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Chapter Text

Steve is 10 when he meets James Buchanan Barnes. He'd made it a habit of sticking up to bullies by then despite how his body sometimes beat him worse than other kids did and so he's wobbling on his feet when James, 8 at the time but with the attitude of a kid twice his age, comes up on the group kicking Steve while he's down. If he could get up he would-he's no coward and he isn't about to just lay down and pray that they stop laying into him. They'd smashed that poor kid Albert's glasses to smithereens and they all know that no one'll come up with the money to replace them. Not before classes start again after the summer break anyway.

James doesn't stop them at first, just watches because he has a reputation to keep up and he's not ruining it for some rotten kid who doesn't know when to give up. It isn't until he sees the kid spit out a tooth that he finally yells, “scram before I tell Sister Mary!”

Steve looks up at the shouts and heck, he hasn't seen any angels but the kid pulling him to his feet sure looks like one with his head blocking out the midday sun so that it surrounds his head like a halo. The other kids have run off by now-Sister Mary doesn't spare the strap even for orphans-and everything hurts but he frowns, “I had 'em on the ropes.”

“Only thing was gonna be on the ropes was your neck in second, kid,” he yanks him forward to get him moving again. His hand is bigger than Steve's and he's taller but Steve thinks to himself that he'll outgrow this boy, show him who's the kid around here.

“I ain't-” he corrects himself, “I'm not a kid.”

“You gotta real funny waya thankin' a guy for savin' your skin,” the boy says and his hair is wild, untamed and the bottom of his slacks are wet like he's been running around near the creek where Steve isn't allowed to go for fear he'll catch cold, “you oughta go get checked out. Bleedin' like a stuck pig.”

“I'm not a baby. Had worse than this and I'll probably have worser again,” he flattens his hair down with his palm as they walk though he doesn't have any intention of going to see Sister Catherine to get a bandaid for the cut on his cheek.

He knows he already puts a burden on the orphanage's funds as it is with how he gets sick all the time so he doesn't plan on having them waste their first aid supplies on account of a couple of lousy cuts. His tongue pokes at the spot where one of his teeth was knocked out-one of the back ones so it's not too big of a deal-and frowns at the taste but a second later he's back poking at it. His mother would have tilted his head back to get a better look, shaken her head, and told him that there wasn't any sense in going looking for trouble. But he doesn't and she'd known that. Right up until she died and Steve isn't a crybaby, he isn't so he squares his jaw and scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. He's not a crybaby and besides that the other kids've had worse than him anyway. Arnie Roth's parents had gotten killed in a car accident-just went out one day and never come back, Joseph McCleary's mother'd died of TB and his dad'd run off with some dame and abandoned him. Steve doesn't know what'd happened to the kid dragging him along's parents but it must've been something bad if he's here. No one comes here if their family is breathing or still wants them after all.

“You're a real idiot, kid, you know that?”

“Stupid is as stupid does.”

“Then you gotta be real stupid cause you do a lotta stupid things.”

Sister Catherine tuts when she sees him, her hair is covered by the habit on her head but it doesn't cover her eyes. Steve thinks that her eyes are the most important thing anyway. They're brown and soften when she sees him and it must be because he's a sorry sight to see with his busted up face and clothes that'll need mending. “You need to be more careful, Steven. You know that those kids play rough.”

“There ain't nothin' playin' about it! They were tryin' to kill him, I saw it!” the kid hasn't let go of his arm despite how he'd put up a big show of being tough.

“That's a serious accusation, James. I'm sure they didn't mean to hurt Steven as much as they did.”

“That's a crock and you know it,” James says and his chin is raised up pridefully. Steve wonders where he learned to speak to a lady like that.

“You can't talk to Sister Catherine that way,” he steps back but James doesn't let him go, “you gotta be respectful to ladies.”

“I ain't showin' nothin' to nobody if they're gonna be stupid.”

Steve is 10 but he knows that respect isn't something earned but given without any strings attached. He pulls his arm out of James' grip and crosses his arms over his chest, “You better apologize to Sister Catherine right now.”

“Make me.”

“I'm gonna!”

The sister holds up her hand which is enough to make Steve feel chastised at least even if James still has a defiant look on his face, “That's enough, boys. Steve, you go sit over on that bed over there. I have got to have a talk with James.”

“You can shove your talk up your-”

Steve hits him exactly once and it's only because Sister Catherine grabs James that he doesn't get a shot in as well. She frowns at him and he goes to sit on the infirmary bed that has been his bed more than a few times in the six months it's been since he got here and folds his hands on his lap. He thinks as Sister Catherine leads the boy out that he doesn't like James very much.

~~**~~

It's exactly two days before Steve sees James again and by that time he's stopped feeling angry and started feeling bad. Heck, he's no better than any of the kids that beat him up now that he'd hit James and sure the sisters had made them apologize to each other but James hadn't meant it and neither had Steve. It won't be hard to find him-Steve knows all the best hiding spots by now and if he'd just gotten hit by someone who he'd helped he'd be hiding too. He shouldn't be heading for the creek because they tell him he's liable to catch malaria or a cold or slip and fall where no one would know where he is but he owes James at least an apology and he's not letting his stupid body stop him from doing that. He's got a piece of paper and a book under his arm, a pencil tucked behind his ear like he's going to just the outside fence to draw. Steve is 10 and they give him some freedom outside of classes. They call him sweet and when he looks up at them like he's the sorriest kid in the world they never tell him no. It's not that he tries to look pathetic enough that they let him wander out on his own, he figures that's close enough to lying for it to be a sin and God may have taken his mother but he still believes in Him enough to follow the rules. So he doesn't think his freedom is ill-gotten. Especially not with how many kids there are coming in. A 10 year old doesn't need anyone to look after him. He's practically grown up now and the Sisters really ought to be focusing on the younger kids he thinks as he gives one last look towards the building before darting into the woods.

He can't run much because of his asthma so he slows as soon as he's sure he hasn't been seen. The creek isn't much of a walk from the edge anyway and he makes it there after five minutes of careful walking. The creek is slow moving, deep enough that if he fell on his butt the water would just start to lap at his chest. When he toes off his shoes and dips his foot in it's cool but not cold. James isn't here and for a second Steve thinks of just going back and waiting for him because even though he'd never promised not to go to the creek he'd also made it seem like he wasn't going anywhere other than the gate. He still owes James an apology, though, and his mother'd always said that sometimes you have to fight for things you believe in and Steve believes in this so he picks up his shoes. The creek will lead somewhere, maybe James is hiding out there.

Steve follows the creek until it turns from slow to rushing water and the sun starts to lower from the sky. He isn't lost, not really since he can easily follow the creek back to where he'd started however he's tired after searching all day and hungry besides that. Of course he's used to being hungry so he turns around to head back to what he's meant to consider home for now. It doesn't occur to him until he's halfway to the orphanage that anyone might've been looking for him and then he tries to hurry. He doesn't want anyone getting into trouble because of him and he hasn't gotten the strap yet but he thinks that he'll probably get it for this. He'll deserve it, sure. Doesn't mean he wants it any.

The forest has turned cold by now, the night transforming all of the once familiar trees into dark, twisted things that would get him scared if he were the scared type. He isn't. Steve's knows there's worse in some people's hearts than there is out here in the woods though it doesn't stop him from shivering or his feet from hurting. He ought not to because he's not the scared type and he doesn't need anyone to come save him from nothing but he still wishes he had someone to talk to at least. He can't hear anyone calling for him so they mightn't have realized he'd gone anywhere at all. Maybe they've all just gone on with their lives without him and he'll be like Rip Van Winkle appearing to find everyone's grown up without him. He grips his book tighter. He's never liked that story much.

An owl hoots in the tree near him, the creek continues to flow, and he can hear other animals running around in the bushes that are too frightened to come close to him. He wishes again for someone to talk to, thinks that isn't much to ask though he shouldn't be asking for anything at all with the way he'd gone and made his own bed. They'll probably never let him out of their sight again and he'll only have himself to blame. His mother'd always said that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions after all.

He shivers again. It's awful cold for a summer night, he thinks but he hadn't dressed for warmth and his shoes are back on but he doesn't have any socks. In the end it's a root he can't see that finally trips him up and somehow he ends up in the creek along with his book and paper and he doesn't have much of a choice except to get up and keep going. His teeth chatter together the longer he walks-he wishes he hadn't gone out so far. They're so loud he nearly misses someone calling his name. It's James, just to add insult to injury.

“I'm over here!” he yells back and falls again although luckily this time onto firm ground rather than into water.

“Jeez, you go for a swim or somethin', kid?” he grabs Steve's arm like he had the day before yesterday and it feels different. Not the grip of it, James isn't wearing gloves or anything just...different. He wonders if James feels it too, “the penguins have been goin' loopy tryin' to find you.”

“Wanted to say I was sorry,” he murmurs. It sounds stupid now because here he is right in front of him after hours of looking.

“You're real stupid,” James says but he pulls him closer, repeats, “you're real stupid, kid.”

“I'm not a kid.”

“Sure act like one.”

Steve wants to say something but they get back to the rest of the search party before he has a chance. He spends the next week in the infirmary shivering under a heap of blankets while James-call me Bucky-hovers by the door with his hands shoved in his pockets like he doesn't try to convince the Sisters to let him stay when it's lights out. It's when he's mostly fought off the haze of the fever that he hears the word soulmates for the first time.

~~**~~

Bucky is late. Of course saying Bucky is late is like saying the sky is blue because he's always late-especially if he's gotten caught up with some dame. He'll probably bring a girl for Steve like he always does and Bucky'll end up taking them both out like he always does. Steve can't say he blames them. He's not as good looking as Bucky and for all he'd told him that one day he'd outgrow him Steve is still shorter, scrawnier than Bucky is and a gust of wind won't blow him over but he'll probably get a chill from it anyhow so Steve can't blame them. They're all looking for their Mr. Right and Steve isn't sure how it works but he'd feel real sorry for any girl who got him. It doesn't do any good thinking about it much. Thinking about it won't make him bigger or get rid of his asthma. He checks his watch again. Fifteen minutes late. Course Bucky's been later than that before so he doesn't leave just yet.

Steve watches the people go by, watches the ferris wheel go around with guys and gals-bonded ones, naturally-squished into the tiny metal seats together. He can always tell. They look happy just being together and he's happy with Bucky but it's not like that. The Sisters had made it clear back then that same-sex bonding didn't work the same as the regular kind. It's meant to be platonic. Life long pals, and Steve can live with that because for all they'd fought like cats and dogs as kids he can't imagine life without Bucky. He doesn't think about it much. The idea of not having Bucky leaves him cold and just nightmares about it leave him a cold, shivering mess until he sees with his own eyes that he's still there.

They've come to Coney Island before, a couple of times because there's not much else to do around Brooklyn except be poor and try to scrounge up enough money to eat that night. The first time Steve had puked after riding the Cyclone and Bucky laughed so hard Steve thought he'd keel over dead from lack of oxygen but he doesn't have any trouble getting air into his lungs so he'd gotten up and wiped the tears from his eyes, smacked Steve on the back a couple of times and called him a lightweight. Bucky'd been on time then. But that'd been before they discovered girls.

Some nights, like tonight, when they've got a stomach full of their landlady's cooking they'll have enough spare cash to walk along the pier and maybe play a few stupid games so Bucky can get a girl to hang onto his arm for the rest of the night. Bucky will try to get him to go on the Cyclone and Steve will tell him not on his life. Steve will go home by himself while Bucky fools around with the girl he'd picked up and Steve will wait up even though he doesn't have to just to voice his displeasure because she'd been a nice girl and Bucky probably won't call her even if he says he will.

He sees Bucky walking down the street-he's got a couple of girls with him-but acts surprised when he slings an arm around his shoulders anyway, “I wasn't expecting you so soon. I mean, you didn't even break your record.”

“Yeah? I'll try harder next time,” he pulls back and punches him lightly in the arm, smirking, “punk. Besides, I couldn't just let these two gals wander the streets alone, could I? A lot of unsavory types around here.”

“I'm lookin' at one, jerk.”

The girls he's brought are beautiful of course. One blonde, one brunette, both wearing clothes that probably cost more than Steve's entire wardrobe combined. The blonde is Agnes and the brunette is Claire. Steve says it's nice to meet them and they say the same but he doesn't miss how they've glued themselves to Bucky. He's wondered before how Bucky gets rich girls to talk to him but has arrived at the conclusion that it's probably his looks. He's a swell guy too but everyone goes by looks as a first impression because “swell guy” isn't exactly something a gal can see just by looking at a fella. Steve's sure there are plenty of men who looked like they were nice enough and turned out to be otherwise.

“So what do you ladies say about hitting the midway?”

Steve thinks that most people would agree to mostly anything Bucky asked if he levelled that look on them and to no one's surprise the girls say sure. They won't be able to do much with the cash they've got but the main attraction is always the ferris wheel anyway. He tries making small talk with Claire while Bucky throws balls at milk bottles and tries again with Agnes. The conversation dies after a few minutes though in spite of his best efforts so he contents himself with people watching. It's their choice if they don't want to make small talk with him after all and if he's honest he's not that great at it anyhow.

