all things left unsaid || bucky barnes

xiii | with your help

2014, and some time earlier

karina's pov

The rows of graves, marked with stones bearing unfamiliar names, glinted in the sunlight before me. I felt the pressure of a small hand in mine, the sound of their light footsteps soft on my ears.

"Karina, you really shouldn't slouch," A warm voice said from behind me. I glanced back, seeing the frail woman with her black shawl and haunted eyes that mirrored mine.

"Sorry, Mama," I told her, hardly recognizing my own voice. I straightened my back, and a high-pitched giggle came from my left. Looking down, I saw blonde curls and a shy smile. Nadiya.

"He wouldn't want us to be late, now. Let us hurry." Mama stepped around a grave, leading my sister and me to the empty hole and the casket beside it, nearly hidden by flowers.

A small crowd had gathered, their hushed voices dimming as we got closer. Pitying eyes and tear-stained cheeks greeted me, and I felt my face turn pink at their attention. I felt sick, my stomach spiraling, and Nadiya sniffled suddenly.

I looked down at her again, and she was watching me. My baby sister, barely six years old. I must have been, what, eleven? 

Yes. I was eleven years old when my father died.

My attention went to the gravestone, then, and the letters marked on it.

Lev Ruchman

June 19 1895 – October 14 1933

The words began to blur as tears clouded my vision, and the hand in mine disappeared. Air and a gentle breeze replaced it, and muffled voices reached my ears. I blinked, once, twice, and the grave now read Nicholas J. Fury.

Steve and Sam stood beside me, unaware of my sudden memory. I was just thousands of miles, decades of years, away, and it felt impossible to believe that they hadn't been there too, seeing what I was seeing.

Nick Fury himself stood in front of me, still marveling at the view of his own grave. Steve was in the process of denying one of Nick's requests, and I wish I had been paying attention. But my thoughts had a mind of their own, and I wondered for a moment who, exactly, I had imagined I was, and who Nadiya and Lev Ruchman were.

Or, rather, not who I imagined I was – but who I used to be. Whose memories were these? Past Karina, or mine? Were we the same person? Or had HYDRA erased Karina Ruchman completely, and was I now someone else entirely?

"Earth to Karina," Sam waved a hand in front of my eyes, and I blinked at him.

"I'm sorry," I murmured a quick apology, and he laughed.

"Don't sweat it, just wondered where you went there." Sam nudged my shoulder, grinning. "It's been a long week."

"Well, if anybody asks, tell them that I will be..." Nick Fury paused, glancing around at us before pointing to his gravestone, "...Right here."

A laugh came from behind us, and I turned to see Natasha walking between the graves towards us.

"You guys are all looking just peachy," she said. I noticed the folder in her hands almost immediately, and my heart dropped.

"Feel like it, too," Steve responded. We all stepped closer and met her halfway. "Not going with him?"

I knew that 'him' was Nick Fury. Steve must have declined an invitation to continue working with him, and figured Natasha had been given the same offer. I hoped she had declined as well.

"Definitely not," she answered, hiding a smile.

"Not staying, though?"

"No. Blew my cover, have to find a new one. You know how it is." Natasha held out the folder and sighed. "That thing you asked for. I called in a few favours."

"Thank you." Steve took the folder, and I saw the Russian handwriting across the top. It almost made me sick, but I knew it would lead us to James – to Bucky – and whatever was inside, however horrible, would be worth it. It would have to be.

"Be careful, Steve." Natasha reached up, placing a kiss to his cheek. She smiled at me, then at Sam, and turned to go. "You may not want to answer those questions."

As Natasha walked away, Steve opened the folder to where a paper clip had been placed. I stepped closer, and the photos inside gave me a shock.

A picture of James, the glass in front of his face frosted over, with a smaller photo of him before HYDRA clipped beside it. He was dressed up, smiling loosely at the camera. Handsome. Charming. Bucky.

On the other page was a snapshot of me. My hair was long, reaching well past my shoulders, and my eyes were bright. Something had made me laugh. Beside it, though, was another photo – almost identical to James' – of me, the glass frozen over.

But my glass had three tally marks on it, scratched in with a metal finger. I had to breathe slowly, deeply, to calm my racing heart.

The paper clip marking that page carried names, dates, and more scrawled onto a piece of paper in thick Russian handwriting. It was different than what was on the front, but I knew it was the first answer to my questions.

"I'm going to find him." Steve wouldn't take his eyes off the pictures. "You don't have to come with me."

"I do," I told him, clearing my throat. "I want to know him. I want to know myself, too. The only way to do that is through this folder, and with your help."

Steve looked at me and nodded. I could tell he was holding back something – tears, words, I didn't know – but I could still see the gratitude in his eyes.

Sam sighed dramatically, reminding us that he was there. "Okay, so, when do we start?"