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It's been months. Months. No contact. No sight of him, Bucky, Jack, who or whatever he happened to be. The veterans' resources, the homeless shelters, the warrens and nooks of skid row……gone, baby, gone. But there he is, walking along the sidewalk, in a worn but not ragged overcoat. He doesn't look homeless, but definitely a little bit down at heels - hair long enough to raise eyebrows in this cleancut age, scruff on his chin, shoulders hunched as if braced for a blow. He's thinner, worn…..and apparently moving aimlessly, with a kind of darting attention, as if he were awaiting attack from an unknown quarter.
*
Part of being a CFO now was working ridiculous hours. Not that she didn't work ridiculous hours before, with Tony, but she worked them in the same building she lived. Now, she's still keeping a roommate, so there is commuting when she decides to finally go home quarter to ten on a Sunday night. Bruce would probably yell at her if she slept at the office. So, long Burberry trench coat cinched around her waist and buttoned up tight against the chill of the late winter/early spring night, Pepper makes her way out onto the mostly empty streets of the Financial District. She pauses right side the doors, a little wary since the assassination attempt, but there is no one else on the street save a slightly scruffy looking… entirely too familiar man.
Pepper's eyes shoot wide, high heels carrying her fast in Bucky's direction. Relief, concern, shock, a whole mix of emotions dancing across her pale features which have finally put some weight back on them since the last they met, at the height of her vigor addiciton. "…Bucky?? Bucky! God…" She breathes out, almost moving to toss arms around him in a hug but it's doubtful he'd let it.
*
Almost, almost….and then he sidesteps it, turning as neatly as a matador in the ring. There's a knife glinting his hand that wasn't there before, with the quickness of a stage conjurer summoning a dove from his sleeve. Then he takes a quick few paces back, the knife gone as swiftly as it appeared. Was it there at all? With enough distance between them to keep a single lunge from closing the distance, he stares at her.
….and there's no sign at all of recognition. Pale eyes gone wide, his gaze searches her face. He's poised, either for flight or attack. "Lady, you've got the wrong guy," he says, bluntly. The accent's Brooklyn blended with something else, as if he were one of the immigrant kids from Brighton Beach. "Sorry."
*
The mix of shock and heartache on Pepper's features is immediate. She's almost always a woman with her heart on her sleeve, and she can't hide it tonight, even in a situation where she knows she should. Her heart leaps at that flash of a knife, but, as ever, she doesn't actually think he'd hurt her, so she doesn't pull back or scream, then it's gone. She knew he wouldn't. Even if he doesn't recognize her. Pepper tries to swallow her suddenly galloping heart back down her throat, "…No, it… It's… alright." She murmurs, trying not to sound as devestated as she feels. She's a bad actress. "…Ah… Jack?" SHe tries his other name, the one when they first met, when he looked almost exactly like this, last time, when he was living on the streets or squatting.
*
That familiar little furrow appears between his brows, and some of that sense of immediate flight leaves him. He's still staring at her, blankly. The look of a man trying to dredge something up from the depths of memory and failing utterly. But that name, at least… "Yeah," he says, almost grudgingly, as if even that were a confession. Then he's eyeing her sidelong, suspicious.
*
While Pepper is hurt, she isn't exactly shocked. She knew this could happen. She WARNED him, if he didn't come back to SHIELD, it would. However, the woman is also not someone to give up or slink home. The lovely red head draws in a slow, deeper breath, trying to steady herself and her heart as she searches his scruffy features. It's like they switched places. She was such a ragged mess the last they were together and he was still himself. Now, everything's changed. "It… it's clear you… got sick again. Your head. Sometimes you do that, you know? I met you a while back. Helped you out with the VA…It's Pepper. Pepper Potts."
*
The VA. He mouthes it back to her, silently. I'm a veteran. A veteran of *what*? Bucky licks lips gone dry, cracked. The skin around his eyes tighten, skepticism bleeding in, before it turns into that lack of affect that's creepier than any sneer or snarl of rage. "I do what?" And now there's that flatness in there. He's apparently not buying it.
*
The bittersweet smile that flutters across her still-perfect red velvet lips comes again, Pepper struggling for words a few moments. How did she even *explain* this? Her hands hover awkwardly, wanting to touch him, wanting to help him remember, but knowing that will go poorly so she doesn't actually make full contact. "Yes, the VA. You fought in the war and sometimes you stay there… And sometimes you lose your memory. It can get really bad, like it is now, clearly. I… I don't know how to show you that you can trust me. I… I don't how how to make you remember…"
*
She's spinning a story. There's sincerity there, but also concealment. He looks her up and down - not appreciatively, as he did, once upon a time, but taking in all the little details. And then there's a glance up at the towering buildings. This doesn't add up. She's no social worker. His eyes have begun to dart again, trying to process too much information. Nevermind that you can't watch it all at once. His throat works. "What do you know?" It's lower, even, his voice gone hoarser….as if he's repressing the impulse to grab her, shake it out of her.
*
There is a lot that is clear from Pepper as she stands — she's mostly defenseless. No weapons on her and not enough strength in her body to fight back against anyone. She is no longer skin and bones, but she's still a bit too delicately thin and her coat fits a bit large, like she lost weight in sickness for a long time and is just coming back to herself. She has money, everything she's wearing is designer, clean and neat as a button. She's carrying a locked briefcase, like an executive, not a secretary. She smells like vanilla and cocoa butter. Especially this close. The smell might be more familiar than anything. Scent went to the parts of the brain that other things did not reach. "I know that you were trained by some… very bad people. They tried to wipe your mind, make you forget who you were… They didn't want us together. I know you've saved my life more than once. I know that your name is James Buchanan Barnes… but everyone called you Bucky. But I don't think you remember that right now."
