

Looking for him. Him and every governmental agency on the planet, most likely. It's going to be a race as to who gets to him first. Bucky hopes to keep them all guessing, to let him be, just for a little while.

He leans his head back. "They'll watch the borders." He would. International criminal in DC? The first thing they're going to do is shut the borders. It makes sense. Canada, Mexico... there's really nowhere to run. Though with SHIELD in disarray, maybe they can slip past either one. Mexico would make the most sense. They have laxer security. At least, that's what he was told, when preparing for this mission.

"Why do this? You're his friend." He says, softly, slipping back into Russian. "He was my mission."

She resists the urge to roll her eyes, instead giving him a sideways look.

"This isn't my first rodeo, cowboy. There are ways around borders. I know someone who can help us get into Canada." Mexico would be safer, but Canada is closer. From there they'd just have to hop on a plane and they're gone. She'll just have to use a few favors.

His question drew a sigh from her. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened as she thought about whether to tell him then or not. She replied in Russian, continuing to follow his lead when it came to what language they used. "I have my reasons. It'll be easier to show you. I need to make a few phone calls, so we'll be stopping for the night. I know a safe house we can use. It's not far."

He's slipping in and out of Russian and English. Normally, he's not so confused, but it's been a bad month. Everything he knew was a lie, everything he'd done had been wrong, and he'd almost killed a man that he'd known his entire life.

Sighing, he leans his head back. Were he with his handlers, he'd slip into a light doze. But he doesn't know her. He can hear her hands tighten on the steering wheel, but decides not to press. Instead, he watches out the window as she expertly steers them through the street.

"Phone calls?" He asks, in Russian, because parsing English is getting hard, which means he should probably sleep - something he hasn't done in a couple of days. But doing so means putting his trust in someone that he doesn't know, beyond a brief flash of her through his gun in front of a cowering scientist. Or her running from him in the streets of DC.

She merged onto the highway with barely a glance, picking up speed as they left the city. It wouldn't be long before they left the wreckage in DC far behind them.

Nodding, she glances over at him. "Yes. I'll need to make arrangements to get us over the border. You can listen in." She wants him to know he can trust her. The only thing she's hiding from him will be revealed soon enough. "You should rest. I promise, I won't bite." She smirks.

He feels his mouth twitch tiredly at the joke. Some of the old Bucky remains, but he tamps down on the cocky answer. No need for that here and now. Instead, he just sighs, and watches out the window. "I can't rest." He admits, in soft Russian. "Too much I've lost." He wants his past back. He wants to remember. And at the same time, he doesn't. There's too much pain wrapped up in those memories.

He's exhausted, but he forces himself to stay awake, trained for decades to remain awake and alert for certain things. This is just one of those things.

She nods, "I understand." And she does... more than he knows.

Even if he's not sleeping, even just resting is good for him. She lets a silence fall over the car as she drives, pushing the speed limits to get them to the safehouse as quickly as possible.

Before too long, she pulls off the highway. Navigating through back roads and side streets, she takes a winding route that ends at a parking garage. "We're here." Not waiting for him, she gets out of the car and pops the trunk. She grabs a large duffel bag and slings it over her shoulder before heading to the stairwell. One flight of stairs and a hallway later, she's unlocking the door to a nondescript apartment.

The bag goes on the table. "Fire escape is that way." She points to a window. "It's two blocks to the subway, there's a bus stop across the street, and taxis regularly stop along the road." If she were him, she'd want to know all the exits before anything. The windows had heavy curtains, and the apartment was sparsely furnished, just enough for their needs. "Do you want to rest first, or do you want me to answer your question."

While she's talking, he's casing. He knows she expects it of him and he would hate to disappoint. Not only that, but her thoughts are right, he needs to know where all the exit points are. Not just to get away from her - never that - but because HYDRA, SHIELD... they're all a great big threat right now, and he wants to know he can get away from them both.

He glances at her, leaning against a corner, where he can see both the fire escape, and the front door. The entire apartment is practically open to his eyes, and he probably won't be moving for a while.

"My question, please." He answers in Russian, watching her.

She nods, understanding. Of course. It only made sense that he'd want to know why she was helping him.

Turning her back on him, she slips her leather coat down off her shoulders. Pulling it off, she drapes it over a chair. With her back turned, he would see she was unarmed.

