You guys, my goodness! Thank you for the surge of interest in this story since the release of Captain America: Civil War! I was convinced the opposite was going to happen given that this fic is absolutely an AU now (although yeah, I'm not feeling quite so bad about that anymore… AHEM… #SayNoToHYDRACap).

So THANK YOU for your continued support. It means the world to me. And an extra special thank you to everyone who's been here from the beginning, and is still here, in spite of me writing at the speed of a sloth at present.

Something else I desperately need to flag up - Luc16's brilliant Captain America fic 'A Sentimental Journey' has just featured a certain Amy Thomas! *incomprehensible squealing* Now obviously you should read Luc's fic because it's awesome, but you know, my mind was absolutely blown by the fact that someone wanted to use one of my characters in their story! :D :D :D

And now speaking of stories, let's get on with this one, shall we?

"You do know this car has a top speed of over two hundred and fifty miles an hour, right?"

"No. I had no idea. I mean, you've only mentioned it five times," Bucky replied. Amy felt the heat of his gaze pass over her as he switched lanes and they proceeded to crawl through the busy New York traffic. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but we're driving through Manhattan," he added, indicating to the very many cars that were queuing all around them.

Amy sank back into her plush leather seat and drummed her fingers on her twitching knee. She couldn't quite manage to keep her foot from tapping out an impatient rhythm on the floor.

"I thought you'd know a shortcut."

"This is the shortcut."

"To where?" she asked, staring out of the window at the towering skyscrapers that surrounded them. Maybe she was all turned around, but they seemed to be heading in the wrong direction.

"We need to make a quick pit stop before we leave the city."

"We do?"

She waited for Bucky to offer up a little more information, but he didn't add anything further. He'd been strangely quiet since they'd left Stark Tower actually. Distant even. Her lips quirked upwards. Distant? Really? She almost laughed. Bucky's presence filled the entire car. But she did wonder if the reality of leaving Steve behind was starting to sink in for him.

She didn't want to think about that too deeply, about what it might mean for them, so she decided to take it upon herself to try and guess their destination.

"Are you going to take me sightseeing?"

Bucky took his eyes completely off the road to look at her in, well, it was quite possibly disgust.

"No."

"So we're not going to see the Statue of Liberty?" she asked, just to rile him. "Or the Brooklyn Bridge, or the-"

"You sound like a tourist. You know that, right?"

And Bucky sounded completely appalled, but Amy smiled to herself as he struggled to maintain his offended expression.

"It's not my fault I didn't grow up in New York," she said.

Bucky took his eyes off the near-stationary traffic again.

"Remind me, exactly how long have you been living here?"

"No-oo," Amy replied, very slowly, and somewhat suspiciously. "I don't think I will. You'll tell me I should have gone sightseeing alone."

"I'm sure you could have persuaded someone to go with you."

"I can't even persuade you to go with me," she said, watching the way Bucky's eyes creased at the corners as he suppressed another smile. "Besides," she added, more seriously, remembering the stretch of long empty days that had been her life until recently, "I can't really say the thought of playing tourist held much appeal until today."

She also couldn't fathom why Bucky suddenly looked so inordinately pleased.

"You missed me," he said.

It wasn't a question.

Amy's smile returned and she gave her eyes a good-natured roll.

"Yes, I think I made the mistake of telling you that already."

Bucky chuckled to himself, and Amy was struck once again by just how very desperately she had missed him, and how utterly happy she was to have him here with her now. She gave in to temptation and turned her head to better study his profile. Dark hair. Strong jaw. Full lips. Her chest felt uncomfortably tight. It still seemed impossible that she had any claim on this man.

Anywhere. She'd go anywhere if it meant she could stay by his side. Anywhere he asked her to go she would follow, although that wasn't to say she wouldn't like to have some clue as to their current destination.

"Okay, look, I give up. Where are we going?" she asked.

Bucky shifted his grip on the steering wheel.

"To say goodbye to Mom and Dad."

Oh.

