Glimpse

All characters belong to Marvel Comics

As the snow crunched beneath his feet, a looming figure moved across the white sheet of frozen landscape; his warm breath became crystallized as it escaped his lips, and yet he felt to coldness on skin. His presence moved silently under the canopy of ice imprisoned oak trees, branches were entwined to conceal the powder blue sky above, keeping the glimmers of dawn trapped in their stretched limbs.

This ghostly form of a man was still in movement for a momentarily lapse of time, his densely muscled body was covered in a dark coat, dragging over the frozen ground as he moved tentatively in between the trees, his wary eyes were sharp as molten steel, brilliant colors of a winter's sky mixed with shadows of grief and fierce determination.

When the man set his sharp jaw line hard, chiseled definition of his smooth flesh revealed the cutting edge of masculine strength. To many, he was the Asset, a man who spent his days avoiding reflection and dislocating compromised bones, that was a layer of a intimating mask he wore to conceal his face underneath a shadow of a monster HYDRA created to destroy life with simple commands to pull the trigger.

Years, he spent his lifetime searching for answers to rid the curse of vengeance flowing in his veins, each year he became consumed by the power within him, fading into an dark abyss of his twisting soul, until he felt to warmth in his bones only coldness that cut through the fabrics of his mortality as knife.

He paced forward in front of a iron gates, covered with snow at the bottom steps, his gloved hand grasped the bar and slowly opened the gate, his eyes beheld the sight of a forgotten cemetery filled tombstones decaying as cracks of negligence. He withdrew a deep sigh, and reluctantly entered the sanctuary, feeling drafts of lingering whispers of souls echo behind his tensed body. Occasionally, he turned involuntary, and stared with a penetrating glare at the crumbles marble slabs engraved with the names of the deceased.

Narrowing his harden eyes, and paused in front of a nameless grave, his knees gave out on him and he crashed to the ground. He felt the cold earth seep into his jeans, as he looked down at the withering rose resting on untouched earth. His gloved hand rubbed against the dry petals, the edges of his lips brimmed into a sullen frown.

Hot tears welled inside the depth of pale blue, he hung his head low, fighting against the conflict of despair and hate. His hand clenched into a fist, knuckles tightened as he parted his lips and spoke with a mournful whisper of defeat.

"I'm sorry." A confession pierced from his throat. "I tried to find a way but I wasn't strong enough." He slammed his eyes shut, constricting the tears under his lids. "It should have been me…" He sobbed, rubbing his knuckles over his chilled lips. "I was the one they wanted..not you."

Wiping away the drops of sorrow off his cheeks, he sniffled lightly, and then removed a rose wrapped in tissue paper. Gently he placed the flower in front of the grave, heart ached in walls of his throbbing chest but he regained his strength as light shimmered in his teary eyes.

He heard the sound of boots crunching in the snow behind him, quickly his defensive nature rose in his veins, he pulled himself off the ground, and shot a lethal glare at the cross shaped stones around him. Lips curled into tight scowl, as aggression cast over his face.

"Show yourself," he bellowed out a husky growl, seething through clenched teeth. " I am not afraid of you. If you want to take me, than take me!"

"Settle down, Sergeant Barnes," a familiar English tone wafted in the frosty air, abruptly he turned around and a rolled at a older woman standing in front of an oval shaped headstone. She appeared to be around the age of seventy, long silver hair, wrinkles and yet in those dark brown eyes she still carried the fire. He settled his lips into approachable frown, keeping his distance from the woman. "It's been a long time hasn't it, James?"

He gave her an piercing look of obscured blue, long tresses of disheveled hair draped over his tensed face. "Do I know you, old woman?" he questioned, fighting against the sudden urge to stand attention in front of her. The allure of obedience was empowering enough that his senses responded to the rich English tone of a woman standing only a few paces from him, wearing a gray long coat and heeled boots. He averted his eyes away from her, but she didn't give him a chance to rethink on his words.

She was brazen to his demeanor, and walked closer to him with a curious gleam sparkling in her dark eyes. "Why do you always visit this grave?" she asked, urging him for the answer. "You come here every Saturday in February?"

"Not really," he muttered under his breath. Rubbing his temples to ease away the tears, he looked down at her bright eyes, shimmering with a heart broken gaze back up at him. He draw out a deep, and annoyed sigh. He thumped his boots in calculated strides and tried to intimate her. "Alright, I'll tell only if you can tell me why you called me Sergeant Barnes."

"It's a simple answer, solider." she answered, standing her ground. "That is your name. James Barnes. Even if you don't remember it."

He faulted, and looked at her, inspecting the wrinkles and familiar chocolate eyes. "You're Peggy Carter."

"Agent Carter," she corrected him, though she didn't move, her frail arm cross over her narrow chest, but her voice is gentle. "You're James Barnes."

