"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close."

-Pablo Neruda

"I'm here to see Steve Rogers," she said in a low voice, her hair covering her eyes as best as she could. She had taken a bus to get to the hospital, and the noises had made her head spin. When she arrived at the hospital, the chaos was no lesser, but it felt more directed. Organized chaos; she was familiar with that. She had gone to the first desk she had seen, right at the front, and a woman in a light blue uniform stared at her like she was a ghost. Ophelia thought, at first, that she had been recognized, but the nurse simply smiled, calming Ophelia.

Despite how kind she looked, she spoke unsure. "He's with a visitor right now, only one at a time."

"Who is his visitor?"

"I cannot disclose that information," she said, seeming more stern with each word. "What is your relation to Steve?"

"I'm his... friend," she said; it was all she could use to describe them.

"I'm sorry ma'am, it is family only."

"He doesn't have any family," Ophelia replied, growing impatient; it was a sad truth, but then again, neither did she.

"Ophelia!" Sam Wilson's voice called from down the hall.

"Sam!" She turned towards him, ignoring the nurse at the front desk who rose in protest. Sam wrapped his arms around her and she winced. "Ah, stop, please!"

Sam pulled away, looking at her curiously. "We thought you were gone for good, kid."

"No." Ophelia brushed her hair behind her ear. "Just preoccupied."

"Any word on the Win-" He stopped himself. "You know..."

"That's why I'm here," Ophelia admitted; she knew that Sam was not going to be pleased to know that she had been spending the last week and a bit risking her life trying to get Bucky back, but she had no say in the matter and would do it again in a heartbeat if she had to. Sam only knew the Bucky had been someone Steve knew once upon another lifetime, and that he had been HYDRA. She hoped that he would understand. Steve, however, would have done the same thing as her if given the chance, and she wasn't going to say another word until she had seen him.

"Come in, Steve will be happy to see you," he said with a smile.

Ophelia followed Sam into the room; Steve was laid back on the bed, gentle music played throughout the small room. Light poured in from the open windows and Ophelia took a seat on the end of Steve's bed. He smiled at her, shifting upwards, wincing slightly as his wounds nagged at him. He had been shot more than Ophelia had, and she doubted that he would survive once she saw him on the shore. It was good to see him breathing properly, with colour in his face. He looked just as he had when she first met him, but happy instead of disgusted in her.

"Ophelia... I thought we had lost you," he said warmly.

"I know." She flushed. "I have... something to tell you."

Steve jolted up, only to regret his decision and wrap his arm around his waist. A slight groan slipped out from his lips. He settled back into the position he had originally been in, and then he sighed. "Bucky?"

She nodded.

"Where is he? Is he okay? Does he remember anything? Did he hurt you?" Steve's questions were just a train of worry.

"He brought me... somewhere safe, he knew that I knew enough about him to help him remember who you were." She swallowed nervously. "It took him a while, but he remembers you, some your history together. Some of his own history."

"And you?"

She smiled, not thinking Steve would remember how important Bucky was to her. "Yes, he is remembering more each day."

"Where is he now?"

"Steve..."

"Is he stable?" Sam asked.

Ophelia sighed, looking Steve in the eyes. "He isn't ready to see you."

Ophelia knew that he was stable around her, but he had not been around anyone else in that time. She presumed that the only thing Bucky would do if he saw Steve was greet him as old friends, or perhaps break down. It was almost impossible to say, but Ophelia did not think Bucky would respond badly. The guilt that now lived within him would prevent him from harming anyone, but he was not the person he had been. He was Bucky again; though part of the Winter Soldier would always live within him, he would not use it against good. That was what she believed, though it did not matter as long as he deemed himself not ready.

"He isn't?" Steve looked broken. "Can you say anyth-"

"Steve, I've tried," she said. "I'm sorry, but he needs time."

"People are gonna be looking for him," Sam told her. "There aren't a lot of places he can hide."

"He hid for seventy years, didn't he?" She found herself defending him, as she always would. Glancing at Steve, she decided that goodbyes were indeed in order. Hardly knowing each other for very long, there was a surprising amount to be said, and yet she didn't think she had it in her. "Thank you, Steve, for everything you've done. Our mission isn't over yet, but it is one he is going to have to accomplish on his own. You have my word that he won't slip up, I'll take care of him-"

"You can't just leave, he can't just disappear," Steve argued, but weakly. He knew it was a losing battle.

"I'm sorry, but that is exactly what he intends to do. And he will do it with or without me. Would you rather him be alone out there?"

"No, I thought he died that day, and a few days ago I find out my best friend is alive." He looked between Ophelia and Sam. "I'll search the ends of the earth for him."

"When he wants to be found, I'll make sure he is." Ophelia stood up. Steve couldn't chase after her, and Sam understood what Bucky was doing, and so he remained seated as she walked to the door. Glancing back at him, she smiled at Steve, who looked as though he had been hit with a ton of bricks. She softly kissed Steve's cheek.

"I'm sorry, this is his choice."

***

She arrived back at the motel, and their bags had been packed. Bucky had a black backpack that was nearly empty, only two changes of clothing and his notebook were in there. Ophelia's was just as skimpy, and it felt odd to see everything she owned in one small bag. She had never really owned anything before, and so that tiny black bag with a few articles of clothing inside of it was all she ever owned. She reached down and grabbed it, looking over at Bucky who had a baseball cap on to cover his face. It appeared as though he had everything sorted out in the time it took Ophelia to reach the hospital and talk to Steve.

Bucky walked up to her and put his human hand upon her shoulder, looking right into her eyes. "You have a choice, you can stay. I know Steve will help you, the others too. Coming with me means giving up a normal life; I'll never have that, O, I will always be on someone's radar, people will always coming looking for me."

"Bucky, when have I ever had the luxury of saying I have a normal life?" She asked, bringing up a good point. "Normal isn't exactly normal for me."

He half smiled. "If you ever want to leave, I'll find you a way back."

"Ever since I laid eyes on you, I knew that you were different from everyone else I'd been exposed to in my life," she explained. "I want to get through this as much as you do, and if that means we have to run for the rest of our lives, so be it. You told me once to run, and if running is survival, I'll take it. And if I'm running with you, no other option compares."

He squeezed his hand tighter upon her shoulder, thankful. "You really love me?"

She nodded, knowing she wouldn't hear it back from him. "I really do."

"Then let's go."

She glanced back at the motel room that had been their sanctuary for the last few days, over a week had gone by without incident. It felt like a home, or the closest thing to one Ophelia had ever really had. She knew that they could both live minimally, without glamourizing their lifestyle. Being on the run was better than being trapped, being caged like an animal. Together they left the small but cozy room, closing the door behind them for the last time; his hand slipped around hers, for her comfort most likely, and she knew that they would get through this, whatever came their way.