Once Bucky has his fill of games and the girls are thoroughly enamoured with him they get a hot dog each then head for the ferris wheel. Bucky doesn't make a joke about the Cyclone which is probably for the best. If the seats would hold three people the girls would've both gone with Bucky but they don't and so he and Claire are locked in together not touching because Bucky says he thinks she's sweet on him which really means he likes Agnes.

“You come here often?” he asks when they stop near the top and she fakes a smile and shrugs. He'd have said something about the view except he thinks he's used up his quota of bad conversation starters for the entire year by now so he doesn't. He can see Bucky's feet above him when he looks up and his date's are close enough that he figures they're kissing. This ride's probably gotten him more kisses than anything else in the entire state.

“Not really,” she answers, looks out her side of the seat with a sigh.

Steve wonders if Bucky's future wife'll mind him hanging around.

~~**~~

It's not easy to carry things up three flights of stairs however their landlady, Mrs. Soloman, is all alone now that her sons have gone off to find work or else run off with a dame to get married. She's about the only person who could give Steve a run for his money at being a twig and anyway Steve figures that it's better he break something than she does. Not that either of them would be able to pay the medical bills if they broke their necks.

“Where's that friend of yours at?”

“Bucky's uh...” he hesitates because he always hears it when he tells her he's out on a date again, “just taking a walk in the park. Needs his exercise.”

“You need to reel him back in, let him know who's boss. Back when my Arthur, God rest his womanizing soul, was up to his old tricks I always had a little something special waiting for him when he came home. Remind him of who he was bonded to.”

“We're not like that. Ma'am. I mean, we are. But not...” Steve shrugs helplessly at her raised eyebrow. She and everyone else always had a few words for them when they found out they were bonded. He can't blame them really. Platonic pairs are rare and rarely stand the test of time besides that. Add on the fact that Steve is a scrawny good for nothing to contrast Bucky's all American good looks and they're practically a side show act to everyone else. It'll keep on like that until they're dead, he thinks, and it'll just have to be something they deal with along with the shady dealers who promised they could sever their bond, get them nice, unbonded girls with legs for miles. Steve can't talk for Bucky, but if he had to choose between being platonically bonded to his best friend and forcing a new one with some gal who probably wouldn't look twice at him he'd take Bucky any day of the year.

“You can put the bags just inside, Steven,” she says and he knows there's more she wants to speak out loud but she'll save it for the neighbours.

He manages to make it up the last few steps and gently place the bags inside her door before his throat closes up. There isn't much he can do but try to breathe as he rests against the wall and for all that he's Calling Bucky he never knows if he'll hear anyway. The doctors say platonic bonds aren't strong enough for that kind of thing even if it's worked for them before so there's no guarantee Bucky'll come home. He isn't sure if he wants him to come home. Focus. Focus on breathing. They've got those fancy cigarettes now for attacks but they can barely afford rent never mind a prescription-likewise for the adrenaline shots some doctors are marketing. Steve's gotten them a couple times, when he'd been already sick and everyone had felt certain that this would be the time he didn't make it but this is one he can handle himself if he can get to his room. That'd been before, though, and he doubts that if this one turns out to be The Big One that even the whole building'll be able to scrape up enough cash for a doctor's visit for poor frail Steve Rogers even if they wanted to.

Mrs. Soloman is fluttering about like a nervous butterfly and he wants to tell her that it'll be fine, really, he's dealt with worse and will again but he can't force anything to leave his mouth but gasping sounds. By the time Bucky gets home Steve's managed to make his way to their apartment with Mrs. Soloman's help and lie down on the sofa with a glass of water on the floor next to him. He can feel him more strongly the closer he gets until finally the door opens, slams and there he is with his face red like he'd run all the way. Steve would be a liar if he said he didn't envy that.

“I oughta-”

He shakes his head, smiles and Bucky is beside him in a second, the back of his hand resting on Steve's forehead because this body picks up illnesses like trophies. The touch sends a ripple through his mind-they need more of this than a truly bonded pair, the touching, because their connection is weak to everyone else for all that Steve can't imagine it being any stronger. He knows Bucky feels it too by how he sighs.

“You're a real piece of work, you know that, kid?” Bucky says as he leans over to turn on the radio before perching on the edge of a couch cushion. His fingers are running through Steve's hair and they don't think anything of it because it's not that kind of gesture.

Steve doesn't need a true bond to notice worry, doesn't need to feel its claws in him as well to see the way Bucky's shoulders slump with relief a couple of hours later when his airways have finally calmed down enough after inhaling steam for almost as long for him to get a steady stream of air to his lungs. He's drenched in sweat by the time the ordeal is over but can't stand without his legs folding under him long enough to take a shower.

“Was she mad?” he says and it's tiring to do anything but lay there and breathe but Bucky won't believe he's really okay unless he talks.

“Nah.”

Yes, then. The gal from Coney and Bucky had started seeing each other for the past couple of weeks and Steve doesn't think a girl like her would be real happy to have her date run out on her for the sickly son of a gun that Bucky had gone and got himself platonically bonded to. The sisters had said if they just stayed away from each other, if they attempted to bond with someone else that maybe theirs would be broken enough for them to go ahead and be normal later in life but by then Bucky'd taken up permanent residence in the bed beside Steve's and Steve hadn't been able to imagine a life without him around. They'd still fought, still did, because hell, Bucky is reckless and a player and everything Steve isn't in spades but the future would stretch out dark and empty without Bucky here.

“Better get some shut eye-got a job for us down at the docks. Couple of Endner guys got knocked off. Says you can help out the girls in the office,” and Bucky winks, “his daughter's a real looker. Big in the chest and her ass-”

“Buck.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, we got an early morning.”

He isn't real surprised about the guys turning up missing or dead-especially not near Irish town. Money's tight, landlord comes knocking, cash doesn't grow on trees, and some people'll do anything to get it. He doubts they'll find the killers because if there's any place more tight lipped than Vinegar Hill Steve doesn't know of it. It's a hell of a world, Bucky says sometimes after a news broadcast, and he's not wrong. Steve is 20, Bucky is 18 and the city is a maze of homeless, downtrodden New Yorkers with not even two pennies to rub together.

Bucky climbs into bed beside him like they're 10 and 8 again and Steve doesn't protest.  

Chapter Text

He wakes with Bucky pressed against his back, drooling in his hair which makes him even happier that he'd woken earlier than he needed to. The streetlight inconveniently placed at just the right angle to pour light into Steve's room is still on and the space around it dark. A quick look at the clock tells him it's 3am. They'll need to be at the docks by 5, if not earlier. The bed is a cocoon of warmth and it's only his willpower and the sensation of his best friend's slobber in his hair that propels him out of it. He's careful not to wake Bucky just yet because waking him is like sticking your hand in a bear trap and trying not to trip it.

The water in the shower is a slow trickle but it's enough to get him clean and by the time he finishes Bucky is moving around though not actually awake just yet. Steve combs his hair, shaves what little beard growth he gets, then heads for the kitchen to start breakfast. They have eggs and a loaf of bread which will be enough for now.

By the time the eggs are halfway done, a couple of slices of bread toasted Bucky is stumbling into the kitchen and flopping down on one of the chairs at the small, round table. His hair is sticking up on one side, flat on the other, and his eyes are closed, mouth hanging open like he's trying to catch flies. Steve wonders out loud what all those dames Bucky likes would think of him looking like this as usual while he slides the plate of food in front of him. Bucky's snarl is the customary reply and Steve privately thinks that they'd be even more in love with him if they did. It's not like that. But he's heard enough girls talk to each other as if Steve isn't there about Bucky to know it's what they'd think. He sits across from him at the table and starts on his own breakfast.

“Hope you don't talk to Agnes like that in the mornings,” he says and it doesn't matter but it does. Bucky is a great guy and he loves women and it's not that he's worried he'll say something to her because he won't. It's something else.

There's a lag in the conversation as Bucky wolfs down the rest of his meal, smirks, “What's it to you, punk?”

“A girl from money doesn't have to put up with a grumpy good for nothing like you or me in the morning.”

“Shaddup,” wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “besides, never stay that long after anyway.”

“Bucky!” his mouth settles into a frown. He's much too attached to the concept of jumping from girl to girl and Steve's frown only deepens as he realizes how many girls Bucky's gone and done it to.

“What? I got you to come home to, don't I?” Bucky reaches across the table and messes up his hair. He doesn't mean it like Steve can't take care of himself but it's how it sounds anyway.

“Yeah, laugh it up, funny guy.”

Bucky finishes up his food and Steve flattens his hair again before they pull on the clothes they wouldn't mind being seen in in public. The dock is only a short subway ride from their apartment however winter's coming faster than last year and after yesterday they can't be too careful. With both of them working they can spare the change.

The train is still quiet this early-the homeless having been kicked off for the night and it's probably for the best for Steve's wallet. Even if he doesn't have the money to spare he knows how quickly something can turn into nothing, how quickly a guy can go from rich to poor, and mostly any pittance of a sum they can scrounge off of someone else helps. Bucky never gets tired of telling him that if he keeps it up he'll be the one begging on the trains next thing he knows however Steve knows that Bucky'd sooner join him than leave him out on the streets alone. He wonders where their 'mates are when he sees them. If they'd left them because they'd wound up poor and he doesn't understand it. Mostly everyone who are opposite sex pairs get married soon after bonding and part of wedding vows include 'for richer or poorer'. He looks out the window in front of him as Bucky dozes beside him. The ride only takes a little over ten minutes so he shakes him awake the stop before theirs.

They don't speak much on the walk, both looking over their new place with new eyes. Of course they'd been down this way before-a couple of punches thrown, Bucky's nose gushing blood, and Steve flat on his back seeing stars-but that'd been as nothing more than a couple of stupid kids in the wrong neighbourhood. This is something else. He turns to Bucky and his lips turn up on one side like they always do when they're remembering a private joke even if it'd been less of a joke back then. 15 and 13 and not enough sense rattling in either of their heads at that point than it'd take to do anything more mentally taxing than screwing in a light bulb.

Of course Steve'd grown up since then, learned to use his head in more ways than one and mostly succeeds at keeping Bucky from picking fights when he's in a bad mood. Bucky'd never grown out of that but he's always got choice words of his own for when Steve goes and runs off his mouth to the wrong fella and gets walloped.

They part ways once it becomes clear where the office is. Bucky punches him in the shoulder then heads off towards the still moonlit shipyard and Steve watches him go for a second before turning away.

The office isn't big but there are enough filing cabinets lined up that he bets they'd fill most of a room double the size of this one. From the window he can see the stairs, the light illuminating them, and the outline of boats in the distance. He can't see Bucky but then, he hadn't expected to be able to. He'll just have to trust he isn't going to get into any trouble with the other guys.

Interspersed with the cabinets are desks and he peers past metal towers until he finds a guy with his feet up on his desk, the brim of his hat pulled down over his eyes.

“Hello?” he knocks on one of the cabinets and the man slowly pulls his hat back so his face is exposed.

“Rogers, right?”

“Yessir.”

He's looked up and down, inspected for flaws like he's the very merchandise he'll be recording the comings and goings of in the office until the man looks him in the eye. Steve squares his shoulders-knows by now that it doesn't make him look much bigger but it's usually enough to show he's not just some scrawny kid looking to make a couple of bucks for booze or girls.

“Your friend said you're bonded.”

Steve wonders if that's all Bucky'd said. Steve wonders if that's all he'd had to to get Steve the job. “Yessir.”

“Not looking for a good time?”

“Is this a test, sir? Because I can tell you I haven't got any interest in taking anyone for a ride,” colour rises on his cheeks and it's not only from indignation. For all that Bucky's the one with all the experience Steve's not an idiot about sex nor the innuendo.

“Take a seat,” Endner gestures to a desk to the left of him, swings his feet around so he can stand before looming over Steve-it isn't difficult with how short he is-and pointing a finger at him, “I hear about any funny business and your ass is on the street.”

“Of course, sir,” Steve holds his gaze long enough that Endner nods and heads off to wherever he's going.

“Dolores'll get you set up when she gets her fat ass in here.”

The door slams behind him so Steve sits. He'd brought his sketchbook and a pencil with him for a reason. He'd also brought enough money that he could buy himself lunch from one of the storefronts he'd passed on his way into the docks. There's not much to draw so he sketches the precarious tilt of papers, cabinets, blocks out the window and how the sunrise on the horizon and the harsh spray of the floodlight play with the lightening shadows surrounding the building.

Dolores arrives a few minutes past 5 and she's certainly not the thinnest woman he's ever seen but then he's not really looking. Her brown hair is pulled back so that the nape of her neck was a mass of curls, a pair of glasses are perched on her nose, and her lips are painted an orange red that matches the varnish on her fingernails and the colour of her handbag. Steve thinks that she must be from money to dress like that to a place like this though he can't really judge that kind of thing. Back when he'd left the orphanage every woman had looked rich, strange without the dark black habit of the sisters. Of course he'd seen pictures in magazines hidden away from the eyes of God and everyone else who would care however he'd almost not believed that women, real women who weren't nuns looked like that all the time. Bucky'd taken to the idea of the short skirts almost immediately while girls still cooed over Steve and called him the sweetest thing they'd ever seen while he waited for Bucky to get through with chatting up a girl too old for him. The first couple of times he'd tried to tell them so but they'd just laughed. He hadn't gone to Bucky's regular haunts with him much after that.