*
He smells like…damp wool, a trace of fresh sweat, and that metallic tang, unpleasantly like blood, that no maintenance can ever wholly erase.The blue eyes are fixed on her face in a kind of hopeless blankness. It's not resonating, save perhaps with the cracked chimes of his paranoia. "How do you know all this?" Lower yet, nearly a whisper. Surely it's all too pat. The only name he has is Jack, the name on the passport….a passport he knows isn't really his. "Pepper, you said," he repeats, slowly. As if the name she's offered is only just now sinking in.
*
Another slow nod comes, Pepper doing everything a bit too slow, too careful. Measured. Like she's trying not to spook an injured animal. Ever so slowly, her hand comes up and reaches for his forearm. Maybe he would allow that touch. Maybe he'd remember something in the brush of her small hand or glimmer of familiar red nails. "Yes. Pepper Potts. I… I know all this because you saved my life a long… long while ago, so I tried to help you. We got you an apartment, eventually… a job. We started… seeing each other. I'd like to think we loved each other very much for a while there. You made my life very happy. I tried to help you as much as I could. Clearly, it…" Her expression falters again, "It wasn't enough."
*
That makes the least sense of all. That someone who looks like that would be with him. Hell, giving him the time of day, even….Bucky takes another of those fluid steps back, like this is some horrific game of Simon Says. "Saved you from what?" Now he sounds more tired, than anything. It's there in the slump of his shoulders, that dullness. Spikes of fear pass….and he's so tired. You can sustain the pitch of fear itself for only so long before it starts to pall.
*
Her hand finds nothing but thin air as he pulls back from her, so tired but so scared. Delicate fingertips grasp at nothing, but she also doesn't let her palm fall. Pepper reaches for him, keeping that olive branch in place, seeing if, maybe, he'll take her hand back at some point. "The first time we met, some muggers. I…was walking like this, in the wrong area of the city. An easy mark. Later on… well, a bomb." Granted, he planted it, but he didn't need to know that now. "And you tried to help me when… when I was really sick the last few months. Then you…disappeared."
*
Disappeared in earnest - he's hidden from even himself. He looks at her hand, a brief glance, but there's a kind of incomprehension there. It's got nothing to do with him. "The people who trained me…..who are they?" That's the crucial thing, a name for his particular set of boogeymen. It's a plea - there's no concealing that desperation, despite his attempts at impassivity.
*
"Russians. The… russians. That's as much as I really know. They've had you a long time. Since the war, I think… But you never wanted me getting into it, and you were running away from them." The look on Pepper's heart broken face says she's pretty clear he lost his fight. His running. THey grabbed him again, wiped him, back to square one. Which means it's probably quite dangerous for her to be standing there but the redhead clearly doesn't care. She seems to think he's worth the danger.
*
And look how well that turned out. But it strikes a chord…something resonates there. That, at least, he knows for the truth. The gloved hand's clenched at his side….and for a moment there's that sense of coiled menace, as if he'd take all that anger and fear out on her. But it passes. He turns on a heel with that old soldier's precision, and is striding away from her. Not quite running.
*
"….Jack! Wait! Please…! Please, let me help you again!" Pepper calls after him, a certain level of desperation behind her voice which wasn't there before. She is more fit than she used to be, at least, and she's taking off running on those heels, trying to keep up with him without panicking him. "Please. I can help… I want to. Please!" Pepper's voice crackles in the too lonely, empty night.
*
He turns on her, nearly quickly enough to have her barge into him. "And do what?" he asks, with infinite weariness. "If I'm a pawn of the Soviet empire, what exactly are you going to do about it? From what you've said, you tried before. Can you keep them from taking me? I can't even do that, it looks like."
*
The woman jumps, almost yelping, stumbling half into him but not jerking away. She's been much closer than this and Pepper has far too much courage for her size and relative helplessness. "Because we can learn from the past mistakes. We… we can get Steve to help again. Steve Rogers. Can you remember him? He was your best friend. He works with some very good people. People who are willing to help. You just have to work with us… and not run away. You can't do it alone. That was the problem before. You tried to do it alone. Even when I offered more."
*
Steve's name rings no bells, either. "And drag you all into whatever this is?" Buck's voice is bitter. "Why am I here, if I'm theirs? Is this a joke? A trap?" He hasn't really reacted to that brief contact, though there's another step back, bootheels gritting on the pavement. "Leave me alone." And now there's that ragged edge in his voice. Not hysteria, but its kin. It's too much input, at once. Names that don't match memories, that don't line up with the faces he can summon. But then, nearly all of those are of the dead. The ones he killed.
*
"I…I don't know why you're here. Maybe you got out again. I know you hated it, what they were doing. Maybe you got free." Or maybe he had to kill someone. But as he gets more ragged, more edgy, Pepper gets more desperate herself. She can feel him slipping away from her and she simply wants to hang on. She reaches up, one more time, trying to gently grab his hand. "Bucky…please… Give me a chance. Come home with me. Where are you staying? I have a new job now. I can afford to support you…"
*
"No," he says, and that's all he says. Drifting back from her, just out of reach, a pace at a time. And then he's turning again, the line of his back rigid with tension. Not quite running, but hurrying away….and then a corner, and then he's simply gone. Leaving behind only that faint scent of metal.