Amy's relaxed smile disappeared. She curled her fingers around her seatbelt, longing to touch him, to remind him that he wasn't alone. She was here. She would always be here. But before she had worked out how to best approach his grief, Bucky reached out and laid his right hand on her thigh. Her heart fluttered, tender and sorrowful, and determined, so determined to help him heal.

She placed her hand atop his own, and stroked her thumb across his skin, looking down sadly at the sight of the damage that he'd done in the gym.

"We need to find you a more productive outlet for your anger."

His attention drifted back in her direction.

"What? Like a hobby?"

"Yeah… you don't need to say it like that…"

She thought about the gardening books that she'd packed in her bag. She'd left a lot of things behind. Needed to remember to ask Hill to send on the rest of her stuff. But she'd brought those books. For Bucky.

"I don't really see myself stamp collecting or trainspotting," he was saying, as he negotiated a busy set of stop lights.

"What's wrong with trains?" Amy asked.

And Bucky, he just… looked at her again.

That ability he thought she had… to always say the right thing… well, that had certainly upped and left since they'd started this journey, hadn't it?

She turned her head to look back outside as she sank low in her seat.

"You mean because of your fall and your arm and-"

"Actually, I meant because it sounds about as exciting as watching paint dry," Bucky interrupted. Amy whipped her head around and caught sight of the half-smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "But sure, we'll go with your explanation." He squeezed her leg, and her body gave a needy throb. "It makes me sound like less of a jerk."

Amy snorted and let her head fall back against the head rest.

"Okay, fine, no trains, but I did think-" she stopped, because she didn't want him to hate her next suggestion, and his mood was unusually difficult for her to read. She stared hard out of the window, eyes falling on busy people, going about their busy lives, without the least notion that she even existed.

The fingers of the hand still resting on her leg flexed to get her attention.

"You did think what?" Bucky asked.

"Just- well, just that you said about maybe wanting a garden?" Amy was speaking to the glass, even as she pressed her knees together. "And I have a garden that I don't grow anything in but weeds, so I thought you might like to- you know- have it, I guess?"

She could feel the weight of his eyes on her again, but she didn't turn her head to meet them.

"I might not manage to grow anything but weeds either."

"That's okay."

She just wanted him, in her house, helping to make it a home. So maybe these things she was suggesting, maybe they weren't really for him at all. Maybe they were simply and selfishly for herself?

"Amy."

She couldn't resist his call of her name.

"Thank you."

There was a depth, a gravity to those two words that called the smile back to Amy's lips.

And of course, Bucky's answering grin was hot enough to melt rock into lava. His smiles had a tendency to tip the ground beneath her feet. Even the most innocent ones. This added injection of heat wasn't exactly helping her sense of equilibrium. She was a little bit grateful that they managed to travel a whole thirty feet before he glanced her way again.

"Honestly though," he said, "you just want someone to mow your lawn for you, don't you?"

"Actually, no." Amy was sorely tempted to poke out her tongue in response to his teasing taunt, but she managed to rein in that impulse. "Josh and his dad normally take care of that for me."

Bucky's foot hit the brake a little harder than strictly necessary.

"Say that again?"

A bubble of laughter worked its way up Amy's throat.

"Um… no," she said.

"What do you mean 'um… no'?"

"I mean, whatever you're thinking - no," she said firmly.

He looked a little sheepish- well, as sheepish as it was possible for Bucky to look, which admittedly was not very… but Amy appreciated the attempt nevertheless.

Yes, so she kind of liked that spark of possessive jealousy. She probably liked it a whole lot more than was healthy, but she wasn't about to tell him that so he could go and let it run completely wild.

She'd still been on crutches back when she'd moved into her house in D.C. Had always figured that Josh's family had simply felt sorry for her- that and her overgrown lawn had lowered the tone of the whole neighbourhood. The latter probably explained why they continued to take pity on her half-hearted attempts at horticulture. Not that she didn't repay Josh in cookies and candy, and his parents with an emergency babysitting service whenever she was in town.

"They just do it to be neighbourly," she said.

"Sure they do," said Bucky, and Amy's lips thinned, because she couldn't entirely work out if he meant that…

Who was she kidding? Of course he didn't mean it. So perhaps it was fortunate that a pretty little florist shop on the opposite side of the street caught her eye before she could delve any deeper into the matter.