He's certain most everyone thinks Bucky's older even now. No point in correcting them, really, and older has never meant better to either of them.

“You the new kid?” she asks him and he stands, holds out his hand. Her face is in a well practised-no one can look that sore 24/7-frown until she takes his hand in hers and shakes it.

“Steve Rogers. You must be Dolores.”

“That asshole Endner tell you about me?” she saunters past him to her desk before dropping her bag onto it and easing out of her light jacket. She hangs it on the back of her chair then flops into it, hand disappearing under her desk and reappearing with a package of cigarettes clasped in her fingers.

“Said you'd set me up.”

Her desk is the most organized of the other 2 occupied ones and Steve takes mental notes on how she's got everything arranged. He nods at the empty desks in turn-the one Endner had been sitting at and the one next to Dolores', “those the only other two people who work in here?”

“The one next to you's Endner's but he's never here so don't worry too much about it. The other one's Bess, Endner's daughter,” her lips close around one of her cigarettes, “you smoke?”

“No ma'am.”

“Ma'am. Like the ring of that.”

He smiles and she returns it. “So Endner said you were bonded. Probably the only reason you got this job-he's all about protecting his daughter's virtue.”

Steve thinks that he ought to make sure Bucky knows that too. Not that it'd stop him long. Then she continues, “not that I can blame him. Word is she tried to run off with some hood rat from Irish Town.”

He opens his mouth and she continues. “I mean, whatever a girl's gotta do for love but she could have her pick of the litter. So who's the lucky gal?”

“My best friend.”

Her plucked eyebrows raise over the lenses of her eyeglasses, “it's like that, huh?”

“No. I mean, it's not...” his face flushes and he'd forgotten for the moment that she's a woman and suddenly with one question it smacks him right in the face, “it's just...friends. We're platonic. I-”

“Alright.”

“Right.”

“You don't talk to girls much, do you?”

“No ma'am.”

She puffs away on her smoke while he stands there waiting for her to finish and hoping her habit doesn't trigger an asthma attack. Finally she stands up, “okay, first thing's first. We take care of incoming and outgoing shipments. That means as soon as a ship comes in they offload it and we double check it, register the shipment. If there's a problem you get on the telephone and yell at some fella on the other side who messed up. Second is don't mess around with those guys down in the shipyard unless it's to check shipments. They're all trash anyway and they see a guy like you and they'll make sure you're wearing your entrails as a tie, got it? Third is whatever Endner says, just say 'yes sir', sweet as pie. I figure it's not really the progress he wants when he asks, just likes to hear someone call him sir. He's a messed up kind of guy but what can you do? Bills gotta get paid.”

Steve glances at the window, and she smiles, “don't worry, if your friend can work in the yard he can handle the lunatics down there.”

“Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of.”

Bucky never intends to pick fights-okay, sometimes doesn't intend to pick fights-but violence always manages to find him anyway. Steve's more likely to start something with some hooligan harassing a girl or an old man than Bucky however it's always Bucky who ends up finishing them. Bucky's got a prideful streak a mile wide and once he's got his back up there's not much that'll convince him not to take it easy except for Steve. It's been like that at the orphanage-all fist fights in the mud because one of the boys had called Steve a weakling or implied Bucky wasn't as tough as he'd claimed and afternoons spent in the infirmary getting patched up, nights in the chapel doing hail Mary's. Falling asleep against each other in the pews and waking up in the morning with cricks in their neck that refused to be eased away.

Dolores laughs, it's high pitched but not fake sounding and Steve blushes again, “that's real sweet of you. A girl would be lucky to have a 'mate like you but hell. Let's head down there and check up on them-got a shipment coming in about now anyway and her highness doesn't roll out of bed until nine anyhow.”

She gathers her coat again and a clipboard then they start across the small yard to the dock. There are buildings on either side of them to hold the merchandise until it's picked up or shipped to the recipient and he can see a couple of ships already docked.

“They guys'll be down below in the hold getting their grubby hands on everything for now so when they're through with that we'll check over their counts,” she says, looks down at him, “aren't you cold?”

“No ma'am.”

Her lips turn up in a smile again, “better start bringing a coat soon-gets cold down here by the water unless you're hauling things.”

He hasn't grown much since last winter but it's enough that his old coat no longer fits. Bucky's old one is too long, too wide in the shoulders for him. It'll have to do for now-he isn't really picky about fashion. They'll have to get Bucky something better than his threadbare sandy coloured one though if he'll be down by the water all day in between shipments. He'll see. If there's one thing that the depression has taught anyone it's not to count on a steady stream of money and he's got a wad of 5s under his mattress, sure, but so does everyone until they don't anymore. If they keep the job and Bucky needs it he'll spend it and that's it.

It's a good twenty minutes before he spots Bucky and by that time he is cold however he's not about to say so. Sure, Dolores is wearing a coat however she's also a dame-he'd have given up his own to her if she hadn't had one. Bucky always says Steve would give over mostly anything if someone only asked for it like some sort of saint and Steve doesn't think he's a saint but he knows how it feels to go without, to have someone hold out their hand to help even though they shouldn't or have no reason to, so can't look the other way.

Most of the men are clad in shirts rolled up at the elbow or just their undershirts with slacks, hair sticking to their heads with sweat or grease. Bucky grins at him for a second, tilts his head towards Dolores and Steve shakes his head. There's nothing wrong with her, he just wouldn't know where to put his hands and his lips would be orange red as evidence and besides all of that he's here to work, not chase skirts. Bucky shrugs around the shipping crate in his arms and Steve frowns. It wouldn't be the first time Bucky's got himself sacked because of his love of all things female but he's got Agnes. Steve would be the first in line to give him a beating if he ever messed around on her.

“Handsome friend.”

“He's got a girl.”

“Get right to the point, don't you?” she doesn't sound very upset about it.

“There anywhere else to get to?” he asks and Bucky looks visibly chastised the next time he comes out with a load and sees Steve's face.

“Well you can stop and smell a flower or two on the way.”

He chuckles because she's a real piece of work. Could almost rival Bucky if she wanted to, “I think Bucky's smelled enough flowers.”

“And what about you?”

“I haven't got much of a green thumb, ma'am.”

~~**~~

The job isn't difficult and Dolores chats enough that he doesn't feel the need to much-she's content with a nod or noise of agreement and he thinks that they have an understanding going. It's a couple of days before Bess decides to show up to work but when she does he can see why Endner's so adamant about keeping her away from the men. She's...well, she's a woman. And she's a pretty woman-not that that's all that matters-and she's got a way of talking, moving that makes Steve think that a guy who thought exclusively with his second brain would do just about anything she asked. He resolves to make sure Bucky doesn't catch much sight of her.

Bess and Dolores get along as well as cats and water do, he finds out and so by the end of the week he's moved his desk in between the two of them at Dolores' request. Endner doesn't say anything when he notices but then, Steve keeps his eyes firmly on his work rather than his daughter's assets. A girl like him would never give him the time of day anyhow and besides, he needs the money more than he needs a girl on his arm which is a sentiment Bucky howls with indignation at when he expresses it one night after work.

It's the middle of their second week by the time things start going as all things that involve Bucky, women, and not enough supervision do and by the end of the third week he catches them behind one of the shipping containers while he's checking a shipment. Bucky doesn't say much but Steve's got enough to say about it for the two of them.

“What's with you and Agnes, anyway? You keep harpin' on her,” he's leaning against the cold metal shivering now that Bess has taken her warmth with her and Steve nearly drags him inside the office to ream him somewhere warmer then remembers Dolores is probably in there having a smoke. Steve shrugs off his coat-it's Bucky's old one and it'll be too short on him now but it's better than freezing. Bucky shoves it back at him, jaw set so Steve takes it back.

“It's not right and you know it. A mistake's a mistake, Buck, but you ought to think about her feelings,” he gives him a look and Bucky's shoulders slump.

“Can't all be Saint Steve, you know.”

“That's not fair.”

“Yeah.”

“Besides, if I'm a Saint what does that make you?” he says, gives a small smile that makes Bucky shake his head. Steve thinks Bucky'd probably be an angel or something corny like that what with how girls are always swooning over him however it's a thought he keeps to himself.

“Shaddup, punk.”

Steve punches him in the shoulder, “you first.”

Bucky slings his arm around Steve's shoulders as they head back to the main part of the yard and his anger starts to disappear. It's probably not their bond that does it-can't be because they're platonic and everyone's made it very clear at every opportunity that they don't work the same as normal people's bonds do-so he chalks it up to just being unable to stay mad at him which isn't exactly a lie either. He won't meddle in his love life. He would never go that far because he knows he doesn't need to. Bucky will do the right thing. Always does.

~~**~~

By the time lunch rolls around Steve is ready for a sandwich and some hot soup-maybe cocoa but that's until he hears the tell-tale sounds of a fight. It'll be Bucky. It's always Bucky. And it's always the same sort of reason for why he'd gotten into it. He heads over to the docks where the conflict has broken into a full out brawl and looks for Bucky. He's in the middle of it getting beat on and it's not because he's a turn the other cheek type either.

“HEY!” his voice explodes out of his mouth louder than he's ever yelled before and the guys stop for a second to regard him. They don't waste much time in turning to him but Bucky's grabbing him before he can really get involved and dragging him. It's not the first time they've hoofed it to escape a fight and it won't be the last, either. He knows Bucky hates to run and Steve hates it too-too stubborn-but these aren't just neighbourhood bullies.

They make it to the subway station before Steve starts wheezing which has to be some sort of record and Bucky shoves him down onto the bench. It'll turn into an attack soon enough, he knows, but for now he's okay.

“Called you...” Bucky won't meet his eyes which means it'd been bad.

“I know.”

He knows too that he'd probably been hearing it the entire time. There are people like Dolores, Endner who don't give a good gosh darn who's bonded to who so long as they're kept out of it but there'll always be others who do. Who can't shut their mouths to save their skins and don't get tired of telling them they're disgusting or scrutinizing their actions like how Steve is never far from Bucky's side, how Bucky will drop a gal in two seconds flat if she has anything but good things to say about Steve will tell a different story than the 'we're only friends' story they put out there. It's not right. He knows it's not right. But it's the way it is, and if Bucky were really desperate he could run off long enough for their bond to wither and die.

Bucky's words come quickly along with his breath. His fists are clenching and unclenching as he paces along the length of the bench, “Can't just let 'em talk about it like that. Like we're dirty pervs. We ain't-they don't have anyone, haven't got-”

“I know, Buck.”

They're quiet for awhile until Steve's breathing calms down and Bucky is sitting beside him, hand still rubbing his back unconsciously, “sorry I got us canned.”

“We'll find something else. At least one of us has to be good for something.” With how someone always needs cheap labour his money's on Bucky which he doesn't say either. Hates to see him feel like he has to say something good even though it's okay, Steve has his lot in life and it isn't lifting things. He's alright enough at art that sometimes people pay him for portraits despite his insistence that they're not good enough for that and selling papers isn't too physically strenuous.

“Yeah.”

He sits with his head between his knees, thigh pressed against Bucky's until he stops shaking with anger. They go home and Steve checks on his stash of money under his mattress. He can take care of the two of them for awhile if they live modestly and it won't stop Bucky from looking guilty when he thinks Steve can't see him but it's enough and that's about the only thing Steve can ask for.  

Chapter Text

They're in the apartment-their new one above Mr and Mrs. McCarthy-when the music on the radio halts. It's December 7^th, 1941 and there'd been a poll about the British fight with the Japanese that they'd run in the paper. Most people had agreed America would go to war. Steve and Bucky had agreed if that turned out to be the case they'd sign up together and now it's happening. They don't say anything. Not much to say. People are dead like they've only read about in books. His father, Bucky's, had fought in the first World War and Steve's had turned to the bottle. Bucky's hadn't fared much better. It's in their backyards now rather than just text in books, poppies pinned on lapels, and moments of silence that the youngest of kids these days don't even remember the reason for. War had been a slowly fading memory and now it's not. He would be lying if he were to say he isn't scared-the cowards had attacked them without warning, without any provocation at all, killed all of those people. So he's scared. But that's never stopped him from doing the right thing before and he doesn't intend to have it start doing so. It's imperfect but this is his country, his home. He intends to protect it and that's about all there is to it.

Bucky paces the length of the apartment while Steve turns up the radio just to make sure. It's a reflex to pray by now even if he doesn't go to church much anymore so he does but it isn't enough as the news is repeated ad nauseum until the words cease to register and Bucky flips the radio off.

They sit on the couch with the springs that poke at anyone daring enough to perch on it wrong and Bucky grabs his hand and holds it so tight Steve thinks he might break it.

It's not a surprise when President Roosevelt announces his intention to declare war on Japan the very next day nor is it any sort of shock that congress accepts his bid within hours. He and Bucky start heading down to Goldie's Gym twice a week after that to train up for awhile. If they're in decent shape in a couple years they'll get in and be prepared for Basic all in one-if they'd been a nurse and a soldier bonded pair the recruitment officers would've made sure they went somewhere close. Steve isn't about to lie on the forms about if he's bonded or not but he's not holding out any hope that he and Bucky get sent near to each other. Might be for the best, he thinks as he punches at a heavy bag that probably ways twice what he does. If they weren't bonded anymore Bucky could find some pretty dame, settle down with her, and Steve could... Well, there's someone out there for everyone.

