The darkness is like a hole that swallows me. It fills my ears with it's silence and my nose and mouth with its nothingness. At first its calm, soothing almost, but then it chokes me.

For so many years my mind has been flooded with noise, always moving, always fighting. The opposite is unfamiliar to my conditioned mind. It makes me realize how tired I am.

My muscles release, aching deep inside with the strain of holding on. I float in the abyss, and, slowly, feeling begins to return. I can feel the worn cotton beneath my fingers, the sensation of pins and needles spreading down my left leg. The fingers of my metal arm twitch and I can feel the mechanical joints cracking under the surface. My eyelashes tickle my cheek as a gentle breeze blows across my face.

I peel my eyes open, freeing them from the crust that has settled over them. I stare at the ceiling, focusing on the long crack that splits the drywall over me. The sound of car infiltrates my hearing, the television is on, and someone is chewing too loud.

I push myself up on an elbow and blink through the sunlight. Daisy is sitting on the bed opposite me, food spread out in front of her. She's wearing new clothes. Fresh washed out denim jeans, a college hoodie for the University of Connecticut, and sneakers. Her short hair has been washed and bounces merrily around her face. The healing bruises on her face are almost completely hidden by a fresh appliance of makeup. She looks over at me, her mouth full of food.

"Good morning," she says, her words slurred by food.

I blink at her, taking in the standard hotel room. The multicolored carpet that instantly hurts my eyes, the desk that is too small, with a chair so sat on that the padding has almost completely worn out, the mirror leading in the short hallway to the bathroom that is supposed to make the place seem bigger, but really it just gives you your reflection too many times.

I try to gather my thoughts, Brooklyn, Steve. It's important, but all I can think about is Daisy chewing in my ear.

"You chew really loud," I say in lou of the speech I should probably give to portray my leadership skills.

"You drool when you sleep," she fires back. I open my mouth to defend myself but she's faster. "And don't get me started on your snoring."

She takes another bite of waffle drenched in whip cream and maple syrup and throws a brochure at me. I barely react in time to catch it before it hits me in the face. "We are gonna start at the house that Steve grew up in, which by the way is a museum. If we don't find anything we can go to his school, old hide outs. I don't know if those are accurate, maybe if this doesn't work we can go down to that military camp he trained at. I heard it's abandoned now so we'll have the run of the place, that should be nice."

I open my mouth to respond, but then close it again. "Okay," I say, flopping back on my pillow.

"So get up," Daisy says, throwing a pillow from her bed at me.

Twenty minutes later we are walking down the busy city sidewalk toward Steve's old house. My shoes scuffing on the sidewalk remind me of those beat up dress shoes I was supposed to keep nice but I had failed to miserably. They had been brown with black laces, shiny when I'd first gotten them for Easter church, then rough as though they had been rubbed with a rock, the top pulling away from the bottom at the toes so my feet were always wet when it rained.

My muscle memory still remembers these streets, even after all these years. I remember racing up this street, my bag of school books slapping against my legs, the dust from the road coating my skin. It was just far enough for sweat to begin to form on my hairline and upper lip. Steve was always there first at the intersection two blocks away from the school. I could almost see his slim form almost visibly shaking in the slight wind, his head bobbing, checking the corners for bullies to jump out of. I can still see the smile that would light up his face when he'd see me, how his shoulders would relax, and how I would sprint the last few feet to my best friend.

When I consciously return to the present my feet are planted in the same place his used to be. Daisy is talking, but I don't know what she's saying. I can almost see the older car models instead of the shiny new cars that speed there now.

"Hello?" Daisy waves her hand in front of my face. She stares up at my blank face. "When did I lose you?" she asks incredulously.

"You never had me?" I say, wincing for the reprimand that is sure to come. "Sorry."

"You should be," she says and keeps walking toward Steve's house.

I jam my hands in the pockets of my jeans and match my stride to Daisy's. I try to put aside the past that has been gone for so long, but now feels the need to return.

"We missed the turn," I say, slowing to a stop.

"What?" Daisy asks, distracted. I point at the street we are just past even with to the right.

"Steve's house is that way."

She stares at me.

"You remember being a kid in Brooklyn?" Daisy asks quietly

"Somewhat," I say, unsure of what to say. "I know that Steve's house is that way."

"Did you live around here?" Daisy asks in a casual way, which informs me that the question is anything but casual.

"Three blocks that way," I say, pointing back in the direction we came in.

"So all those maps I read, I didn't need to because you know your way around?" Daisy shakes her head. "You gotta tell me these things, Jimmy."

"I don't like it when you call me Jimmy," I say.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," Daisy answers, evidently deciding not to pursue the conversation of my past. I am grateful. I would rather figure things out in my head than struggle through mumbled words until I find the right ones.

Standing in front of that house does something to my brain. Warmth seeps through my skin until I feel as though I am burning. Daisy looks up at me and then back at the house.

"Are we gonna go in?" she asks. "Hello?"

She waves her hand in front of my face. She grabs me by the arm and pulls me over to a bench in front of the house which is now a museum with people bustling around. We sit there for a while.

'So are we just going to sit here? I mean I'm not complaining or anything but this was your idea." She looks up at me.

"It's just so weird being back here. It's like I can see and hear people from before Hydra. It reminds me how happy I was."

"You can be happy again."

"I think that's the most hypocritical thing that anyone's ever said to me."

"Do as I say, not as I do, Jimmy."

I roll my eyes.

"Oh, the attitude's back," Daisy says, standing up and pulling me with her. "Come on."

She loops her arm through mine, and we walk together.

"Aww baby Steve was really cute. Jimmy? Jimmy?" She tugs on my arm. "Again? Really? Honestly I can't take you anywhere."

My fingers are freezing. Ice is spreading through my body. My vision goes foggy around the edges. Suddenly I'm not standing in the museum anymore. The colorfully painted walls that I'm sure are not original are replaced by cold steel walls. Alexander Pierce is standing in front of me a file in his hand.

"Howard Stark. I want him taken care of. He's driving to the airport tonight with his wife. Kill them both. Everything you need is in here."

He pushes the file into my hands. "He is responsible for creating the biggest threat that we've faced yet. But after tonight he will be another casualty of fate."

I'm back, sweat pouring down my face. Vaguely I can hear Daisy talking to my left. I stumble away from the wall. My feet take me upstairs. I push past people. I am hot and cold all at the same time. Daisy catches up to me and grabs my arms.

"Jimmy." Her voice is firm. "Talk to me, what's going on?"

"This was a bad idea," I splutter. She takes me outside and that's when I see her.

"Her," I whisper and Daisy follows my gaze. The woman stands across the street, brown hair flowing around her shoulders, big green eyes, a smirk on her face. Her hands are stuffed into a leather jacket, dark jeans tucked into combat boots. Her words from who knows how long ago ring in my ears. 'Hail Hydra'.

"I know where we're going," I say, beginning down the road.

"And where would that be?" I can tell that Daisy is getting a little frustrated.

"7734 Odision Drive."

"What's there?"

"A target lived there, and the last time I saw the address I saw that girl."

"You know," Daisy says settling into step next to me. "For a guy who doesn't remember anything, you remember a lot of things."