"Flowers."

"Flowers?"

"For your parents."

They were barely traveling at five miles an hour, so to save time, Amy released her seatbelt and went ahead and opened the door without waiting for Bucky to stop the car.

In a split second his hand moved from where it had still been resting on her leg to snap around her wrist like a vice.

She blinked in surprise, firstly on finding herself restrained, and secondly at the torment that she could read in his face.

"What's wrong?" she gasped, heart lurching.

Bucky shook his head, "I just- I don't know- I thought-"

But she could see what he'd thought- what he'd feared- it was there in the ultra-alert way that he was scanning their surroundings, in the marksman's edge to the glint of his eyes, in the ironclad hold that he still had on her arm. Amy knew exactly what it felt like to jump at shadows. To sense danger around every corner. Time was the only thing that had helped her determine the real threats from the imaginary ones. And she'd had a lot more time and a lot less trauma to process than Bucky.

"It's okay. I'll only be a minute," she said, gently talking him down. "Trust me. I'll be perfectly fine. You won't even have reached the end of the street by the time I'm finished."

She watched his chest expand as he took a fortifying breath. Reluctantly, he let her go- he didn't want to- he really did not want to- but he forced himself to do it. She could almost hear him contemplate the movement of each finger. It made her heart hurt. To see him this fully on guard when there was absolutely nothing to fear. She leant towards him, rested her hand on his forearm, as she captured his lips in an open-mouthed kiss of lazy heat and tender reassurance.

It was only when the car behind them blew its horn that she remembered to pull away, skin flushed, eyes bright, heart racing.

Bucky, however, was in no hurry to appease anyone but himself.

"One minute."

"Well, I mean, maybe two?" Amy hedged, before she slipped out of the car and across the street, winding her way between a shiny black Chevrolet and a burgundy BMW sedan, as she headed towards the florist.

She cast her eyes over the flowers that were outside on display. Most were a rich riot of colour, but she dismissed the bright blooms and selected a bunch of snowy white carnations. She ducked inside and handed over a few crisp notes to the girl behind the cash register without waiting around for the change.

Her cheeks flushed a hot red when she stepped back outside and realised that Bucky hadn't moved. Not one inch. Vehicles were trying to squeeze around him. Their driver's verging on the murderous. Amy dropped her head, hunched her shoulders, and got back into the Bugatti as fast as she was able while trying to block out the shouts and blaring horns that followed her footsteps.

"You were meant to keep driving."

"I know," said Bucky, as the car finally rolled forwards. "I thought that was what you expected me to do."

"And the reason you didn't do that is because…?"

He didn't answer. Possibly because he knew she wouldn't like his answer… possibly because he was staring at the flowers that now rested on her lap.

"You didn't have to do that, you know."

"It's a very little thing to have done," she said, stroking her fingertips over the soft petals.

"It's not, Amy. Not to me."

They drove for a while in silence. Bucky kept his eyes facing forwards, and Amy- well, Amy couldn't keep her eyes off him. So very many layers of pain encompassed him. She sighed softly. It hadn't exactly been a surprise to learn that she loved watching him drive. Even if the roads didn't allow for the speed she craved. He handled the car like he'd been born behind the wheel. She hadn't expected anything less, but hearing the engine purr under his command left her a little breathless.

And yet… he was very careful, very controlled. Too careful? Too controlled? Was that because he was busy contemplating all his losses, or because the outside world was still a threat that he needed to continually assess?

"I've never given you flowers."

Amy made a small sound of surprise at the remark with which Bucky decided to break their silence.

"I wouldn't let it bother you," she said, smiling again slightly.

"It does bother me."

Amy gave her head an incredulous little shake.

"Well, as problems go, that's a pretty easy one to fix." She played with the cuff of her jacket, grazed her teeth over her lower lip, and then added, "I've always liked tulips."

"Tulips?"

"Daisies too. And daffodils. I like happy flowers."

"What's an unhappy flower?"

"I don't know, like a lily, maybe?"