Bucky is having no trouble jumping rope for minutes at a time after the past two years of hard work and that's just the time he puts in at the gym. Steve has to stop three times for every one of Bucky's and it doesn't do anything more than make him more determined. His mother had always told him that if some people put half the effort into actually doing something as they did complaining about not being able to it that the world would be a lot nicer and Steve is 25 now with a wealth of experiences to draw on yet it's her words he returns to most often. Her grave is in the military cemetery next to his father's and he tries not to think about that because even if he really tries he can't remember a good thing about him. He'd been an overgrown schoolyard bully and Steve can't bring himself to truly hate anyone but beside his father isn't where he'd have chosen to put his mother. Maybe in heaven he's a good man, healed from the wounds the war had left, and she's happy with him like she'd been before Steve'd been born, before the war. He hopes so.

“Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“Don't, you'll hurt yourself,” Bucky punches him hard in the shoulder and Steve manages not to wince. They'll be up against things a lot worse than punches overseas.

“Wasn't it you who ran into that fight last week and had a black eye for a week after?”

“You sayin' I don't think, punk?”

He grins, “surprised you caught it.”

Bucky laughs and anyone else would've gotten a real punch after that. “Come on, let's go get a bite.”

“You think the girls'll want to kiss your sweaty face?”

“Never said anything about any girls.”

“You never do,” Steve says as he carefully unwraps his hands, smiles, “they'll sure be sorry when you're gone off to war.”

“Be sorry they missed out on you.”

“Sure,” he replies and doesn't mean for it to come out so maudlin sounding. It's true anyhow. The last two years in particular have packed muscle and height onto Bucky while Steve can barely get an inch in four. The girls still love Bucky-it's a constant and it's okay. Steve's not the type to go for just anyone. He's just got to wait for the right partner is all. Someone who can appreciate a 5”6, skinny asthmatic with a knack for picking up whichever cold, flu, or virus is going around town.

Bucky waits until he's upright again to pull him against his side. It still sends a pleasant ripple through his body that's echoed in Bucky's even fifteen years after their bonding just to touch but they don't do it much anymore. Too much risk and both of them working besides that. Then there's the fact that Bucky's more interested in touching girls than Steve at the moment and he's glad. Bucky is a normal kind of guy and when their bond is nothing better than a whisper on the wind it'll make the loss much easier. Bucky won't even feel it, he bets, amongst all the other things he'll be feeling on the battlefield and it's for the best. They can still be just friends. It'll be easier for the two of them.

“Come on, I got enough cash for us both to eat,” he says and Steve follows, still tucked under his arm where it shouldn't feel safe but does. They're grown now, he doesn't need protecting, and there's no need for him to feel most secure when he knows Bucky's got him. Still, he doesn't pull away until they're out the door and into the street where prying eyes are sure to find them.

They do find girls, even ones that'll put up with how they'd just come from the gym and Bucky preens all night like a peacock whenever they say they're going to join up, fight the Nazis, protect America because the war ain't ending anytime soon and if they don't fight then who will? It's really a surprise to no one when the next week Steve finds his file stamped with a large, red 4F that exclaims to the entire world that he's ineligible for combat due to health reasons. Bucky tells him he'll fight the war for him. Steve doesn't tell him right away he's planning on trying again elsewhere.

~~**~~

Filling in the documents isn't difficult. It's illegal to lie on recruitment forms, sure, but he can't just stay home and do nothing. Not on account of how he'd been born. He picks up the pen from the cup holding a few others for guys to use before stepping into line where posters declaring that Uncle Sam wanted him for the US Army are like wallpaper. Steve wonders if Uncle Sam will want Steve Rogers from Rhode Queen's more than he wanted Steve 4F Rogers from Brooklyn.

No matter where he goes the exam is the same. The medical records are the same and even if they weren't his body is. The dubious look on the recruitment officer's face is the same. Their answer is the same. 4F. Not fit for combat. He could do other things, he supposes, he could work for a bomb factory except that with all the fumes he'd have an asthma attack a foot inside the building. He could subsist on the rationing system except that he's been rationing his food since he was 12. He could gather scrap metal except that he can't lift much and doesn't have a car or help for transport. He wants to go where he's needed, where other men are dying for the cause so that he can live because he doesn't deserve to sit around in comfort while other people are being shot up with bullets just for the sole reason of his body. Steve thinks he could handle a gun fine if he really worked at it, could survive in the trenches as long as he's careful but the recruitment office examining Steve Rogers from Jersey doesn't agree. The stamp comes down and the man behind the desk gives him a somewhat sympathetic look.

“I'm doing you a favour. I'm saving your life.”

“I could-”

“Davies, Adam.”

And that conversation is over. He passes a line of poles with posters plastered to them on the way to the movie theatre. Bucky's off somewhere that probably has to do with his acceptance into the army with how he'd been so vague about it and he'd said he'd meet Steve afterwards. There'd been a little bit of envy-okay, a lot of envy-when Bucky had pulled the bandaid off about his papers going through over breakfast but Steve had smiled anyway, done his best to look happy for him rather than sad for himself. It's not Bucky's fault that something in Steve made him turn out the way he had and besides that he'll find a way to get over there with him, he knows it.

He hadn't expected to end up in the alleyway behind the theatre but it doesn't shock him like it probably should. People these days are rude, say too much and think too little before opening their mouths, and Bucky'd say that Steve should take his own advice but he doesn't have to. They head for the World's Exposition of Tomorrow which touts they show the future, today! With Bucky in uniform, with Bucky who has his marching orders and with Steve's date who ignores him. By the time the night is over Bucky is gone and Steve is neck deep in something he only half understands. It doesn't leave him much time to feel any loss and he'll find Bucky anyhow-they won't be apart forever.

~~**~~

Peggy Carter can't be described in cliches. She is not a cool drink of water on a hot day, she is not a looker(but she is) with half a brain, and she's not an All American gal. He can't find the words to describe her so he draws her instead. In between Bucky's smirk, Beth the USO girl ecstatic to be travelling the world even if her damn feet are killing her, the trains, planes, and cars he travels in, Colonel Phillips, Dr. Erskine, is Peggy Carter's confident smile lined in red, her sharp eyes that miss nothing, her brown hair that god, Steve wants to run his fingers through just once if she'd let him, arranged in victory curls as a statement of her confidence in their ability to win the war.

She isn't his soulmate-can't be because despite the distance he feels a thread tethering him to Bucky-but she could've been. They see each other in snippets, scraps of time left over after everything else is gone and for only the second time in his life he longs for scraps.

It's Peggy that finds him drawing himself as a dancing monkey and it's Peggy who pushes him to get on that plane because Bucky isn't dead and he can feel it no matter how much any of them tells him otherwise. Bucky is the steady beat of his heart. Bucky might be hurt, might be hidden away somewhere but he can feel him still there-the tiniest of specks in the back of his brain tells him he's not gone.

Steve breaks into the HYDRA base alone, with only his flimsy shield and a flimsier uniform for protection. He finds a pack of guys who tell him that there's an American man held somewhere in the joint and his brain is pushed past the point of rational thought-it's a different him, the him that thinks of strategy and variables and not of all the tricky emotions that could get him killed in this war-so he doesn't realize it's Bucky until he's there in front of that table. Until Bucky rasps out his name and number and Steve is blindsided with him. Just him. The set of his jaw, his hair, his voice that is almost gone, the way he quips that he thought Steve was taller when the words “I thought you were dead” stumble out of Steve's lips like a dying man struggles towards salvation.

Bucky is alive.

~~**~~

When he gets back to base there's a flurry of pissed off colonels and grateful men that want to buy Steve a beer so he goes with them to a pub nestled between a sandwich shop and a tailor's. There's Jim Morita. American born Japanese who burps, drinks, and yells louder than all of them, Dum Dum Dugan who wears a bowler hat near constantly and fights anyone who dares taking it off of him, Dernier and Jones who speak almost constantly between each other in a combination of French and English Steve doesn't even try to understand, Falsworth a British born fellow who is closer to Steve than Bucky in personality but joins them in drinking games that will probably leave the lot of them out of commission for the night anyway, and Bucky. Bucky who keeps stealing glances at him because goddamn, kid. Steve can't remember many other times when he's been this buzzed on happiness. Peggy comes, promises him a dance, and goes until there's him, the other guys, and a bar full of men trying to drink their way through whatever they'd seen that week.

“So, you got a girl back home?” one of them asks and he'd known this was coming.

“Nah. Before now girls never had an eye on me,” he says around his fifth pint that lacks the same punch as it did before. He wonders if he can get drunk anymore. Erskine hadn't ever said but he knows that he has to eat more than a horse to keep himself in peak condition so it would only stand to follow that he'd have to drink his own weight in liquor to get drunk.

Bucky punches him in the shoulder. He's drunk but with how he'd been strapped to a table only a sleepless day ago Steve can't say he blames him, “you're bein' modest. Girls'd love ya now. Make up for lost time.”

It's years of training himself not to that keeps him from pulling Bucky close and saying something embarrassing. Something he'd have said as a kid that would sound weird coming out of a grown man's mouth about his best friend even if that best friend is bonded to him. Platonically. He grins instead, “I'm waiting for the right one.”

“You guys are a buncha saps, come on. I took out three Nazi bastards on my own, how about you?” Morita slams down his glass as he says it and it must be a signal because the bar breaks out into song after that. A mixed set list of God Save the Queen and the Star Spangled Banner and songs Steve wouldn't repeat in front of a lady.

He grins and Bucky smiles back, clamps his hand around the back of Steve's neck and shakes, “we got it good, Steve. Got it real good.”

Chapter Text

Steve'd seen the locations of all the HYDRA bases on the map and even if it'd only been a quick glance he can remember. It's strange and they raise a glass to Dr. Erskine for making it possible with the serum while Steve points out the places he'd seen marked. They're all over the continent-Colonel Phillips tacks the maps up on the corkboard then turns.

“I hope you boys have your passports.”

It's mid-afternoon and the camp is all working at patrols or else they're nursing their wounds, playing cards while they wait for their next orders. All but the seven of them plus Agent Carter and Colonel Phillips.

Peggy stands up next and when she sweeps her glance over the group Steve barely manages to keep the grin off his face, “alright, boys, what we need is a team.”

“I got a team in mind!” Bucky calls out and Steve elbows him. He nudges him back.

They still haven't got a name-Bucky'd suggested Steve's Psychos but he'd shot that one down. After last night he doesn't have any doubt that people already think they're crazy. Better to keep your mouth shut and look like an idiot than open it and remove all doubt, after all.

Peggy smiles, shakes her head like she's not used to army guys who never shut up, “you're hooligans, the lot of you.”

“That's one word for it,” Steve mutters and Bucky smirks when he meets his eye.

“The plan is to take out the bases in a random formation, to keep them in the dark. This has to be quick, gentlemen, and there's no margin for error. If we fail here we lose the war.”

The quicker they can get to the bases and take them out the more it'll keep HYDRA guessing-they won't have time to raise the drawbridge before they're at their gate. Steve nods and he isn't sure if the smile on Peggy's face is for him when they lock eyes but he sure wishes it is.

“You doubtin' us? I got 2 bucks that says we got this war over by Christmas,” Morita's voice again. Steve thinks that he and Bucky must be cut from a similar cloth with how words seem to come so easily to them.

“Sure thing. Group of guys like us? No sweat,” Bucky agrees, adds, “and we got Steve, he's gotta be worth something.”

“Funny guy.”

“Focus, good God,” Peggy is still smiling though, “this won't be easy. There won't be much time for leave and this operation is Top Secret. Incoming letters are allowed but any outgoing letters will be confiscated until the censors can make sure you aren't giving anything away.”

“You mean like every other letter I sent? Swear the god damn government took the picture my girl sent me.”

Dum Dum perks up, “hey you mean the pretty American girl with the brown hair, hips like-”

“Shaddup.”

They're snapped to attention when Peggy slams her hand against the corkboard, “you will be getting more detailed orders the night before. Do try to get a good night's sleep.”

Steve stifles a laugh because everyone had born witness to the group of them-Steve excluded-dragging themselves out of their tents with pathetic moans and plenty of puking. Bucky'd gotten lucky but then he and Bucky had been drinking since they could con someone into handing over a bottle and Bucky had always been able to hold his alcohol well. Steve remembers throwing up half of his body weight after the first time they'd gotten their grimy mitts on some decent scotch.

They're dismissed to go about tending their wounds and lingering hangovers so Steve nods his head towards his tent and Bucky follows. There's not much to do when they've not got orders but hang around. They're used to it. When they get inside Steve gathers his sketchbook and Bucky flops near him with a book. It could be back home almost. If home had the threat of shells being dropped on them or the near constant stench of shit, piss, and death. Then again, Steve hadn't had to take the tent nearest to the latrine but he takes up enough space as it is and eats more than any of them besides that. He's used to the smell by now if he's honest though Bucky still crinkles his nose every time he's here.

