Things I Almost Remember
Night, street, lamp, drugstore,
A dull and meaningless light.
Go on and live another quarter century—
Nothing will change. There’s no way out.
You’ll die, then start from the beginning,
It will repeat, just like before:
Night, icy, ripples on a canal,
Drugstore, street, lamp.
— “Night, Street, Lamp, Drugstore” by Alexander Blok
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched his father hobble from the closet to the over-stuffed suitcases on the bed. "Dad, this is ridiculous!"
Howard glared at his son. "I did not ask for your opinion."
"That's real funny 'cause you're not going." Tony crossed his arms.
Howard ignored him and attempted to lift one of his suitcases.
"It's been forty-three years," Tony said trying to sound reasonable. "Even if we find the plane, he's dead."
"He deserves to come home!" Howard bellowed. "He deserves to be buried next to his mother!"
Tony swore. "Fine, we'll go!"
Howard stopped dead in his tracks. He looked like he was searching for an argument.
"You can't go alone, Dad." Tony sighed.
"Very well," Howard said.
Tony frowned at the tiredness in his father's voice.
Yasha hated doing this. But he knew the price of staying in one place too long.
Natya already had Mushka in her cat carrier.
"You have to pack clothes too," Yasha reminded her gently.
Natya nodded. "I know."
"Are the twins?"
Natya shook her head. "They're making a little more progress."
Yasha was finally packed.
Clothes. Weapons. Identifications.
"I'll get the twins packed then," he said.
Natya shrugged. "Olga's crying again."
"Can you help the twins?" Yasha asked. He hated putting this on her.
But Natya nodded and headed towards the twins' room. She was a good big sister.
Yasha hurried towards Olga's room. He could already hear her sniffling.
"Daddy!" Olga threw her arms around him.
Yasha picked her up and kissed her forehead. "What's wrong, baby?"
"I-I don't want to go!" Olga cried.
Yasha sighed. He sat on her bed and patted her back. "We have to."
"W-Why?" Olga asked.
"It isn't safe anymore," Yasha whispered.
"But you p-protect me," Olga said.
Yasha hugged her tighter. "I do my best, but this is something we have to do to keep all of us safe."
Olga sighed. "B-But I don't want to l-leave my d-dollhouse!"
"You still have that shoebox?" Yasha asked.
Olga nodded. She squirmed out of his arms and found it.
Yasha knelt before the dollhouse and placed the bed and crib into the shoebox.
Olga tucked her dollies into their beds.
"There they can come with us," Yasha said. He hoped it would be enough.
Olga clutched the shoebox to her chest.
Pulling out her suitcase, Yasha gathered her clothes.
"Will we ever get to stay somewhere?" Olga asked.
"I don't know, darling." Yasha doubted it.
Hydra would never stop looking for him.
The cold had always been a killer.
His mother, his Bucky...
They always told him he'd catch his death in the cold.
If this was death...
The dark had always tripped him up.
He'd been terrified of it.
Still was.
If he were honest.
***
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