"Okay." Bucky took one hand off the wheel and raked it through his hair. "So this has just turned into a previously unforeseen minefield, hasn't it?"

"It's not like I would throw a bunch of roses back in your face!" Amy laughed, pleased to see that Bucky smiled in response.

A flutter of excitement swirled around in the pit of her stomach. The thought of him giving her flowers, any flowers, left her feeling ridiculously giddy. She'd never inspired traditional notions of romance in any other man. Hadn't known she was capable of it, not before James Buchanan Barnes waltzed into her life with his moonlight dances and sultry smiles and now the promise of future flowers.

Of course, these were not thoughts that she should be having now, she told herself, as Bucky pulled up alongside the curb that flanked the walls of Canarsie cemetery.

He killed the engine. And then… nothing.

Amy held the breath she'd just taken and waited- and waited.

"Do you think it's safe to leave this ridiculously expensive car here on its own?" he asked.

Amy thought he was stalling, but that's not what she said.

"Are you asking me to stay behind?"

"No."

There wasn't a whole lot of conviction behind that 'no', but Bucky did look heartbreakingly conflicted.

Amy touched his arm. This was about his parents. His family. His grief. She had to allow him to manage that for himself. Even if it hurt. Even if perhaps this was one place that she couldn't follow. She would be whatever he needed her to be in this moment.

He angled his body towards her at the pressure of her fingertips, seemed to take a moment to gather his thoughts before he found the words to speak.

"I know they've been dead for decades, and God, it's been seventy years since I saw any of their faces." He caught hold of her hand and toyed with her fingers, rubbed the pad of his thumb across her knuckles. "But it doesn't feel like it's been that long to me. It feels like I should still be scaring guys away from my sisters… listening to lectures from my Dad… it feels like I should be taking you home to meet my folks…" He looked up and his gaze roamed her face. "It seems crazy to think they'll never meet you."

Don't cry, Amy, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry… she ran the plea through her head on a continuous loop.

"I know when I get out of this car and see that headstone it's going to be real. I don't know how I'm going to handle that…"

"Bucky, there's-" Amy paused to clear her throat and eradicate the husky rasp that had lodged itself there. "There's no right way to handle it. You're allowed your grief too."

"Am I?" he asked, as though he really didn't know the answer.

"Of course you are."

He caressed her cheek. And when that wasn't enough he drew her into his arms. And when that still wasn't enough he kissed her- his mouth warm and possessive, his lips a little unsteady against her skin. She could taste his sorrow, his fear, his pain… she kissed him back without restraint, wanting to tell him, wanting him to know… if he ran through his own strength, he could take all of hers too.

Bucky's breath came in harsh unsteady pants when they finally drew apart.

"It's no good." He groaned the words. "I need you with me."

She whispered his name, rested her forehead against his and looked deep into his eyes.

He kissed her once more- more sweetly, even more sadly this time.

And then he was out of the car, and around the car, and opening Amy's door for her before she'd even finished clumsily fumbling with her seatbelt.

Any other man, on any other day, she might have been compelled to point out that she knew perfectly well how car doors worked, but this was the man and this was the day, and so she took his hand and then his arm, cradling the bouquet of flowers, as she allowed him to lead her into the cemetery.

It wasn't particularly large, and it wasn't particularly grand, and for that Amy was inexplicably grateful. It seemed somehow more personal. More intimate. Bucky moved them along with purpose. This was no gentle stroll. He wanted to reach his destination and meet today's demons without further delay.

He took a sharp right and they skirted past an elderly gentleman with his head bowed and his hands clasped together.

"Do you still pray?" Bucky asked, taking another right turn.

Amy stared down at the gravel path as she considered her answer.

"Not as often as I should… not in the way I should… but yes, I still pray."

"Even after everything you've been through?"

"Especially after everything I've been through."

She felt the muscles of his arm tense under her hand and she held on a little tighter. She looked around at the neat rows of headstones and beyond the boundary of the cemetery to the houses that lined the street outside. She thought she was trying not to look too closely at the names of the people buried here.

Until Bucky stopped.

And then she had to force herself to look at the grave in front of them. It was a family plot, and the third name chiselled into the central stone was one that was crushingly familiar.