“You and Carter sure aren't takin' any prisoners, huh?” Bucky has been reading the same page for the past ten minutes so he'd been waiting for him to say something. He never works that hard at reading-prefers movies and the radio. It makes knowing when Bucky's got something on his mind real easy at least.

Steve lifts his head from his sketch for half a second but Bucky is staring firmly at his book,“Me and Peggy? I mean, Agent Carter.”

“Yeah, you and her.”

“Well she is...uh...” he can't think of the words as if he's talking to her rather than just Bucky.

“You guys...?”

“She's not that kind of girl,” his face turns red from a mixture of embarrassment and being offended on her behalf because Peggy isn't the kind of gal to just hop into bed with anyone and even if he wouldn't mind...he wouldn't unless he married her first, anyway. She deserves the best and not some one night stand and Steve's never done anything with anyone so if he did do that she'd for sure never come back to want to go steady.

“You two make eyes at each other like you did.”

“It's not like that. She's just. You know. Special. You know I wasn't...Girls never cared about me before,” he finishes and Bucky is still gazing at the pages of his novel like they hold the secrets of the whole world inside of them.

“Sure.”

“You're not-Jeez, Buck, I didn't know. If you were gonna ask her out...” he sets his sketchbook to the side and rubs the back of his neck like a guy from one of those hard boiled detective movies.

“Nah,” he snaps the book shut, grins,“she's only got eyes for you, lucky bastard. Come on, show me what you're drawing.”

~~**~~

The first base they bust into is their trial run if it can be called that with such high stakes. Dum Dum wants to blow the whole thing to hell, Dernier is of a similar opinion, Jones wants to run in guns blazing which is a sentiment Morita fully endorses more than once on the plane ride over, and Falsworth calls them all bloody animals before proposing a more subtle approach. Visibility is low because of the snow and Steve plans to make use of it. What they can't see cant see them either and while the HYDRA agents will have the home field advantage they aren't miles from home and high on no sleep. Bucky sits beside him as he bends over the overhead photo intelligence had taken of the place, says he won't be much use with the weather the way it is and Steve shakes his head.

“Never heard you sound so sure of being useless before.”

“You ever try to find a target through a scope in the middle of a blizzard?”

Steve shoves him with his shoulder, nearly sends him flying but his hand shoots out and grabs him before he falls, “sorry.”

“Still getting used to it, huh?”he straightens up on his own though Steve keeps his hand on his arm. He isn't nervous about the op, not really, but there are plenty of other things vying for his attention and worry besides that.

“Yeah. First day I fell into a boutique over on 5th through the window,” his face heats at the memory. All he'd managed was a quick 'sorry' at the time and it felt inadequate for all the trouble he's probably caused them.

Bucky's laughter quiets all of them for a second and he hadn't laughed without being drunk in a week. The knot in Steve's stomach loosens slightly at the sound though it doesn't go away completely. Bucky peels the flag meant to represent himself-red circle-off the map before repositioning it somewhere closer to Steve's starting position,“You go back after?”

“Couldn't. They uh...didn't let me out much at first alone. Had to be sure the serum took. Peggy said they'd pay for the damage but...” he glances down then to Bucky, “you sure?”

“You sayin' I'm only good at hitting guys from afar?”

“You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn on a clear day no matter where you were standing.”

“Think you're talkin' about the old you, punk.”

The old him. He doesn't say it because there's no reason to-he should feel better-but he doesn't feel like a new him. He feels like Steve Rogers' thoughts slapped into a new container with shinier paint than the old one. When he sees his hands now he doesn't think 'that's me'. It hasn't occurred to him yet maybe that he's changed. Since they'd found Bucky he starts when he sees him because when had Bucky gotten so small? He shakes his head. Now's not the time.

“Sorry to break up your little party over here boys but we've got a problem,” Dum Dum says from the doorway. The snow is blowing in through it, bringing cold air with it and Steve sets the map to the side before heading over, Bucky in tow.

“What is it?”

“You see a HYDRA base down there?”

Steve sees a hell of a lot of snow.

“Pas possible,” Dernier comments and Steve doesn't need a translation for that. Jones replies in French and they laugh at their private joke.

“What's the problem, haven't you ever jumped into a snow storm before?” Falsworth looks smug when they turn to stare at him.

“Can it, you're not foolin' anyone,” Morita saunters over to the door, “what do you think, Cap?”

“I think that I can see some lights,” he points and knows that it's unlikely any of them see them however there they are shining amongst white as clear as day to him, “stay close. We lose each other out there and we're done for. Just follow my lead.”

“And then we light 'em up like a god damn Christmas tree,” Dum Dum smacks him on the back a couple of times and Steve doesn't think he'll ever understand this guy's love for making things explode but as long as they can get in, get out, get the information they need without hurting anyone who surrenders or possible prisoners...well, he can't bring himself to care much what happens to the building after.

“And then we light 'em up like the fourth of July.”

Dernier and Dugan let out woops and the rest join in until the pilot reminds them they're in restricted airspace. They're a bunch of hooligans but they follow Steve's lead and don't go off to be heroes when they find their footing amongst the landscape of white and Steve thinks as Dum Dum turns the base into something he calls 'explosive art' that they're his hooligans.

~~**~~

He's lying on his sleeping bag-he'd broken every cot they'd given him and he's had worse beds than a dirt floor in a tent-when Bucky comes in. It's late, gotta be about 3am. Steve sits up, opens his mouth to ask what's wrong because Bucky hasn't slept in bed with him in years barring the times Steve has gotten so sick that they'd been sure he wouldn't shake it this time, then shuts it when Bucky starts pacing. By the time he's on his feet he's completed his first circuit and Steve steps in front of him. He doesn't move past, doesn't do anything, doesn't say anything, just stops.

It's strange how when he wraps his arms around him that Bucky fits perfectly as if he's meant to be there, head tucked under Steve's chin despite all the years when it had been Steve in his position. He feels like him for once but then he always feels like himself when Bucky touches him like he's an anchor saying 'this is your body' even when it doesn't feel like it.

They don't say anything. Don't have to. Bucky's breath is a harsh staccato against Steve's neck like he just ran from home to Staten Island and back again and he can only hold him tighter, breath slower, and hope Bucky calms down with him. He rubs his back because that's what people had always done to him and he knows it's comforting but he won't stop. Steve wonders if his asthma had been passed onto Bucky instead as they stand there for what is probably more than five minutes just holding each other. He hadn't. They hadn't. Not since Bucky had left and he'd wanted to, wanted to so that he could stop the voice in his head saying that Bucky being back was just a fever dream but there hadn't been time and he didn't know how bad his injuries had been after being in Zola's lab.

“Fuck,” he barks out against Steve's collarbone then pulls away. Steve wonders if Bucky feels tingly like he does and it's not that he wants Bucky, it's just a normal reaction. Their bond strengthening again.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Hell no. I'm not crazy, Steve.”

Like he'd said the first night after they'd pulled him out of Zola's lab. He'd come to Steve's room then too, so late that Steve had been sure that something had gone wrong, and paced then too like a lion caged until he'd gotten tired enough that he'd just lay down and slept there in the dirt. He wonders what Zola had done. Wishes almost that he'd gone and done something about him back when he'd had the chance except that if he had he wouldn't have found Bucky.

“Didn't say you were,” he heaves out a sigh, “come to bed, Buck.”

“Bit old for that, I'm not a kid. Fuck, Steve, you realize how weird that is? Two grown guys sleeping in bed together? You got...”

Peggy. He has Peggy. Bucky doesn't have to say it.

“Is that what the guys said?” he asks because this can't be Bucky. Not Bucky who as kids, teens, clung like an octopus in the winter and didn't let go in summer even when where their bodies touched was sticky with sweat. He doesn't know if it's weird. Probably is but they've never cared before and he doesn't think it's wrong. It's comfort. It's knowing someone's got your back even when you're being chased, dying in your dreams. It's safety from the monsters in your dreams trying to keep their claws in you after you wake up.

“Nah.”

“You don't gotta protect me, you know. Anyone who messes with you messes with me.”

His laugh is high, nervous and Steve doesn't know why,“You're a real piece of work, you know that, Rogers?”

“Bucky.”

“I'm goin' for a walk.”

“Sure,” he says and sits back down. He doesn't know where Bucky goes because he deserves the privacy that's so hard to come by in the base camp but he doesn't sleep either. He has Peggy and maybe he even loves her, it's true, Bucky hadn't been off about that. Still, Bucky is his. They're two halves of a whole and if it meant he had to lose Peggy to keep Bucky he would even if he wouldn't like choosing. He deserves that devotion after everything he'd done for him.

~~**~~

The next bases run more and more smoothly until Dernier and Bucky get into it with HYDRA and come out of the fight with near matching bullet wounds. Both receive as much medical attention as they can before they both bust out of the infirmary to drink with the rest of them. They call themselves the Howling Commandos now after Jones had dropped a HYDRA patrol on them by howling back and forth with wolves like some kind of madman in the middle of the woods. Steve counts his blessings that he doesn't need much sleep because if he had he wouldn't be getting much of it with how there are days at a time where they don't sleep or one of them takes to howling outside someone's tent until they're rolling around beating on each other for the hell of it. Steve is pretty sure there's a phrase about idle hands but he can't think of it when Bucky and Dum Dum are writhing around in the mud killing themselves laughing in between trying to cause bodily injury.

“Was lucky I even got into this hell hole,” Morita says one night into the dark after they've blown out the candles and they're literally holed up in the remains of a bombed out house, “most of my family got hauled off to internment camps.”

“Land of the free,” Dum Dum chips in from where he's sitting on watch.

“Pays des rêves,” Dernier mutters from his spot near Steve.

Then Jones,“Et patrie des braves.”

“You wanna shut up, Frenchy?” Morita growls and they're only fighting because none of them have eaten anything but months old rations for a week and wish for their crappy cots back at base camp but they can't afford to be fighting here or now.

Steve'd heard of the internment camps of course. They'd started rounding up anyone who even looked Japanese straight after the attacks and Morita is right. He is lucky. But not much. It's not right, a lot of the things done in the name of America these days aren't, and hearing things like that don't make him proud to have the title Captain America but he'll fix it. Nothing comes out of someone's head perfect the first time and countries are no different. Once they see how Morita, the others all saved their skins some people'll come around. Not all but some. Until then they've got each other and Steve knows that one guy who's got your back against everything is better than none-they've all got six now.

“Oh shut up,” Falsworth sighs and sounds long suffering the way only he can though the conversation has been about a minute and a half long.

“Shut your tea hole, princess.”

“Enough,” Steve turns on his command voice though he hates abusing it, “lights out.”

“You're keepin' Cap from his beauty sleep, fellas,” Bucky murmurs from where he's positioned at Steve's back, voice rough from sleep and it does something to him to hear his voice like that. Steve stays quiet, ignores it because he doesn't know what it is. He thinks of Peggy and tries to sleep.

It's awhile afterwards that they find information that links Arnim Zola to a cargo train and Steve thinks that he'll finally get his chance to pay him back for Bucky.

Chapter Text

Bucky is dead.

Bucky is dead.

It rolls around in his brain for awhile, a concept that hasn't solidified into a realization yet. They take in Zola and question him and Bucky is dead. The commandos are silent in spite of their victory because Bucky is dead. Steve undresses, he folds his clothes, and sits on his bed. He calls goodnight out to Bucky but Bucky doesn't answer.

Bucky is dead.

It hits him then, and again in the morning. It blindsides him at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It sneaks up on him as he opens his mouth to comment on the food and when he shivers through a shower. The others are hushed in dealing with him and he wishes they wouldn't be because it's too quiet now and he longs for the loud chatter of his men as they go about their couple days of leave but he doesn't ask because Bucky is gone and Steve killed him. He doesn't deserve to ask for things.

He wakes up the second day and there's a hole in his chest like he'd been the one on Zola's table. He rubs at it like the pain will ease as it had before when he'd gotten chest pains however it just aggravates it until he can't move with how much it hurts. He spends the day lying in bed struggling to breathe because of an asthma attack that's all in his head. There's no Bucky to rub his back or boil water so he can inhale the steam. There's no Bucky making jokes to lighten the mood.

The wind whispers to him as he treks to the bar that Bucky isn't coming back, the silence of the space once he gets there and he sits there tells him frankly that he is truly alone in this place now. He sobs, hoping to fill the gaping wound with tears, and when that doesn't work he tries with booze but he can't get drunk so he cries more.

He is alone. All alone. Bucky is gone. In his heart, in his soul, in his mind, at his very core he knows this. He thinks of how they were going to go home. How Steve was going to marry Peggy and they'd have a real shot at something normal. He thinks about how he and Bucky used to go down to Coney on off days and just walk along the beach for as long as their(Steve's) feet would allow talking about nothing. He thinks about how he hadn't caught Bucky. He thinks about how he'd let him fall, had insisted he be there because he hadn't wanted anyone else at his back and rubs more at his chest.

He aches all over and when he goes to grab another shot his hand shakes so bad he knocks the glass to the floor. His teeth chatter like he's neck deep in a snow drift and he wraps his arms around himself to keep from shaking apart but his arms don't feel like his own and they don't feel like Bucky's. The embrace is hollow. It's nothing and does nothing to stop the tremors. He sobs into the empty bar until the place has been packed to the ceiling with it. Until he can't breathe except to gasp in air. Bucky is dead Bucky is dead Bucky is dead.