He bit down on his lip, and shook his head. " I'm not James." he responded, his voice breaking into a threatening snarl. "I'm the Winter Soldier."

Peggy's countenance changed, then. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her eyes dim a little. "I still can't believe they did this to you, James." She pressed her lips into a firm line, and once more spoke to him. "You are always a good man, cocky mind you, but you never let us down when we left our captain's life in your steady hands."

James gave her an haunted look, and whispered, "I came here to find answers about Captain America...I mean Steve Rogers."

Her lip quivered, just for a moment. A tear escaped from her eye, mingling down her soft cheek. "James, I thought you knew about Steve. He went down with the plane carrying Red Skull's assortment of bombs. His body was never recovered, and yet you still search for him as if he was somehow still alive." A tiny smile crossed over her lips. "HYDRA didn't take everything from you."

"No," James withdraws a step back, almost stumbling into a gravestone. "He can't be dead."

"I know its hard for you to believe, James..." Peggy grew distant, and narrowed her eyes to the grave. "He didn't die in vain...He saved the world."

The assassins face crumpled slightly in anguish, but it was hard to tell if it was heartbreak. "Tell me..." he started, his breath shaky and ragged as he mustered up a few more words. "How did it happened?"

Peggy took a moment to gather herself up, and stood firm under his ghostly eyes. "It happened too quickly when the plane went down in the ice." A dull ache started to puncture in her chest. "I was the last one to hear his voice..."

"You were the only one to speak to him?" he snapped, broken memories were returning. "I should have been there...I could have stopped him from killing himself. He was always to stupid to listen. Now, I'm alive and he's dead." He clenched his metal hand, and growled under his breath. "The little guy from Brooklyn who was always to dumb enough to walk away is gone..."

"I know it's hard to you to understand this, I blame myself for keeping you left in the dark," she confessed, tears slipped from her eyes. "What they have done to you, James, is unforgivable...I will do my best to fix you...To bring back the real James Barnes." She said in a promising voice. "Nor, you will ever have to feel so much pain again, Sergeant."

His right hand automatically moved to feel the metal plates of his arm, and then he gripped the long and ragged strands draped over his face. It had been to long for him to break out of the programming...so long to remember his name and past. He felt so lost and damaged. Peggy rested her withered hand on his shoulder.

"How long has it been since you've had a decent meal you?"

He shook his head, and stuffed his hands into the pockets of tattered jeans. "I'm not the best company, Miss Carter." he looked up for moment, staring at the lavender streaks piercing the pearly white clouds, and then dropped his head. "I am only given a short of amount of time before I go back to sleep."

Peggy nodded silently, before encompassing her hand on his rigid jaw, and she looked into his pale blue eyes, "You still look like your old self, even though that wolf's mane." She joked a little, trying to brighten up his disheveled spirit. He rocked a step back from her as he suddenly listened to the regret laced in her voice. "Steve...I mean... Captain Rogers thought the world of you, called you his big protective brother. When you fell off the train he was devastated. He blamed himself for your death and I guess that never really left him after that day."

"Steve..." he said loud and broken.

"Yes, you're remembering, James." she lightly smiled, despite her own pain.

He parted his full lips once more, it felt like razor blades cut against his throat as he tried to speak, "I knew him...He was my best friend."

Peggy patted his shoulder, gently, "I know...He meant so much to me as well."

She took out a crinkled ball of newspaper, unfolded it, and tried to bend down to place the item at the grave, but her artists prevented her. The Winter Soldier noticed her pain, and took the item from her hand, and crouched at the grave while his blue eyes looked palm sized metal shield. "It was something a good of friend of ours made with his son. It will never rust-at least that what the boy genius told me years back."

The pull of reverence she had over his was uncanny. He settled the object in front of the marker, head down, and stole a glance at her through his straggly bangs so that she wouldn't be back to see his tears.

"It's best that I return home," she breathed, her vision becomes foggy for a few seconds. "I can't carry on the fight for Steve anymore. I'm old now, James, and its time that I stop visiting this place and leave things alone."

He straightened to his full height, there was a warm wetness on his cheeks that he couldn't bring himself to wipe away. Instead, he placed his hand tentative on her shoulder, and whispered, gravelly, "Tell me where you live and I will walk you home, Miss Carter."

Peggy lifted her chin up, "You will do no such thing, I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own. I know these streets like the back of my hand."

He snorted a little.

"I think you better find your way back, James," Peggy said in a gentle measure of her voice. She hobbled away from the grave site, and waves to a parked vehicle waiting for her. "Bad things sometimes happen to good men."

James closed his eyes, and felt the cold air rush over his lips, and he waited for her to leave. He felt the unrelenting, crushing hollowness in his chest.

"I know..."