Promise to Remember Me

What Is Love?

Cynthia sits in a room alone. Metal chair. Metal table. Metal walls. Metal ceiling. Metal floor. A metal box made for easy clean up.

She hears the door open, but doesn't move an inch. She knew if she was defrosted and put into a room alone, it would be for something gruesome.

"I have an assignment for you, Doctor." The man says, he slides a cream colored folder across the table. Cynthia's eyes land right in front of it.

"We need information. Enough information to destroy S.H.I.E.L.D.," He slams his hands on the table, "and you a can get that for us."

Her golden eyes glare at the man's deep brown. She doesn't move.

"Take all the time you need. We'll come get you when the times right," He walks behind her and whispers in her ear, "and we'll let you and the soldier go."

Cynthia's eyes widen. They'll release them? For what price?

"You start tomorrow. Check up on the soldier. He's been a bit restless lately." And with that he closed the door of the metal box again.

She waits until she heard his foot steps echo away.

Then she rustles through the cream folder. S.H.I.E.L.D. Nick Fury. Natalia Romanova. Clint Barton. Bruce Banner. Anthony Stark.

Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Black Widow. Hawkeye. The Hulk. Iron Man.

Steve Rogers.

Captain America.

Her eyes widen. Was Steve alive?

2011, body fished out of ice. Body identified as Captain America.

Her stomach churns. Body. Just the imagination of Steve's body being dragged around made her tear up and throat ache. She read on.

Status: Active

Age: 93

Born: 4 July, 1918

Active. So Steve was alive. Cynthia shuffles through the folder for his picture. Fury. Romanova. Barton. Banner. Stark.

Rogers.

Her small hands lifts the picture out of the folder.

He's still my same boy.

The picture she held in her hand was when he was on the table. Still covered in ice. Uniform on. No wrinkles. No lines. No aging. Just Steve.

Cynthia neatly put the photo back in the folder. She heard foot steps again.

The door opens. The Winter Soldier steps inside. The door closes and several locks click and tick against the metal door.

She stares at him for a long time. He finally spoke in his raspy, unused voice:

"You're going away."

Cynthia nods. He stares intensely at her. Wondering. Pondering. Trying to figure out the puzzle in his head.

"Am I going with you?"

She shakes her head side to side. As if to say 'I'm afraid not.' Her eyes look down at the folder. So much information she needed to know in that half inch folder.

"They said if I complete this mission, they'll set you free." She didn't anticipate the trembling fear in her voice would be that detectable. But it was enough for her love to hear.

He stays quiet. Not knowing if he should stay with her or break her out with him. Either way was dangerous. For both of them. Hydra wasn't one to treat nicely, only on occasions. And Cynthia is that occasion.

"You?" His grainy voice sounds curious. Worried. He blinks, finally relaxing from the guards walking away from the door.

Cynthia grips on the folder tightly, "Most likely not. But I'm doing all of this for you." She glances up at him. She could still feel the stare looking straight through her.

He walks to her side. Her head by his belly button.

"Will I see you again?" He whispers. Raspy, grainy, but caring.

Cynthia's eyes widen, "What?" She looks up a him. His eyes no longer a cold blue, but calming.

"Will I see you again?" His fingers gently touch her cheek. This was Bucky. The Bucky she knows and loves.

"This will probably be the last time we'll see each other." She loves Bucky, but she couldn't lie. At a time like this, truth is best.

He frowns. He searches in her eyes for lies. Lies that he would happy to oblige.

None.

He wasn't allowed to cry in Hydra. He was always taught to be strong. But before he knew it, tears raced to drip onto the ground.

Cynthia stood up to his shock, and hugs him.

"You'll be okay. I know it..." She whispers in his chest.

Drip. Drip.

The salty feelings drip into her hair. Making it almost glisten. He wraps his arms around her. Warm. Caring.

Love.

He didn't know what love was. Well, in this state. But he knew he was close. The ache in his heart. The matter of warmth in her touch. Him subconsciously looking for her face in the crowd. He didn't know what love was.

But who the hell does?

A dictionary can't define it enough. Words can't describe it. Certainly, actions were the best to express them.

He roughly pulls her way from him. Looking into her confused eyes, he leans into her lips. She leans in too.

This warmth was always familiar.

This care was almost always there.

But this love, is always present.

He pulls back. His eyes still closed from the drying tears. For now, all he wants is to feel the lingering love. On his lips. On his hands. In his heart.

Like he would never feel it again.

"Hey..." Cynthia whispers. He opens his eyes to see her pinky stuck out in front if him. She gazing straight into his.

"Promise to remember me." She smiles.

He stands there confused. She giggles and reaches for his hand. She allusively wraps his pinky around hers.

"I promise." Her voice was in doubt. But she didn't let it show, "Your turn."

His blue eyes stare into hers, was he supposed to repeat that?

"...I promise..." He grunts.

She lets her pinky slip out of his grasp, "Don't forget..."