He doesn't expect to see Peggy walk through the door and her words don't fill the hole in his heart but they stop the bleeding for the moment.

The Commandos didn't know except that they must have because they don't ask why he keeps shaking. After a week that blurs together he can work through it, shut off the part of him that's panicking because Bucky is gone, the other part of him is just gone, but he still can't force himself to do much in the way of eating. He has to and so when it gets bad he chokes down enough to keep him alive and useful but he could easily just stop. He might, after the war is won and there's a house to go back to but no home. Hell, it's ridiculous and he prays so much that he's sure God or whoever is up there if there is someone is tired of hearing from him. He drinks too much even though he hates the burn and it doesn't do anything to keep the moment Bucky'd fallen from replaying every night in his dreams. It can't be real but he remembers the feel of his fingertips. The very tips and remembers feeling that he'd be okay except that their hands hadn't even been close and he knows it.

“If you've lost your 'mate they'll let you have leave, for God sakes,” Falsworth hands him another bottle then drains his own glass. They're trying to match him and it must be because they think that this could be the time he ends up in a gutter somewhere and he's told them he can't drink fast enough for that to happen, they've tried getting him drunk themselves before, but they won't leave him to his own devices. Not after they'd spent that night with him after their quiet victory celebration when Steve hadn't been able to speak without Bucky's name falling out of his mouth. So they won't leave him. They have his back, all five of them but five isn't enough. It's greedy, but it's not enough.

Steve pours himself another double, “sorry I never told you.”

“Anyone with half a brain could see you were mad about each other, good god, man. What do you take us for?”

“I don't...”

They don't say anything about it because they've known all along. They could've all abandoned him as soon as they realized he and Bucky were bonded-it wouldn't have been unusual-and yet they hadn't. Haven't. It's not the alcohol that burns at his eyes but they don't call attention to it when he bows his head.

“Christ, you're pathetic, Cap,” Morita sighs out. They're all more than half in the bag now and he continues, “can't be that you like us that much or the war either. Take a break an' spare us.”

He's cut from a similar cloth as Bucky but Morita isn't Bucky.

“Only pathetic one is you,” Dum Dum smirks around the rim of his mug, “red as hell and drunk off a few hits of cheap beer.”

Steve smiles though it feels like he should never be allowed to be happy or to smile again and it just spurs them on.

“You callin' me a lightweight, Dumbo?”

Morita grabs the bottle from Steve and not for the first time the Commandos drag each other to their tents and wake up with their heads splitting like someone's hit them with a hammer.

It's not long after he steers Schmidt's plane into the water while Peggy tells him not to be late for their date. He hadn't wanted to hurt her so he prayed that she got over him quickly in the last seconds before the water came up to meet him.

~~**~~

“This guy's still alive!”

Steve can't open his eyes. His body doesn't respond to any of his commands despite how he keeps sending them more and more frantically. He's trapped in something. Zola, Red Skull has got him and they about to cut him open like they'd done to Bucky. It tears the skin off his lips, the eyelashes from his lids for him open his eyes and scream his name and number. Someone holds him down as people scramble around to help the guy pushing him down though he can't move his limbs because of how they're encased in ice.

He passes out and when he wakes up again he hears the sound of a baseball game on the radio. One hell of a nightmare, he thinks, but he's had them before that bad. Bucky must've kept the damn radio on when he went out like he always did except that he and Bucky had gone to the game on the radio together. Had eaten overpriced hot dogs and drank overpriced sodas for the love of the game and that night Bucky'd crawled into bed with him to talk more about it. They'd fallen asleep facing each other and Steve remembers thinking that waking up every morning with Bucky breathing morning breath on him wouldn't be so bad.

“I was there,” he says to not-Peggy. She freezes in midstride before taking a step backward.

“Steve, just-” and he doesn't mean to scare her but his own heart it is beating too quickly. He doesn't know what this means. Who would play him a recording of a baseball game from years ago? Why bother? Is this some sort of torture, some sort of dream or heaven? Hell? He dismisses heaven. She backs up again in an attempt to placate him that ends with him crashing through the wall of the room.

It's a facade. It's not real. He's been captured somehow and the Commandos'll find him but he has to try to escape while he can so he can meet them halfway. All that runs through his head in conscious thought is his name, rank, and number until he hits Times Square, it must be Times Square because it looks like it but different. Too many cars, lights, impossibly tall buildings. He must be in limbo. That's why everything is different. Even the smell is different and he wishes for the terrible smell of his tent over in France because at least then he'd know what this is.

He runs until cars force him to stop and people are honking their horns at him. He's not out of breath because he's tired when the man with the eye-patch catches up but all he can manage to say to sum up everything is, “I had a date.”

The man with the eyepatch's name is Nick Fury and he's black and in charge of an entire military operation. No one gives him hateful glares in return when he issues an order, there are no barely concealed whispers that he's only where he is because someone had taken pity on him. He spots more people. Men, women, white, black, everything in between, everyone working in the same office without being segregated like one of them is lesser.Steve opens his mouth to tell Jones but Jones is dead. Must be.

Steve stays quiet as Nick leads him through the HQ and explains how SHIELD works, what they'll do for him because he's a hero.The building is one of the too tall ones and Steve privately thinks it ruins the skyline though not as badly as the other one. The agents all work on screens he can't imagine existing outside of a sci-fi film but here they are in abundance like typewriters had been back home. Well, if a kid got lucky and the school had maintained their equipment okay. He remembers sharing with Bucky who had never had much patience for that kind of thing. Always  interested in making up silly languages of his own so he and Steve could talk without the sisters then later their teachers noticing but never English. Steve had been jealous of his imagination then. Bucky'd said 'nah, it's nothin'' each time despite how he'd shoved his hands in his pockets in an attempt to hide how pleased he'd been. 

Fury tells him some of the things that have changed-the obvious, and the not so obvious. The first black president, polio being cured, something called Apple which Fury insists are 'sneaky bastards'. Women allowed to hold full time jobs outside of wartime, don't ask don't tell repealed and Steve doesn't know much about that but Fury says it's a good thing, Soulmate finding services that aren't just out for a quick buck(and a few that still are).

They ascend the stairs to the next floor and Steve wants to tell him that they'd had elevators in his day.  

“It's great,” he says out loud finally because he can't hold it in anymore, “everyone. I mean. Back in my day sir, they treated coloured people...”

“Times have changed, Captain,” Fury opens the door to a room with a bed that seems to be the last stop on their tour, “and so have the terms. Call me if you need anything.”

Steve nods and tries to get his foot out of his mouth.

~~**~~

He doesn't sleep much in the room without windows. He thinks that it's probably like that so that if an agent is sleeping in the middle of the day they're not disturbed however to him it just reminds him of water closing in. He hadn't held his breath. Water had just poured in and he'd let it, breathed it like a baby in the womb until there hadn't been anything at all. He Calls Bucky. But Bucky doesn't answer.

By the time 5am comes around he's rooting through the dresser beside the bed and finds a shirt that's mostly his size. A little bit tight maybe but shirts haven't ever fit him right. He jogs down the twelve flights stairs unseen by the other agents or they just haven't noticed him yet and finds the entryway with its glass windows and doors. Outside of there is the future. Steve breathes deeply but he still can't force himself to step any closer to the door. People are starting to stare at him now and it's not long before an agent and his 'mate-has to be because they walk in sync and there's hardly a foot between them-approach.

“Do you have clearance, sir?” the man is wearing a suit, he looks official. He's smiling as he says it however there's a group of others milling around as though they're being secretive about their presence. It's incase he tries to bust out of here by force, Steve knows, and he'd have taken the same precaution but it doesn't stop him from thinking they're overestimating him a bit. 

“I-uh. Probably not,” Steve swallows a lump in his throat and tries to laugh.

The woman continues, she's smiling too, “It's just a precaution. There's a lot of things that...aren't going to look exactly how you remembered.”

“I know ma'am. But isn't keeping me in only making it worse?”

The thought of going out for real makes his palms sweat but he has to. He has to do it quickly before he has time to think about it. He has to see what's different. Has to try and get past this except that everyone he knows, has ever known is dead. His hands start to shake so badly he's sure they see it but they let him go back to his room anyway with only a “I've gotta go” as an explanation. The bed isn't comfortable which is a comfort-he isn't sure he'd known a nice bed if he slept in it anymore-while he's laying there staring up at the white ceiling. There aren't any cracks or water stains illuminated by the yellow light thrown by the lamp on his bedside table. No noise upstairs or downstairs; it's like a self-contained house except that it has no windows. No sound at all. He shivers to go along with how his hands tremble and when he closes his eyes, tries to will them to stop because he's a grown man and he's seen worse than this, all he can see is swirling snow behind his lids. It isn't long before he's on his feet again.

There seems to be a woman standing guard in front of his room-she isn't not-Peggy-and she turns when he opens the door. He takes a breath, not trusting his voice not to break before asking her where he can find a gym.

"Of course. Two floors down, on the right. Can't miss it from the elevator, sir!" 

"Thanks, ma'am."

He makes it about two steps before her voice follows him, “are you really Captain America?”

She seems happy with his answer.

The gym is full of equipment Steve can't even begin to name. All with bright screens displaying numbers on them and he has never really seen the point in running in place so he ignores most of them in favour of the things he does know. The hour means that the place is empty and Steve finds a roll of tape before sitting down to wrap his hands. This is familiar yet not which seems to be the theme of the week. He thinks of he and Bucky training before the war and of how he'd never thought once that it could be the last time he'd see him. How he'd never had any doubt Bucky would come home and by then Steve would be fixed and Bucky could get a wife that made him happy rather than a soulmate that made him look like what others would consider a freak. He'd wanted to save him from that. But he couldn't even save him from real, physical trouble so it doesn't matter much what he'd intended. Bucky is dead.  

Hitting things is therapeutic. He imagines Red Skull's face. Arnim Zola's face. His own, even because he's 26 and he should be able to get his emotions under control for God sakes. His hands shouldn't be shaking, he should be over this by now because everyone else is. Everyone else has forgotten the war, forgotten the Commandos, forgotten Bucky. The more he hits the bag the more the anger builds until he's grunting into the heavy bag with each punch, asking it why him? Why does he get to come back from the dead while everyone else is six feet under? Why hadn't SHIELD just left him where he'd been, under the sea and away from everything. Content. Not shaking with fear or hurt or anger. Why him? He doesn't get an answer. 

That night he hears Bucky Calling him in his dreams. Strapped to a table Calling him until he can't anymore until he's falling into blank whiteness. His hand reaches out, his fingertips brush Bucky's but he still falls anyway yelling that Steve had done this to him. He wakes into the darkness and doesn't turn on the light.

Chapter Text

The end of the week sees SHIELD handing him the keys to an apartment over in Brooklyn. Steve thinks it can't have changed much, promises to come back twice a week for a check-up and heads for a subway station. He wants to call out to someone, ask them if that's the real price for a couple of tokens because it can't be right. It can't cost that much to ride the subway, it'd only been a nickle from Brooklyn to Coney Island. And the people. He's used to crowds, had been before the war but this is more than anything he's seen. People crowd him in tighter than a sardine in a can and the noise of the train pulling out of the station makes him jump, scan the crowd for the exit because he can't, he can't stay in here because he's trapped and there are...nothing. There's nothing. No HYDRA. The war is over. People will start to stare if he stands there gripping the pole too tight and hyper-ventilating(or at least as much as the serum will allow).He has to pull himself together before people call the cops on him and SHIELD drags him back to their base to their windowless rooms. Needs to go home. Needs to see old streets, buildings, and perhaps most of all needs to bug in. It's irrational and he knows it but he needs to be somewhere safe. SHIELD's provided apartment won't be completely secure-they'll be watching him because he'd been hounding everyone for his own place since he'd known they'd give it to him and they're too invested in what he's doing now to ever let him go without surveillance-however it'll be enough. He'll know where the exits and entrances are. Maybe he'll be able to go out into the world without feeling like it's wrong in a day or two. He shouldn't settle, shouldn't let himself give into his fear, and he knows that Bucky would have never done that and yet he can't shake the feeling of needing to be safe. Over in France, Germany, Austria, he'd known he hadn't been safe but here, now has all the trappings of security without anything to back it up. People post photos all over the place and carry phones with them that track their location in the name of security without ever thinking of who could be watching.

Steve hoists his kit bag higher onto his shoulder. The ride won't be long-about half an hour-so he just has to hold it together for that long. He used to be better at compartmentalizing than this. He wonders as he looks out the window how he could get good at it again then realizes with the war over he likely won't have to. His life probably couldn't be anymore perfect with how he doesn't have to work but has money, didn't see the fight through but has freedom. The Commandos had seen all their hard work pay off. They'd gone on and lived happy, fulfilling lives he's sure and has a folder in his bag that will likely confirm it. He's glad. Jones had seen the civil rights movement go forward, Dernier had seen his country freed, Falsworth had been able to go back to his home and fight for the causes he believed in, Morita had gotten his family back from the internment camps, and Dugan...Dugan had probably gone out and bought a whole boatload of hats. Thinking of it shouldn't have made his chest even tighter because he's happy for them. He forces himself to take a deep breath, let it go in spite of how his heart feels like it's labouring in his chest and tells him he needs more more more air.

