Part 3

A gentle pressure on my lips pulled me from the depths of sleep, and a moment later, a voice belonging to the same man those lips did spoke up.

"Good morning, Darlin'."

My eyes fluttered open as I woke up, taking a deeper breath and relaxing as I did so. I blushed, smiling happily when I saw James's face resting only a few inches from my own. How often I had dreamed of this: waking up with James beside me. Now that it was real, I felt like the happiest person in the world.

"Hi," I breathed, humming in appreciation when my husband kissed me again, grinning cheekily. As he pulled gently away, I pressed another peck against his lips, making him chuckle. His teeth flashed white as a beam of clear sunlight cut across his face from where the curtains didn't close all the way.

My husband. How long had I been waiting to call him that? And now he was here, and he was mine, and I was his, and it was wonderful. My heart swelled when I thought about the last couple months. I had found him, surprising him here, and we had gotten married within the week. The past few weeks had been adjusting to married life, something my husband and I both were doing quite nicely.

We had been married more than a month now, and I didn't know that I'd ever get used to waking up to James lying beside me. Sometimes he would still be asleep when I woke up, and I loved being able to watch him sleep. He was always relaxed when he slept: the lines of worry that had formed on his face were wiped away. His dark hair, longer than what I remembered but still handsome all the same, fell in thick chocolate strands over his forehead, often covering his eyebrows. His lips parted when he slept, giving him a look of childlike innocence so often missing from his face when he was awake. His breathing was deep and even, and his bare chest would rise and fall rhythmically. I often slept with my head on his arm, curled up to his side with my hand resting on his chest, and so I would wake up to the feel of his heart beating steadily beneath his skin. His arm usually was tucked around me, holding me close to his side, and I would know when he woke up because his thumb would start tracing little patterns against my bare skin.

On the days when he woke up before me, he would to the same, watching me and guarding me from whatever he suspected might be lurking outside our little apartment. Some days, the sunlight would wake me up, filtering through the curtains and shining in my eyes or warming my skin. Other days, when it was cloudy or when James managed to close the curtains all the way, he would wake me up himself. He would brush my hair back from my face, tucking it gently behind my ear, and then, when he couldn't wait any longer for me to wake up, would slowly and gently kiss me awake himself. That was my favorite way to wake up—and he knew it, too.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, pushing himself up with his metal arm to prop himself above me, tracing patterns over my skin with his flesh-and-blood hand. I caught his hand and held it, playing with his fingers instead, but didn't answer. The dream that my husband had chased away a few minutes before had returned, and I felt my palms grow sweaty.

His brow furrowed, and his fingers tightened minutely around mine, gently forcing me to stop and look at him. "Darlin', what happened?"

My answer was barely audible, but he heard it anyway. I saw his face fall, saw his lips part and then come back together again. I dropped my gaze, swallowing hard. "I dreamed that Hydra found us," I whispered, staring at his fingers, unable to look him in the eye. I started playing with them again, curling my fingers around them. He let me, and I could feel his intense gaze focused on my face, on my expressions. "They hurt you to get to me." I swallowed hard and took a deep breath, growing still. My feet rubbed against each other, and I felt the side urge to run. Maybe we could go running today, help me get my mind off of things. I tried to think of something, anything, to block out the screams that echoed in my mind as I spoke. "They…" I couldn't say it. I could see it, hear it—them torturing him in front of me, me being unable to do anything to stop it. "I watched you die right in front of me."

My husband nodded. "I've had those before," he murmured. "But mine are about losing you." I couldn't help but wonder if there was something more to what he said, if he was hiding something from me, and I wondered whether he remembered all the times Hydra would pit the Winter Soldier against me, whether he would have nightmares about hurting me. I wouldn't be able to comfort him then, not in the way he comforted me, because for me, the nightmares were just that. Nightmares. Except for the ones that involved him falling from the train—those were few and far between, now—most of mine were horrors that my mind made up to taunt me. Some of his dreams were memories, thought I wasn't sure if he knew that. When he dreamed of seeing me hurt, it was likely that he was recalling a time when he had seen me hurt. It wasn't just his mind playing tricks on him.