The breath rushed out of Amy's lungs. She let go of Bucky's arm so she could raise a hand to her mouth and press her fingers against her lips.

She hadn't thought- hadn't anticipated… she couldn't blink, could only stand perfectly still and read his name, over and over and over again.

"Did you know?" she asked, when she trusted herself to speak.

"Steve told me." Bucky stared off into the distance. "He came to pay his respects when they first dug him out of the ice." He flexed the metal digits of his left hand. "It would have been Mom's idea to include me. She'd have hated that we were separated."

"I'm so sorry, Bucky," said Amy, realising how inadequate those words sounded even as she spoke them.

"It's okay. It's the only way I can be with them now."

Amy drew a shuddering breath.

I'm sorry, she thought the words again, as her eyes fell hard upon his mother's name.

I'm sorry I'm here and you're not. I'm sorry life is never fair. I'm sorry because you must have grieved for him your whole life. Must have expected to see him again when you closed your eyes that last time. God. I'm so sorry. I hope you know how much he misses you. How much he still loves you. All of you. I hope wherever you are you can see him now.

And I know… I know I can't be the future you imagined for your son. But you see, I love him. I love him so much it hurts sometimes. I'd do anything. Sacrifice everything. To give him back his peace of mind. So please don't worry. I'm going to help him. Look after him. If he'll let me. I'm going to love him for longer than forever. I promise you that… I promise…

"You promise?" Bucky asked, and Amy jolted. She turned to him uncertainly. "You were mouthing the words?" he explained, looking perplexed.

"Oh," she breathed, and then she nodded. "Well, I do. I promise," she said with quiet confidence, as she offered Bucky the bouquet of flowers. He hesitated before he took them, still looking confused, but eventually his fingers closed around the stems. He studied the blooms for a moment before bending to lay them on his parents' grave.

He stayed like that, crouched down on his haunches, eyes level with the headstone.

"I did this, Amy."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, as she rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I did this to so many families."

"HYDRA did that, Bucky."

"No matter how many times you say it, I was still the weapon they used."

Amy sank down onto her knees beside him, heedless of the mud and the stones and the pinpricks of pain that splintered through her leg.

"It's not your fault." She held up a hand to beg him to listen when he immediately opened his mouth to argue. "And even if you can't see that yet, Bucky, I do, I see it, and your family would have seen it too."

"You can't know that, Amy."

"But I believe it. Everything you've ever told me about them makes me believe it."

She shuffled closer and wrapped her arms around him. He returned the embrace, pulling her closer still, holding her tighter, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

He swore bleakly.

"I'm so ashamed, Amy."

She gulped back a sob and tightened her hold as she cradled him in her arms. She was so… so angry. Furious, in fact. That HYDRA could take this man. A good man. Such a good man. And abuse him to the point where he now blamed himself for their crimes. It made her sick. So sick she didn't trust herself to speak. Didn't trust herself not to unleash a torrent of vitriol on the people who'd hurt him.

She didn't think that was what he needed to hear right now though. So she continued to hold him, for as long as he would allow. Rubbed a hand up and down his back and made soft sounds of reassurance until he found the strength to lift his head. She could see the tears in his eyes when he drew back to look at her face. It broke her heart to see him in this much pain.

"Bucky?"

"I'm not sure I can even remember what they looked like anymore."

"You know that's normal, right?" Amy whispered, gently cupping his face in her hands.

She caught the tear that rolled down his cheek with her thumb, the second before his mouth found her lips. He stole a kiss, his technique ragged, his emotions raw, revealing just how close to the edge he was teetering, but her touch seemed to anchor him- soothe him- give him strength to go on.

"Normal used to be the smell of the smoke from Dad's tobacco." The sharp bite of grief in his face softened a fraction. "It used to drive Mom crazy, the way it would get into everything. It's the only thing I can really remember them fighting about…" He very nearly smiled. "Mom used to smooth over those little disagreements by baking a peace offering."

"What did she bake?"

"Pie, normally. Apple, cherry, sometimes plum. They always tasted amazing."

"I see." Amy smiled to encourage him to continue. "Please remind me not to attempt to make you a pie."