“You okay, buddy?” a male voice is to his right and when the car clears out at the station he spots him, “come sit down.”

Steve wonders if this guy is trying to pull a fast one on him, steal his wallet but he goes anyway and sits. They're facing forward with the stranger occupying the seat closest to the window which leaves the aisle one for Steve. He's not sure whether he got the better deal or not. The seats are about as comfortable as the ones from the 30s and 40s. Might even be the same ones. He drums his fingers against his pack before forcing himself to stop by curling his hands into fists. He'll look like a basket case otherwise and he knows what they do with people they think are crazy. They wouldn't risk a lobotomy on him but they could lock him up.

“You a vet?” he catches the end of it then feels guilty that he hadn't been paying attention and looks at him.

“Uh...” it doesn't come right away. The war doesn't feel over. It'd been his life for the past year, almost two and he hadn't been awake to see it end. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Thought so. My dad, brother, they're both vets. Car could backfire anywhere in the city, 2am in the morning and they'd hear it.”

Steve doesn't answer but the guy-wearing a too big shirt and pants that hang down too low-keeps going anyway. “Helps if you've got someone to talk to, y'know? Keep your mind off it. Brother says you live it long enough it takes awhile to catch on that it's over.”

Steve nods because he doesn't trust his voice yet. He feels weak. He can't even make small talk with some guy who can't be older than 19 on the subway. It's alright though. The kid doesn't expect a conversation with how he settles down in his seat like he's planning on taking a nap. It's a bad idea to sleep on the subway alone but Steve resolves to keep an eye out for him.

It isn't long before he's standing to let him out at his stop and Steve really wants to know where the trend of showing off your underpants came from but doesn't ask.

“You're gonna be alright, man.”

“Thanks.”

He doesn't move to the window seat. The scenery outside is different and he doesn't want to see it.

~~**~~

The apartment SHIELD had provided is roomy but not over the top. It's bigger than his quarters in the main building and they must have worked something out with the superintendent because no one comes up to give him the rules about living here or just to say hello. The door locks with an exaggerated sounding click.

It's not quite familiar nor is it incredibly different-just like everything else. There's a television in front of the couch which looks comfortable, a kitchen to his left, and a bedroom past that when he explores. The door that isn't to the bedroom is the bathroom then. The windows aren't open so there's no need to check if they're locked too. He checks anyway. After a couple more minutes of exploring he sets his bag down on the bed. His bed. It doesn't squeal when he sits down and he isn't sure whether to feel happy for the loss or cheated.

When he opens the fridge it's been stocked and that sight alone makes him close it again. He should be happy for what he has except that he knows there are still poor people. He knows that there are still people who can't afford to eat and what has he really done to deserve this? If he'd known where to go to donate it he would have because he doesn't need that much food but he doesn't and he can't bring himself to pick up the phone so he sits at the desk in the living room with the folder.

Jaques Dernier, Deceased. Gabe Jones, Deceased. Jim Morita, Deceased. James Montgomery Falsworth, Deceased. Timothy 'Dum Dum' Dugan, Deceased. James 'Bucky' Buchanan Barnes, Deceased. Stark, Phillips, both gone. By the time he reaches Peggy it takes him a second to realize that there is no red stamp with block letters across her information. He stares at it. They're half a lifetime away from each other now, not to mention an ocean and he doesn't want her to see him like this. Jumping at the smallest sound, obsessively checking locks and windows, and wanting to shout at anyone who looks at him wrong. He's crazy, he decides, and Peggy deserves better than that. He closes the folder and tucks it away in one of the desk drawers.

That night he doesn't sleep much better but he doesn't know if it's because of the cars outside or just his own thoughts racing. At 2am someone's car alarm goes off and he's out of bed reaching for his shield before he has a chance to process anything. They hadn't told him if the shield had survived or not and he hadn't asked. He runs his hand through his hair and pads to the bathroom to take a shower that stays hot longer than he's ever had.

~~**~~

“Doctor Robinson, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Captain Rogers,” the woman holds out her hand and he shakes it before she sits on a chair not too near to the couch on the left wall of the room but not too far either.

He perches on the edge of the cushions and pretends he doesn't want to run out of the place. They'd said check-up not visit to a shrink. Steve says as much and she nods.

“This is part of the physical. Your body is effected as much by itself as it is by the brain, Captain Rogers, and you've had...some very difficult things happen lately.”

“Call me Steve.”

She nods and he hastily adds, “please.”

“Of course, Steve. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Alright. Is it okay for me to ask you a few questions?” she's already asking him a question but he doesn't point that out.

His first instinct is to say no however she's only doing her job that SHIELD had told her to do and he doubts they'd let him leave without saying a word. “Sure.”

“You know you don't have to say yes. It's completely within your rights to say no.”

“It's fine.”

“Great,” she smiles with her mouth closed and he wonders if that's some sort of behavioural...shrink thing. Not smiling with teeth. “Can you tell me about your childhood? Anything that comes to mind.”

“It was normal.”

“Can you expand on that, please?”

“Normal. I. I don't know. My dad fought in world war 1. He died when I was seven. My mother was a nurse,” he wanted to look her in the eyes when he talked but couldn't bring himself to, “she got TB when I was almost ten. Died just after my birthday.”

“I see,” she nods and writes something down on her notepad, “and would you say your relationship with your parents was good?”

“Is this some sort of-I don't know, test or something, ma'am? What does this have to do with...” he sighs, “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay, it's difficult talking to a stranger about this kind of thing at first. Everything said in this room is completely confidential and between us.”

“And SHIELD, right?”

“Not even SHIELD.”

“But this room is bugged, right? They're-” he stops, “I'm not... I'm not crazy.”

She smiles and her voice is soft, calm even though he could probably break her in half if he really wanted to, “even I have a therapist, Steve. No one thinks there's anything wrong with you, but the truth of the matter is you've dealt with things that most people never have to. Soldiers come back from Iraq different men than when they left and it's the same for you. The war is different but the trauma isn't, do you understand?”

He wants to say that everyone has hardship, that everyone has difficulties, that he doesn't need to be here but doesn't. She seems to read that from his silence anyway.

“Look,” she turns her notepad towards him, “all I'm writing is the information you give me for my own convenience.”

He nods.

“It says in our records that you were moved to an orphanage at age ten, is that true?”

“Yes ma'am. It was run by nuns.” It was where he met Bucky, where they bonded. He hadn't been there long by most people's standards however it'll always be special for that reason anyway.

“And after that, where did you go?”

He shrugged, “around. Wasn't much place for two kids.”

“So you brought someone with you when you left the orphanage.”

“Yes ma'am. My best friend. He was one of the-do you know the Commandos?”

“I don't know anyone who grew up when I did who doesn't,” she smiles again, “he was one of the Howling Commandos.”

“Yeah. Bucky. It was his idea to leave. Said he'd had enough of copying out passages from the bible-he wasn't real uh...” he smiles for a second, “he was kind of a shit disturber. Got into a lot of fights.”

Robinson nods, makes a note, “it must have been hard, two young boys living on their own like that.”

“No harder than anyone else.”

“Right. Is there anything that sticks out in your mind about that time? Anything you want to share? It doesn't have to be something you think I'd find significant.”

“Not really,” he lies because talking about his memories of Bucky is only reminding him that he's empty, “can we talk about something else?”

“Of course, anything you'd like.”

“Uh...”

“Why don't we talk about now? How do you feel about being here in 2012?”

“Weird.”

“Weird how?” she's probably halfway to exasperated by now but Steve can't force himself to talk.

“Uh. Everything's...off. People. Buildings.”

“Not how you remembered,” she prompts and he nods.

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything that sticks out that you like?”

He tries to think of something. Stays quiet.

“It's alright if there isn't anything right now.”

'I have plenty of time to think of something' he almost says but doesn't. He has a whole lifetime. “Yeah.”

She sets her notebook on the floor beside her, “you know this isn't a precursor to you going to an institution, Steve. I'm not here to hurt you or trick you. I know that things were different when you were growing up but it's perfectly okay now for a man to talk about his feelings.”

“What if I don't have any?”

“That's normal for someone who has been through what you have.”

“I-are we finished here?”

“We're almost done, yes, I think we can stop early today.”

“Sorry to waste your time,” he murmurs and expects her to sigh or be annoyed but she shakes her head.

“You did well, Steve. This is only the first time we've talked-there's no need to rush into things. I'll see you on Thursday.”

“Yeah."

He doesn't plan on coming back.

Chapter Text

He wants to go to Coney. He doesn't, but he does and it's yet another duality he adds to the growing list. The desire to go to the gym is fought tooth and nail by his need to stay inside where it's safe, seeing a baseball game is impeded not only by the memories of going with Bucky(and now he will go alone) but by how crowds make him panic. Sometimes he wishes he hadn't taken the serum because god, it isn't fixing this, why isn't he better yet? He's been seeing the therapist-no, that's not fair-Doctor Robinson for a couple of weeks now and isn't sure if the annoyance at his inability to talk is real or imagined however he'd had designs that it would only be a few sessions. That after a week or so of sitting on a couch telling a stranger his innermost(or rather, not so innermost) thoughts would cure him of this. His hands, body still shake sometimes when he's hit with something that makes the difference between then and now explicit. He can't imagine how stupid he looks. A guy who can pick up a car if he wanted to hiding in a bathroom repeating positive affirmations to himself under his breath. Robinson had said it might help a little-telling himself out loud that he's safe and the war is over but he thinks the entire thing is a lot of baloney. He doesn't tell her that, of course, she's only trying to help in her own way.

He decides that he'll just have to get out and do something. After a few hours of perusing the internet on the tiny computer SHIELD had given him(they'd called it a mobile phone yet it could do more than make calls) he knows that Goldie's Gym is still around and it fits the bill of being outside in the world while also being familiar so he packs his bag and starts down the stairs. There are a few people hanging around in the lobby talking or collecting their mail but he wrestles again with saying hello and just quickly walking by. They aren't HYDRA. Every single woman in the place turns and stares as he passes-he thinks of Bucky saying 'looks like you got some admirers'-and he can't bring himself to do anything other than smile in the direction. It feels like a small victory anyway.

The street is less forgiving however he moves quickly to a subway station, takes deep breaths through his nose when he's inside to stave off the desire to breath too quickly. The car is less packed than normal due to how it's the middle of the day during work hours which he counts as some sort of sign that he's doing well even if he's never put stock into that kind of thinking before. He shouldn't need signs to do something.

It becomes a routine to go to SHIELD, go to the gym after, and he starts to like it despite how Robinson had told him she'd been planning on taking him out with supervision and that he could have hurt himself by just forcing himself to go out alone. But it has a side-effect of making her tougher on him, pushing him more when he's not opening up, and he likes that too. It feels like progress in something that isn't measured by progress at all. After awhile he steps into a cafe intent on getting a bottle of water and stays for a slice of pie. He adds that to the routine.

It's when he's in the gym that Fury tells him about the Avengers Initiative and if he'd had it in him to say no when the world is in danger-he wouldn't have allowed himself to be Captain America if he had thought he might-he would have. Because there are voices whispering in his head that tell him he isn't ready or else they remind him of how he'd messed up the last time he'd been in a battle. He isn't sure if he trusts himself to lead a group of people like himself.

When he does meet the others he sees himself reflected in them. Damaged, angry, used to giving up more than they ever get back. They all relate to each other through that except for maybe Widow but she's an agent of SHIELD and he doesn't doubt her efficiency. He wonders if any of them are bonded but doesn't notice anyone particularly close to any of them. They fight, they battle inter-dimensional bullies who wear strange costumes, they eat, and they go home.

It isn't until Stark invites them all to his tower-the eyesore-that things change again.

~~**~~

“Come on, old guys love baseball,” Tony is drinking coffee from the pot, his hip leaning against the kitchen counter, he says around a mouthful of coffee, “it's America's pastime.”

“I said no, Tony,” he closes the first section of the paper then hands it to Bruce who takes it with a smile.

He doesn't tell him it's because it feels like a betrayal to go without Bucky. It's been two months since the invasion and he shouldn't feel like that but they haven't touched much on Bucky in his therapy yet(though not for lack of trying) so he lets himself think it anyway. There's no way to police his thoughts after all.

“Banner?”

“I'm not big on crowds.”

Tony sighs loudly, “Cap, come on, I'll even fly us to LA to see a Dodgers' game.”

“What?”

“You've been on a plane, right, that's not an old thing where you'll freak out at the technology, is it because we can drive instead if you have a week to spare.”

“No. The Dodgers were a Brooklyn team.”

“Oh...” Banner says softly and Tony echoes him a second later.

“About that...”

Steve sets down the paper to look at him, “they moved them?”

Tony sucks in a breath, “yeah like...before you were awake. See I thought you knew so I said it.”

“They can't just move a team!”

“Actually if you have enough money you can move a house so-”

“It's history, Tony, they can't just...” he sets his jaw and Tony frowns because he and everyone else already knows what this means before he even leaves the room. As it is he's gone before Bruce and Tony can stop him. His room is down the hall and Tony had said he'd taken into account everyone's preferences while decorating but it still looks like a pale imitation of what he'd been trying to accomplish. It's the thought that counts anyway. There's a bed, a computer, and an ensuite bathroom that looks like something out of someone from his time's idea of what a rich person's bathroom looked like. It's great and he tries not to take too long showers but sometimes after a run he can't deny himself hot water.