"I couldn't stop it," I murmured, blinking rapidly as my eyes began to sting. James curled his arm beneath my back and shoulders and pulled me up flush against him, hugging me close to his chest as he shifted, sitting up. Sometimes I was amazed with how strong he was, how effortless it was for him to pick me up in his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder as I fought back tears. He rubbed my back, and his cheek rested against the top of my head.

"That's not going to happen," he murmured. His lips brushed against my skin, sending shivers up my spine.

"But what if it does?" I whispered, lifting my head up and gazing into his eyes, searching them for something, asking him to convince me that I was safe, that nothing would ever happen, that if anything did, it would be okay, because he'd fix it.

He played with the edge of the blanket I had wrapped around my shoulders like a cape, his brow furrowed slightly, and then he looked back up into my eyes, catching my smaller hand with his larger one. "Nothing is going to separate us again," he swore, resting his forehead against mine, and in that moment I couldn't help but believe him. "I promise." He leaned back slightly, his full lips pulling away to reveal his teeth in a beautiful smile. "I love you."

"I love you too." I leaned forward and caught his lips in a kiss, and he made a sound of appreciation as he lowered me back down to the bed.

~8~

I held onto James's hand as we strode through the marketplace later that day. I still had considerable funds left over from Howard—money, to an extent, was untraceable, and therefore preferable to a credit card when on the run—and had turned it into cash to help James and I survive and thrive in our new life together. Currently we were out shopping for food: although I had a feeling our habits might change, for now we would go every few days to the market to buy fresh produce. We'd buy plums at least once a week: James and I both were still working on recovering the rest of our memories.

It was later in the afternoon, sometime around three or so when James stopped suddenly. I paused as well, looking around. The sky was a brilliant blue, one of the first times in a week that the sun had burned the clouds away. The sun shone down on my shoulders, warming my whole body, and I took a deep breath before turning my attention to the rather startling attraction beside me.

We were standing in front of a large fountain. Although it hadn't been running the first few weeks I had been there, it was on now, and water danced and played as it fell tinkling down from the different tiers and into the largest pool. The oddest—and frankly, frightening—thing about the water, though, is that it was died red, the color of blood. I stepped away, wary, and James glanced down at it as well, frowning. The sound of the water helped to hide our words as well, which is likely why James picked such a place to stop.

"What do you want?" James asked suddenly.

I looked around at him, confused, and tilted my head. "What do you mean?"

Normally when we were out in public, we spoke Russian, since both of us knew and spoke it fluently. Now, however, we spoke English, knowing that fewer people would listen in and understand what we were saying. As we spoke, people curved around us, leaving us with a small bubble of space on the edge of the sidewalk with the blood fountain providing a barrier to prevent people from coming too close.

"For this." He gestured to me and then to himself, and his gaze drifted to the different rooftops around us before returning to meet mine. "For us. Our life together."

I blinked, growing steadily more confused, and my eyebrows scrunched together. I tightened my grip on his hand and held it to my chest, unconsciously rubbing the wedding band that wrapped around his finger. I felt my wedding band clink against his, and I smiled softly.

James and I had exchanged rings at our small wedding, and he had given me one that he told me he had picked out in the 40s. He had found it, somehow, in an antique shop in America and had purchased it, waiting for our marriage. It was beautiful—silver, with four small diamonds lined up and set in a way reminding me of a princess's crown. It had joined my engagement ring on my left hand, and Steve's ring now resided on a chain around my neck.

"I don't want anything but you," I told him honestly, smiling as he squeezed my hand in return. I assumed he was talking about a home, where we lived, what we would do for the rest of our lives, but… a horrible feeling was sneaking up in my stomach, and I thought I might be sick. My toes curled up inside my boots, and I took a deep breath. If he was talking about a baby…

His expression turned to desperate longing, and his eyes widened as his voice took on a pleading note. "Not even to build a family?" he asked, and my heart skipped a beat as my breathing hitched. He said it so innocently, so completely unaware of what has happened to me, that I felt a pain in my chest as my heart broke. I froze, and my panic must have shown on my face, because James stiffened, looking around wildly for a threat. My breathing grew shallow, and I tightened my grip on my husband's hand.

James's gaze returned to mine. "What's wrong?" he bent closer and rested a hand on my hip, drawing me nearer to him to protect me better. He looked around, still scanning the rooftops and windows, and I could feel his heart through his jacket—he was afraid. "Katie?"

