Find me

      "Mister Barnes, we are not going here for endless minutes of silence" - says the therapist, putting down his pen on the table.       "I had a dream about her" - Bucky decided to say a word after a long silence.       "Who is she?"       "You know who I'm talking about" - he rubbed his chin with his palm.       "Why don't you say her name at least once?"       Barnes glanced briefly at the therapist and turned away again.       "Alright, let's omit it for now. Hat was she doing in your dream?" The therapist continues, taking off her glasses, and squeezes the rim with her lips.       "She was talking to me" - after a minute of silence, his hoarse, quiet voice resounds.       "Do you remember what she was talking about with you?" The woman speaks to him, as usual, in a measured and calm tone. As if their conversation doesn't carry tension or any meaning, it is an ordinary talk over a cup of coffee in a café.       "She was talking about herself" - Barnes exhales through his nose.       "Have you heard this story from her before?"       "No" - he closed his eyes for a split second, opens them back, looking at the therapist. The woman, as if she expected to hear this, nods in response.       "Share what exactly she was talking about."       James is silent again, he twitches his lips, licks his lower lip, looks somewhere through the woman, the fingers of his right hand are tapping nervously on his right thigh.       "She started listing names..." - again silence for a few seconds. "I don't know whose names they are. It was like she was listing the people she had killed."       "Are you sure you don't know these names, Mister Barnes?" – The therapist takes the pen in his hand again.       "No, I don't know them."       "Do you remember everyone?" – The woman is making some kind of note.       "The names she said, I do not know these people. I didn't kill them."       The woman writes something down again, bringing her eyebrows together. Barnes looks from the woman to the big window.       "Who was she?"       "A person."       "Who was she, Mister Barnes?"       "A soldier."       "Who–was-she?" – The therapist will repeat again with pressure.       "She was a winter soldier."       "Did women participate in this project?" – Although that's not what the woman wanted to hear from him, but she couldn't hide her surprise.       "I do not know any other women from this project."       The therapist made a note again, raised her piercing eyes, looks attentively at the Tanks and exhales.       "Do you know how she ended up in Hydra?"       "I don't really know. She was a Black Widow once. Then I ended up in Hydra."       "Did you work with her? Partners? One team?"       "Winter soldiers don't have partners," - Bucky glanced at the woman and looks away again.       "How did you meet?"       "I told you about it."       "How did you meet, Mister Barnes?" The therapist tilted her head slightly, looking at him expectantly.       "The first time I saw her was when I was recruited yet. During the meeting with Rogers," - he frowned, but decides to answer questions anyway. "Then... then I saw her when Steve and Stark were having a fight. She was with Stark."       "Has she become an Avenger?"       "More like an assistant."       The woman has crossed her left leg over her right, adjusted her shirt sleeve and is quickly writing something down again.       "What was she like then?" – The woman asks a new question.       "Strong." He paused for a few seconds. "Unshakable."       "And what did you feel?"       "I don't know."       "How did you feel when you saw her during the clash between Tony Stark and Steve Rogers?"       "Weakness" - a quiet answer. "And strength."       The sound of a writing pen on a piece of paper is heard again.       "Did you feel weak next to her?"       "No. Weak, not in the literal sense of the word."       She wrote something down again and silence reigns for a minute. The therapist thought for a long time, analyzing what she heard.       "How often do you dream about her?" She asks a new question after about two minutes.       "The first time... the first time in these eight months."       "What did she look like in your dream that night?"       "Tired, lost."       "Is she dead?" The question sounded sharp and unexpected that Bucky twitched a little.       "Yes."       "When did she die?"       "Eight months ago."       "Did you evoke memories about her?"       "How can I evoke memories?" He even grinned.       "You project it yourself. It's all there in your subconscious." The therapist continues to look at him attentively, and Bucky also burns the curtain with his gaze. "Eight months have passed, your memories are still fresh, you are haunted by pain."       "You've already told me that. I'm aware of that."       "Yes, of course. Mister Barnes, why do you think you dreamed about her?"       "I don't know."       "What was the relationship between you?"       Barnes freezes, his gaze has stopped darting, and his fingers have stopped. Her smile flashed through his mind, the first smile she had given him. His heart skipped a beat. Another smile, the last smile on the battlefield eight months ago. His heart skipped a beat again.       "How do you feel when you think about her?"       Barnes was still silent, he had nothing to say. He doesn't understand his feelings, he doesn't understand what it is.       "I don't know," James finally showed signs of life.       "You don't know how you feel?"       "I don't know."              "You're wrong."       He grins again and shakes his head, his gaze again stops on the woman for a couple of seconds and looks away.       "How can I know what I feel, if out of 106 years of life, 70 years I felt only the desire to kill?"       The woman nods several times and makes a note again. At such moments, Barnes gets a little annoyed, but it even distracts from the rest.       "Do you remember what she looks like?" She stares at him again, giving the impression that she's not blinking.       James froze again, he remembered the hair, the eyes, the outline of the figure, but most of all the smile. The gentle curve of her lips, which was a ray of light for him. The light that already seemed to be gone, but this very light appeared and existed.       He mumbles, and then says: "Yes, I remember what she looked like."       "Describe her," the therapist says shortly.       "What?" His eyebrows are reduced to each other, becoming one line, he really does not understand what the woman is asking.       "Describe her as she looked."       "I don't understand. How can I describe it?"       "In words, Mister Barnes. You pick up the words and speak. What kind of hair did she have?"       "Well... ahem...", his eyes darted around the room. "The hair was this long," he points to his shoulder with his right hand, "it was light, not yellow or white. Like the color of the sunset, you know? Such a bright sunset before a cold night. They were a bright color, but light." The woman nods, waiting for him to continue. "And the hair was not even, not straight hair."       "Wavy or curly?"       "Wavy suits better," Bucky replies, exhaling noisily through his nose again. His right hand clenched into a fist.       "Good. What was her face like?"       "What do you mean?" He grins.       "Tell us about her eyes, nose, lips… About all the facial features. What was her forehead like? Cheeks? What nose?"       He thinks again, choosing words, it is very difficult for him to find the right words to describe, especially her. "A wide forehead, probably, it will be a wide forehead and such dark eyebrows. Yes, probably so. Nose... straight nose, probably." He automatically runs his finger over his nose, as if comparing.       "Okay," the therapist nods. "Tell us about her eyes."       "What can I tell you about them?"       "What color are your eyes, Mister Barnes?" Such a question took him by surprise. He doesn't understand what his eyes have to do with it if they ask him to tell about her.       "I don't understand," he looks at the therapist, who looks at him expectantly. "Okay… Gray?" The woman tilts her head, biting the rim of her glasses. "Probably… Maybe blue or gray-blue. I don't know…"              Bucky realized he couldn't remember his eye color. He frowns again and turns to the window, but he clearly remembers the color of her eyes, as if they are in front of them.       "The color of her eyes? what was he like?" The therapist asks.       "Forests. Her eyes are the color of the forest. I saw such a forest in Wakanda," he also stares in that direction, the woman even forgets to put some kind of note, her hand froze, the pen is a centimeter away from the notebook.       "Did you like the forest in Wakanda?" It took her a few moments to formulate her question.       "Yes."       The answer is short, but honest. The woman finally writes something down quickly, puts down her pen and stretches her fingers.       "Go ahead. What were her lips like?"       Banks licks his lower lip, closing his eyes, his right hand twitches automatically, and he runs his index finger over his lower lip. His heart is pounding again every other time, memories have flooded in with renewed vigor.       "Her lips," he swallowed, "are a little plump. I do not know what to call it," he looks up at the therapist, "but they are of this shape," he outlines a wave with the index finger of his right hand, another one from above.       The therapist carefully follows his movements, without looking up and without blinking.e has already stopped writing, only nods in response.       "She had a... warm smile. Can a smile be called warm?       "Yes," the woman nods again.       There is silence again, it seems as if Barnes dozed off, but he just plunged into thoughts and memories, her tired, rather, even tortured, image from a dream does not leave his head, she was sitting there in some dark room, and he had no way to make out what kind of room it was or in what she was wearing. He didn't understand then what kind of names she was telling him.       "Mister Barnes," he comes out of his thoughts and looks up at the woman. "Do you hear me?" He nodded. "Alright. What was the relationship between you and this... woman?"       Bucky was confused, he doesn't know the definition of this kind of relationship.       "I don't know."       She feels that he is not lying.              "What emotions do memories of her evoke in you? What do you feel now?"       "I don't know what it is. I don't understand what you want me to say."       "I want to understand what role she played in your life. Do you get nervous when you think about her?"       Bucky nods back, but remains silent.       "Do you want her to be alive?"       He nods again.       "What would you do if you knew she was alive?"       "I would have found her."       "Have you tried to find her?"              "Yes. I was looking for her... then I was looking for her body. But I didn't find it. I've been combing the area over and over again."       "Have you lost hope that she is still alive?"       "I checked. There is only one answer – she is not. She was burned, apparently, they found a burnt... a burnt jacket... and a gun... and hair. Well, a little tuft of her hair."       "Are you sure it's her hair?"       "Yes."       The therapist nods briefly, puts his palms together, clasping his knee. She carefully examines the Tanks and exhales softly.       "What was your relationship with her?"       She asked this question again and Barnes is again at a dead end, he does not know the answer to it and only shakes his head, closing his eyes.       "Mister Barnes, tell me, what was your relationship with her?"       "I don't know!" The answer sounds harsh, but he really doesn't know.       "Did you have a close relationship? Friendly?"       "Maybe. I'm not sure."       "Did you have a sexual relationship?"       Bucky froze again, his eyes fixed on some object on the table by the therapist's chair. The heart started pounding faster, skips a beat, again a few quick knocks, skips a beat again. The fingers on his right palm are trembling, sweat has appeared on his forehead, he swallows so hard that you can see his adam's apple twitching.       They were arguing about something, Bucky doesn't remember what. It was some kind of pointless argument over two hot-tempered characters. He wanted to make an argument, to prove his case, and to make it more convincing, he reduced the distance between them to a minimum. She stopped in mid-sentence, but her lips remained slightly parted as well. Bucky raised his right hand and placed his palm on her neck, running his fingers through her soft hair. She exhaled through her nose and also stared at him. He bent down, pulling her closer to him, and kissed her. She answered immediately, literally clinging to his lips, running her hand into his hair.       Bucky didn't even expect such an answer and was surprised, but he managed to hide it, and he continued to kiss. He felt her soft tongue as he ran his through her parted lips and exhaled through her nose. She ran her hand down his back and squeezed his T-shirt so hard that there was a sound of tearing fabric, but it didn't matter.       The desire grew at the speed of light. He put everything into this kiss, it seemed that he could not hold her closer to him anymore, but he squeezed her harder anyway. She bit his upper lip, it was a light bite, from which an electric current ran from his lips to his chin, from his chin to his neck... Again a slight bite, now on the lower lip. The electric current ran in a new wave, stronger, from the lips to the groin and reached the tips of the toes, which almost became wadded.       He forcefully pinned her to the wall and kissed her neck. Her fingers played in his hair, sometimes they forcefully grabbed them, sometimes gently stroked his hair... he felt her hot breath when he kissed. He heard that soft moan coming from her lips after his bite on her neck.       "Yes," the voice sounds very quiet, but still audible to the therapist. Bucky barely managed to close the memory and control his thoughts.              "What kind of skin did she have?"       "Gentle, soft…"       "How did you feel at that moment?"       "I don't know."       "Did you feel so early?"       "Such... That's right – no."       "Do you often think about it?"       "Yes. Probably..."       "What do you feel?"       "I don't know."       "Mister Barnes, do you miss her?"       "What does this mean?"       "Do you miss her?" The therapist ignores his question.       "YES!" The answer is harsh again, Bucky is already getting angry. For him, this conversation is already becoming painful. "Do you like to watch your patients suffer?"       "No. I'm trying to help you."       'This is not help, but torment."       "It's your emotions, Mr. Barnes. You accumulate them in yourself. Every day, hour, minute and second you keep accumulating them. As it turned out, after so much time of therapy, you were hiding a very important detail. Your feelings for another person. You may have warm feelings for others. Sympathy, maybe even something more. You just didn't decide for yourself what you were experiencing then."       He rubs his closed eyes wearily with his index finger and thumb, then squeezed them even tighter and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Bucky takes a few deep breaths and then opens his eyes.       "Why cause something that causes pain?"       "You will vent your emotions. This will help to cope with pain, with grief."       "Why deal with it?"       "To live on."       Bucky chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. He tilts his head in different directions, stretching his neck, and again rests his gaze on the window.       "Let's get back to your dream. He's different from the others, isn't he?"       "Yes, it is different."       "Isn't bad. Did you say something in your dream?"       "I don't remember."       "Don't be fooled."       "Okay. I asked what those names were."       "Did she answer?"       "No. She continued to list the names further."       "Where was she looking?"       "Her eyes were closed. It was like she was delirious, I don't know." He shook his head.       "And how did the dream end?"       Bucky exhales, closes his eyes.       "She paused. She opened her eyes abruptly, looked straight at me, as if I was sitting or standing right in front of her… And she said "Find me".