"I choked down enough burnt offerings from my sisters over the years. Trust me, nothing you cook could ever be as bad as some of the stuff that they tried to pass off as food."

Amy laughed softly.

"I think I would have liked your sisters a lot," she said, pushing her fingers through his hair.

"You would have been a good influence on them."

"Gee thanks!"

"I just mean you could have got them to talk about something other than which one of them was going to marry Joe Murphy."

"Oh, and what makes you think I wouldn't have joined in the debate?" she asked, tart and playful, because that felt like the best way to reach him.

"You would have had your eye on someone else."

The way Bucky looked at her as he said that… it melted Amy on the spot.

"He might not have noticed me," she whispered.

"He wouldn't have been able to help himself." Bucky hooked a finger under her chin when she tried to lower her gaze. "He's never been able to help himself."

Amy bit the inside of her lip to stop her smile spreading too wide.

"So who did marry Joe Murphy?" she asked, to get them back on track.

"No one in my family, thank God." Bucky grunted. "He was nothing but trouble. I caught him throwing stones at Rebecca's bedroom window once. Chased him halfway to Queens before he gave me the slip."

"Yes, I'm sure your sister appreciated that immensely."

"You'd think so, but no." Bucky grinned slowly. "She tried to hit me in the face with the coal shovel."

Amy's mouth dropped, and then, she couldn't help it, she laughed.

"She sounds amazing."

"She nearly broke my nose."

"A nose you should have kept out of her business."

"She was fifteen!"

"And yet, she nearly knocked you out."

Bucky regarded Amy warily, "You know, I think you were right."

"I usually am," she said, nodding her head neatly. "About what specifically this time?"

"You would have got on with my sisters like a house on fire."

"If they were anything like you, I'm sure they were very easy to get along with. I'm starting to think there might be something genetic about the Barnes charm."

"You might be on to something there," he said. "Dad was never short of friends. He had a smile and a joke for everyone he met." Bucky looked off into the distance his expression turning bittersweet. "I hope he managed to stay that way."

Amy stayed quiet. She couldn't imagine losing Bucky and ever being fully okay ever again, but experience told her that people did lose the people they loved, and somehow they managed to go on living, so…

"I'm glad they had each other," he said. His gaze refocused on her face. "I'm glad I have you."

She could feel herself blush as she gave her shoulders a self-conscious little shrug. Bucky watched her- his expression earnest and penetrating- until a slight frown slowly worked its way across his brow. He curled an arm around her waist and lifted her back onto her feet as he too stood upright.

As the blood rushed back into Amy's legs she couldn't contain a sharp intake of breath.

"That hurt, didn't it?"

"Just pins and needles."

"Amy."

"I'm not going to break."

She let her left leg take her weight as Bucky pressed his lips against her forehead. He lapsed into silent contemplation as he turned to stare back at the headstone. She turned her head and allowed him his privacy. The pressure of his fingers squeezing her hand a few minutes later alerted her to the fact he was ready to go.

"Can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk."

"That's a shame because I really need to hold you."

She bumped him with her hip, looped her arm around his waist, and nestled into the solid muscle of his body. Bucky wrapped his own arm around her shoulders, reinforcing their closeness, as they started to walk away from the grave.

"Will you do something for me, Amy?"

"Of course."

"Will you pray for them?" he asked quietly.

She nodded her head, quickly, categorically. Tears threatening. Particularly when he brushed a kiss against her cheek. It took all the time until the gates of the cemetery came into view before she felt like she was in control of her emotions.

"The next time we're in New York, I promise to take you sightseeing," said Bucky.

"And to buy me a bunch of tulips?" Amy asked, shooting a hopeful little smile up at him.

"I promise to do that a long time before we make it back to New York."

She kept watching him, studying him silently.

"Bucky, I just- I want you to know… I think your family would be very proud of the man you are today."

She felt him try to recoil, but she didn't lessen her hold, and he wouldn't let her go.

"You're biased," he said gruffly, and with no little amount of difficulty.

"Maybe." Amy freely admitted it. "Doesn't mean I'm wrong."