"I can't breathe—I need to get home," I managed to wheeze, starting to shake. He nodded, really worried now, and began steering me off the streets and towards our apartment. It was slow going—we didn't want to draw attention to ourselves, and we were moving against the rush of people. At first I resented the crowds that hid us—I wanted to get home as soon as possible. A few moments later, I welcomed them, and I hoped they would continue to gather. I didn't want to break James's heart with what I was about to tell him.

Finally the building was in sight, and I heard James breathe a sigh of relief. Going up the stairs was difficult—I hadn't been lying when I told him that I couldn't breathe—I was hyperventilating. I managed to hold myself together until we got inside our apartment. I entered the apartment first, and James closed the door as I sank onto the bed and wrapped my arms around my waist, pressing one hand to my throat. I thought I might be sick.

James knelt down between my knees and rested his elbows on my thighs, holding onto my shoulder with one hand while touching my cheek with the other. I leaned into his touch, intertwining my fingers with his, using him as a lifeline to keep from flying apart.

"Katie," he breathed. He was so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. "Breathe. Just breathe."

It was close to twenty minutes before I had caught my breath again, but by then my heart was pounding so hard against my ribs that I was shaking from the force of it. James was clearly concerned, and I could feel his panic in the way his hands trembled, see it in the way his eyes cut back and forth, unsure of what to do. After all, it wasn't as if we could call an ambulance. We were on our own.

My husband was a very smart man. He had put the pieces together, he knew that I had been fine until he had brought up the idea of a family, but he hadn't quite figured out why I had flown to pieces. I think he was in denial, afraid to consider what might have happened to me.

"You can tell me anything. What's wrong?"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, I think he suspected. But I still didn't want to tell him. I didn't want to see his face crumple, see his eyes widen with shock and then hurt when he realized what I'd hidden from him. I didn't want to hurt him, I didn't want to break his heart. I'd planned on telling him earlier, but because of how quickly our marriage had taken place, I hadn't had the chance. I hadn't even thought about it until now, when he'd brought it up…

I took a deep, shuddering breath. "Hydra did something to me," I choked out, feeling my eyes fill with tears. His face turned blurry, then clear again as I blinked, and a tear fell onto my cheek. James wiped it away, and I saw his expression harden before his face blurred again. "They—" I took a shallow breath, unable to get enough air. It was like a tight band was wrapped around my chest, restricting my breathing and tightening around my lungs. I gripped James's hand tightly.

"Just breathe, Sweetheart," he murmured, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand.

"They sterilized me," I blurted, my face crumpling. I shrank back, curling into myself, afraid to see the effect my words had on my husband. James's eyes widened, and his lips parted, and I broke down, sobbing. "I c-can't have children. I'm sorry. I'm s-so s-s-sorry—"

I felt James's arms wrap around me, picking me up and pulling me to his chest. I wrapped my fingers into the material of his shirt and jacket. I felt him sit back down on the bed as he held me in his lap, rocking me back and forth. One arm wrapped around my shoulders, holding onto my right one and curling it towards him, and the other curved across my front, his hand resting on my hip. I felt his chest tense, and I felt his tears hit the top of my head as he cried with me, and I didn't stop weeping for what felt like hours.

I kept apologizing until finally James cut me off, brushing wet pieces of hair free from my skin. "No," he shook his head. "Stop it. You are not to blame, do you hear me? It wasn't your fault."

"I should have told you," I whispered, tightening my grip on his shirt. "I—"

"I forgive you," he whispered, brushing his thumb beneath my eye and wiping away the tears there. "And I understand why you didn't. But you don't need to apologize."

I was sitting in stunned silence, staring at my husband in shock.

I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you.

"B-but I hurt you," I whispered, blinking. I felt my face crumple again, and I took a deep breath, fighting for air. "I—how could you not hate me, I—"

"And I still forgive you. You are my wife," he pressed, cupping my cheek with his hand. "And I love you. There is nothing you could ever do that would make me hate you." He brought my hand down to rest against his chest, and he leaned back so that his back rested against the mattress and I was curled up against him.

The golden light of the sunset bled through the windows, making our small apartment seem like the most beautiful, peaceful place in the world. James started to sing softly, and his rough voice lulled me to sleep, drawing up memories of home, of him, of a time when I was safe and the future was bright and all seemed right in the world.

And for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt like that future was possible again.