"But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream"

"Once Upon a Dream" in Sleeping Beauty

The parasite that had been within Ophelia since Bucky promised to get her out of HYDRA, was finally gone. She no longer needed to depend on it, nor it on her. She had held on to those words for decades and decades hoping that one day he would follow through on his words. It kept her sane, it kept her alive when she had no other will to live. Through all of the torture, she had wanted to give up, but could not because of those words.

Now with these new, fresh, deeper words filling her head, she realized that he had come through on his promise. Though she no longer needed to hold onto those old words, she would never forget them. She looked up into Bucky's eyes and saw everything there. Not even two days prior she saw nothing in those eyes, and now they were enlightened. She no longer needed to cause a mental bridge with him to know what was going through his mind; his eyes said it all.

Bucky rose to a stand, and helped Ophelia to her feet. As she stood, shaking from her wounds and from the wave of emotion crashing around within her, she gracefully accepted his help to go back into the motel room. The air smelled sour, that city scent that Ophelia might never get used to, and with the sun now set, the bright lights of the city still disturbed her.

With his metal arm wrapped around her body, he helped her step over the sliding glass door track, and the warmth of the room hit her. The smell of must and cheap soap tingled in her senses, but it began to feel familiar. The HYDRA base at which she had lived in was far less appealing that the dingy motel she found herself in, and so she was not going to complain.

Another four days went by, Bucky was still remembering fragments, good and bad. He had brought her to the bathroom as she requested, where he turned on the tap to run her a bath, against her protests. She'd had many baths without his help in the last few days, but he didn't seem to care. Showers weren't a possibility unless she wanted him in there with her.

Leaned against the off-white shower wall, one leg inside of the tub and the other on the faux-tile floors, she watched as Bucky did these little things for her. Small things she never thought people did for each other, but things he understood to do because he wasn't born in HYDRA. As Bucky adjusted the taps, she felt the water filling up around her ankle; it was the perfect temperature.

"You've done this before."

"Had a bath?" he asked, holding back a laugh.

Ophelia didn't hold back hers. "No! This! Run a bath for someone."

He cracked a smile. "Yeah, over half a century ago."

She blushed at the thought. How many women were given the opportunity to be treated so well at the hands of Bucky Barnes? A smile danced onto her lips. "Well, you haven't lost the talent," she said quietly.

The bath was almost full, and Bucky pressed his lips tight. His eyes moved over towards her, studying the look on her face. Only the rushing sound of the water making any noise, the bathroom filled up with steam and unspoken words. In his eyes, it looked like there was something that he wanted to say. But instead of saying them, he reached over and turned off the taps. When he glanced back, the expression was long gone, and Ophelia knew that it was going to be tough handling this when she wanted him to spill everything. She would never get inside of his head without consent, not because she couldn't, but because it was not her place to do so without him knowing. If he wanted to keep a secret, he was allowed to do that.

Bucky stood up from the other side of the tub-edge, and walked over towards the door. Turning on the fan to filter out all the steam, he smiled at her. "Holler if you need me, I won't be far."

Those words meant more to her than he could ever know; she fell asleep each night with an underlying fear that he might leave one morning. So far he hadn't, and it felt as though they needed each other. While she remained stuck in the motel, though healing better and better each day, Bucky had managed to get his hands on some cash, and she had not asked how. Everything he did, he did to make sure they both made it through the day.

She didn't think anymore about it as she peeled off her clothing, her bandages, and her shoes. Staring at herself, she saw that behind the bruises and cuts and bullet wounds, she was beautiful. As she slowly stepped into the bath, lowering herself in the hot water with a whimper, she felt instant relaxation. In that perfectly drawn bath, she could have fallen asleep for days, and simply closed her eyes and let the warmth consume her mind.

Knowing that Bucky was just outside that door, Ophelia was able to ease her mind. Having someone who knew what she had been through and understood it in verbatim if not more was such a relief. But still she worried about him; the way his eyes drifted, as if he were lost in his thoughts, scared her. He had been released from his cryogenic chamber far more than she had, and it had been his hand that ended the lives of so many. He had to live with that, and while she too had blood on her hands, it just wasn't the same. And so she was in constant worry that it was eating him up, chiseling away at him while he was still trying to get out.

Done with her bath sooner than usual, as the thoughts just kept swallowing her, she stepped out and dried herself off. Quickly changing into a t-shirt slightly too large for her, and loose fitting pants that wouldn't cause any strain on her wounds, she ran her fingers through her longish brown hair. Quietly as she could, as she saw only a dim light coming from underneath the bathroom door, Ophelia left the quaint bathroom with the thought that Bucky had fallen asleep. She was mistaken, however, as she found him sitting at the small desk, hunched over something. The sound of a pencil scribbling over paper made her tilt her head to the side, wondering what he was doing.

"Hey," she said softly as to not startle him.

Bucky straightened up, and slammed shut a grey notebook. "O... I didn't think you'd be done so soon."

"I couldn't stop thinking." She breathed shakily. "I'm worried about you."

"It's all so much," he opened up. "I like to write it down."

"That's a good idea," she encouraged.

"Just in case..."

"You can't think like that."

"I have to think like that."

She sighed, and then climbed onto the bed that groaned underneath her weight. The small motel room, even with its flaws and dated appearance, was a sanctuary. But they would have to leave soon, and Ophelia wondered if she would be staying here, in Washington. Propping her good arm underneath a pillow, she leaned her head on that pillow, and stared at Bucky across the room. The questions danced on her lips, she had so many and wasn't too sure where to start.

"Do these memories come in flashes?" she asked.

He looked over at her upon the bed, knowing that once upon a time he would not have been writing down memories in a motel room with a woman on the bed beside him. But this was a different time, and he was a different person. He parted his lips to speak, paused, and then sighed. "Sometimes they come and go, if I don't write them down they might be gone forever. Other times they come too fast, too clear."

"It will even out, balance." She hoped just as much as he did, but still made it a statement for his sake. "It's only been a few days, I think you've come a long way."

His forced smile suggested that he wanted to believe it, but was not ready to do so. He glanced back at his notebook, and then sighed. "Day by day."

"Day by day," she repeated. "Do you... want to read some of it?"

"No," he said firmly, his metal hand clutching the book as if she might jump over and snatch it from where it sat. "I don't want you to know what I've done. Not all of it."

She understood that. "You have my word. I have one more question."

He looked up, waiting.

"What do we do now?" She was unsure of the word 'we' was entirely appropriate, but said it anyways.

"I'll find somewhere safe." He tucked the book into the drawer of the desk, and then walked to his side of the bed. Pulling his shirt from his body, he sat on the edge of the mattress and slouched. Ophelia saw all the scars on his back and sat up, touching them with the tips of her fingers. Sliding over towards the man, she slipped both her legs around his hips, sitting right behind him, and leaned her forehead against his spine. Her lips pressed against his muscular back, and she felt safe again.

She believed his words.