"You have a tattoo you can't explain." She repeats as she moves. Pausing, she turns to look at him. "You're not the only one." Keeping her eyes on him, she unbuttons her jeans and unzips her fly. Her face neutral, she hooks her thumb in the material over her right hip. She pulls it down low enough to reveal a tattoo of her own - a red star with streaks of silver around it. "I've had it as long as I can remember. I didn't know what it was until I saw you." Her head tilts towards his arm.

He raises his eyebrows, when she starts shedding clothing. He's surprised that she's not armed - he's not, save his metal arm, but that's different. She doesn't have that.

But then he sees it. The red star with the silver around it. Well, that's blatant. He doesn't understand though. How can she have that tattoo? Why would she...? But she didn't. She said she couldn't explain it. And he never tattooed the spider on him either. The black spider on the red web. He'd always thought HYDRA had put it there, but no. They hadn't.

He's exhausted, strung out, but there are things he knows. He steps over to her, fixing her jeans and buttoning them again. "They will kill you." He says, in soft Russian. "They have been looking for you. Did you kill the doctor that stitched you up after Odessa?" Because, eventually, HYDRA will find him, and torture the information out of him, if they haven't gotten him already.

She watches him, eyes locked on his as she tries to read his reaction. For the most part, he's completely unreadable. It would be more a maddening if she didn't know many who'd say the same about her. The recognition is clear. She read his file, so she knows about his own tattoo. They're linked... She just doesn't yet know why.

Her eyes follow him as he steps closer. Clearly he knows something. She shakes her head, "No. I didn't know it was dangerous, then." Pausing, she tilts her head at him. "Why have they been looking for me? What does this mean?"

He shakes his head, finally taking off the old cap and pushing his flesh hand through his hair. "I don't know." He admits. "HYDRA... they would say that if I had a tattoo, there is a pair out there. Meaning they're linked, somehow, but I don't know how." He sighs. "Maybe, if I had my memories... but I don't know."

And that frustrates him to no end. He wants to know, wants to protect her, and he can't. The harder he tries, the fuzzier it gets. "Have you asked him?" He might know - something from their shared past, perhaps.

She nods slowly, thinking. He would know how HYDRA operates, so she trusts his speculation. That's worrying.

"Good thing I'm good at hiding. And that very few know about this." She gives him a smirk. Really. She's been avoiding trained goons since she was a child. She avoided him for long enough. The mention of Steve erases that smirk and she shakes her head. "No. I didn't want him asking questions. Or getting him involved more than he already is." She pauses, looking up at him. "I wanted to talk to you, myself."

She may be good at hiding from goons, but HYDRA had hidden in SHIELD for almost seventy years. They're very good at hiding too.

He sighs and finally sits on the couch, putting his face into his hands for a moment. He wonders if he had his memories, if he could tell her of things from his childhood, adulthood, anything, if that would solve this mystery.

"HYDRA," he says, sticking to Russian, because how do you English, "they often had books strewn about. Magic, fairy tales, everything from Norse gods to Little Bo Peep." Obviously the whole 'Norse God' thing is true, but what about the rest? "Maybe they were looking for something?"

She follows, sitting on the coffee table so she can face him and give him a little space. She doesn't want him to feel like she's crowding him, after all.

Magic... She frowns, nodding a little. "That makes sense. They were researching the Tesseract, and Hitler was into supernatural things..." She paused, "Little Bo Peep? Really?"

"Hitler... knew nothing of what real power was. He left that to Schmidt. And then, Schmidt's pet." Who had turned him into a monster. He clenches his fists, remembering waking up and seeing the metal arm and wondering how they'd pulled that off, but then remembering nothing, due to the deep freeze.

He glances at her. "There is truth in fairy tales." He says softly, the Russian rolling out of him, so much easier than English right now. He's still half-feral and his mind can only function on one level, he's so tired.

She understands. She'd studied history, of course... The difference is he lived much of it. One eyebrow arches at the mention of Zola. "I met his pet. Well... What was left of him in the end. Gotta say, not a fan."

She isn't trying to make him laugh, but if she does? Bonus. Sighing, she leans forward, running her hands through her hair. "Do you think there's some fairy tale about this? These tattoos?"

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