He settles in front of the computer-the one Tony had looked almost disappointed to discover that Steve could figure out in about 10 minutes. It's not that Steve enjoys writing letters to the editors in particular. He doesn't like telling people how to do their jobs but it's history. Taking the Dodgers away from Brooklyn is like taking away the only sun-or at least a very bright lightbulb-from the sky. They might've never won a game but they had been a metaphor for Brooklyn itself. Down but not out. Doctor Robinson had told him that writing letters sometimes helps and so he's been writing them though he isn't sure that it's quite what she'd meant. The paper is always interested to hear Captain America's thoughts on the issues of the day or week anyhow if he ends up sending them. He's got a whole folder of letters on his computer, not all of them to the editor, dated and named after the article or feeling he'd had at the time for his convenience.

He clicks on one-the only one not labelled-and stares at the screen.

Dear Peggy

There's nothing else there because he can't think of what to say. Dear Peggy, I'm still alive! Dear Peggy, sometimes I think of you and Bucky and I can't see the point in living without you. Dear Peggy, I love you. Dear Peggy, I'll never see you again. He shuts down the computer, breathes through the tangle of feelings lodged in his throat until his eyes stop prickling and seeks out Tony again. He's in the living room fiddling with the remote again despite how Steve doesn't recall seeing anyone ever use it with how Tony has introduced them to JARVIS by now. At first it'd been too strange, talking to a computer program but JARVIS has a voice and a personality so Steve can't bring himself to not ask him things if he needs to. Up to and including changing the channel on the television.

“If you're still up for it I'll come with you.”

Tony looks up, stares at him blankly for a second then it clicks and he grins with what must be the joy of victory, “Knew you'd come around.”

“It's not because I'm old.”

“Uh huh. So what'd you write to the editor this time?”

“Nothing. I uh...Had a change of heart,” he nods at the pieces of remote control scattered all over the floor, “I hope you aren't planning on leaving that all over the floor, Tony.

“Actually, Cap,” and Tony waves the innards of the thing as he talks, “I was planning on it. And then you came along.”

“Tony.”

“I would've gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those meddling kids-nothing?”

He crosses his arms over his chest because he knows Tony is just trying to get a rise out of him but he can't help but be annoyed. Tony leaves everything everywhere as if the place is his lab which Steve has seen and it's a mess just like Howard's had been. It's one of only a few reasons that he only lives in the tower part-time however Tony isn't Bucky-there's no need to see him every day especially when they know how to push each other's buttons so easily. It's better for their collective sanity if he lives at his apartment most of the time. As it is he'd only stayed over last night because they'd had a PR event to go to and he hadn't wanted to inconvenience Happy by making him drive so far out of the way.

“What time is the game?” he finally settles on getting the facts or else this will turn into another fight about how Tony deliberately baits him by throwing out pop culture references he knows he won't get.

“Tomorrow, 1pm. Be ready for 10 and we'll get there early.”

“Anything else I should know? Don't tell me they started winning, too.”

“Beats me, Pepper got them from some charity...raffle...thing.”

It occurs to him then that Tony is lying and that maybe he's trying to make up for how bitterly they'd fought back on the Helicarrier and then again when he'd first moved in. “I'll see you tomorrow then, Tony.”

“Sure thing, Cap.”

Tony is an hour late the next morning which is likely why he'd told Steve to meet him so early-it makes his blood boil just a little bit but Tony is trying to be his friend and so he lets it go. They climb onto the jet and he resists the urge to get right back off of it. There are poles in it. For...well, strippers and Steve can't imagine that Pepper approves of this at all.

“I can taste your disapproval. It was before Pepper.”

“And she let you keep the poles?” he eyes them with a frown. Who the hell had thought this to be a good idea? “Were the flight attendants...”

“Pepper lets me do anything as long as I buy her a pair of shoes to make up for it,” he smiles and Steve can feel the bond between them even despite her not being here,” I paid them to but they weren't actually real life strippers it was more of an edgy thing I did in my early twenties.”

“Uh huh.”

The pilot announces over the PA that they'll be taking off in ten minutes and Steve starts looking for the most secure place to sit in the place even if he knows that he isn't the one piloting it so it's highly unlikely the plane will be crashing into any oceans.

“Okay, so I had a midlife crisis and put stripper poles in my jet, you're like, the only person in the world who doesn't find that awesome. Even Rhodey liked it after he had a few drinks-have you met Rhodey? You should meet Rhodey,” Tony pulls out his phone until he catches sight of Steve's face, “okay, later. You'll like him, you're practically the same person except one of you is air force.”

“He's a pilot?” and that piques his interest because the only pilots he'd met back in the war had been well...arrogant asses but maybe things are different now.

Tony flops on one of the couches that doesn't appear at all safe, “yeah. He's got one of my suits-calls it War Machine, we kind of went for a classic rock theme. See I can already tell you love him-you can bond over old man talk when we get back.”

“Is he-I mean, does he have anyone?”

“Why, you looking for a set-up, Cap?” Tony smirks, pulls the top off of a white square on the side of the couch nearest to him, and lifts a pair of beers up, “drink?”

“Sure.”

Steve hasn't had a drink since Bucky and he knows it still won't get him drunk but he still only takes a small sip when Tony hands it over. He finally decides on sitting on the opposite side of the couch to Tony after spotting seatbelts on the side though he doubts Tony has ever used the things.

“So do you have a 'mate or are you really looking at Rhodey because he's totally free,” Tony says and when he lowers his bottle he's got a look of unholy glee on his face, “didn't take you for the type.”

He takes a deeper drink of his beer before speaking, “I'm not-it's not that. I...had someone.”

“Oh. Awkward.”

“It's fine.”

“But you do want to date Rhodey.”

“No! I don't want to date anyone.”

“He's a great guy. Really handsome, do you go for handsome because I feel like you're the 'I love anyone type', smart, likes rules, regulations,” Tony is pouting as if he's offended of all things that Steve doesn't want to date his male friend.

“I'm not like that, Tony.”

“I'm gonna text him and ask him if he's interested.”

“I'm not a queer, okay? I mean. Homosexual. I'm not like that. So give it a rest,” he snaps and regrets it immediately. Tony is trying to help in his own strange way he's sure and if he's going to be stuck up in the air with him it's better to get along then it is to spend the entire ride scowling at each other.

Tony's eyebrows rise, “okay. So...girls then?”

“No one, Tony. I mean it.”

“Sure, whatever you say, Cap. No guys, no girls.”

They're already in the air by the time it hits him that they're flying and he shouldn't be sweating except that he is. All he can hear is Peggy's voice in his ear telling him not to be late and Tony would look at him strangely if he reacted at all-he has to be strong if he's going to be the leader. He leans back in his seat, closes his eyes like he's taking a nap and Calls Bucky even though he knows he won't hear him. Even if he were by some miracle alive their bond has probably already been broken and Bucky would have spent his time better. Would have married some girl and settled down. Maybe even bonded to her because he wouldn't be to Steve anymore. But there are no miracles and Bucky isn't alive.

When they reach the stadium six hours later he isn't overcome with anything. It's not familiar to him and the roster is of course different-even their uniforms are. They're barely even the Dodgers anymore so it isn't like losing anything because they don't even resemble the team before. It's like how he'd gone back to Mrs. Solomon's old house and found it's been turned into a shopping mall. There are no memories to be found here or there either and he's grateful. The price of food is too out there for him but Tony cheerfully pays the seven dollars for a hot dog-several of them because Steve has already devoured the food he'd brought with him-while they sit in their seats that are closer than Steve has ever remembered sitting.

“How'd you get such good seats for a charity thing?”

The crowd's enthusiasm is catching and he finds himself smiling in spite of everything and Tony grins at him, “pays to be a billionaire.”

“Remind me to try it sometime.”

The Dodgers lose as if they know that Steve is expecting it and the next morning he sees he and Tony in the sports section-Tony blowing kisses to the camera and Steve trying to pretend he's not at all associated with him. He clips it out, pins it to the corkboard he's got set up in his room for mission related information. Clint complains to him while they're training with Natasha that Tony never takes him anywhere nice and Natasha reminds him that he gets presents rained on him every time he asks. Steve smiles while they spar, Natasha using every opening she finds and Clint making do with random objects he finds on the floor(and in one case the floor mat itself), and thinks that they're the closest thing he'll get to friends as good as the Commandos had been here.

~~**~~

He pads to his room from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his middle because he knows Tony has cameras-everyone does nowadays-and he tries to have some sense of privacy despite that. Steve turns his back to the door in case anyone bursts into his room(it's happened at least three times in the two months since he started living here) and stops. There's something pulling at his brain demanding his attention and he doesn't know what it is except that it's familiar. He shakes his head as if that will clear it but it does nothing to stop the sensation. It takes him until he's lying down in bed, the lights off to figure out what it is.

Bucky is Calling him.  

Chapter Text

Bucky Calls him when he wakes up, while he works out, and by the time he makes it to SHIELD HQ on Tuesday he's barely managing to keep from telling anyone. The others notice of course that something's off but Doom has made another appearance and the Serpent Society had wanted to go a few rounds so no one has asked him. He's moved back to his apartment for the time being because Bucky needs peace and Steve isn't about to drag his name through the mud-everyone here will think their relationship had been perverted.

Doctor Robinson's office is on the 30^th floor of the building and she's redecorated since he last came or at least got the carpet cleaned because it's lily white and the room smells very faintly of fresh paint. It's still the same pale blue as before and the blinds are still light coloured wood but it is brighter. Newer. She smiles at him when he comes in.

“I don't like to change things up very much but the place was in dire need of a cleaning. I don't think I'll ever get the smell of cigarette smoke out of that couch.”

He hadn't much noticed it however when he sits this time he does and notices the ashtray on the small table at one end of the couch, “I don't mind. How have you been?”

“Great. And you? Have you got your list?”

Steve nods, produces said list from his pants pocket. It'd been an exercise like the letter writing-a list of the things he'd grown to like about his life now and he's almost embarrassed at how many things are on there. The Internet, bad TV, how people's rights have improved, the billboards that show same-sex Soulmates smiling at him as he walks to the subway. The Avengers. Hot water. Enough food. Cellphones even though he's put a note that he doesn't like how people use them during movies or when they're out with other people, movies about all sorts of things, pipes that don't leak.

“This is quite a change from a few months ago,” she reads his words over again, “if you think of anything else feel free to add to this. Have you considered what I told you last time?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Natasha and I volunteer every Monday and Wednesday at the old folks home and I go to the soup kitchen and animal shelter every Thursday and Sunday.”

“You know the idea was to choose one,” but she's smiling as if she'd known he would take on more than she'd suggested. It keeps him grounded when it's too easy to slip into a rut of ordering expensive take-out with Tony's money or having Tony buy them all expensive-too expensive-gifts or simply just seeing the price of everything these days. There are still people who remember what it was like for a paper to cost 3 cents, who beg every day for enough money to eat, and there are still dogs who look at him with sad eyes through cages for him to take them home.

“It keeps me busy.”

Even if it is strange to see people his age who are old, wrinkled, and can barely get out of chairs let alone chase after the villain of the week. He promises to do it for them when he goes and the elderly ladies fawn over him like they never had when they were all young.

She's always been able to read him well so he shouldn't be surprised when she changes the subject, “You seem upset, Steve. Is there something you'd like to talk about?”

“No.”

“Now I know that's not true. We've been working together for three months now, Steve, I've gotten pretty good at knowing when something is wrong.”

“I went to a baseball game. It...I thought I would be...But I wasn't,” it's only part of what's bothering him and she probably knows it however he's not about to tell her he hears his dead Soulmate Calling him.

“You're moving on. That's nothing to be ashamed about.”

“I know I just...thought it would take longer,” he stares at his hands, “I didn't want it to but I thought it would take longer.”

“You've had to struggle your entire life and now that things are getting good you don't know what to do with yourself, is that right?”

“...Yeah.”

“How does it make you feel to have some sense of a future? When you first came to me you said over and over you felt you didn't have one,” she has stopped using the notebook on him and types on a tiny laptop instead. It's one of Tony's with the SI logo on the physical part of the monitor.

He shrugs, “I don't know. Like...I don't know.”

“It's alright to say what's on your mind.”

“I feel like it's...betraying them. I should still...It shouldn't be this easy,” he thinks of the Commandos, of Peggy, of Bucky, “to go on without them.”

“This was easy to you?”

“No. But I-” he lets out a breath, “I feel like it should be harder than this.”

“So you feel guilty.”

“Yeah.”

“The other Commandos led perfectly fulfilling lives, Steve. And Ms. Carter is still living a perfectly fulfilling life.”

“She had kids,” he says and once he'd imagined that those would be their children but not anymore.

“Yes, she did.”

“Bucky didn't get that.”

“Would you like to talk about Bucky?”

“No,” he wants to get to his feet, pace like he had, “I don't know.”

“Why is that?”

If he lets out everything he might forget him. It would be like bleeding a wound-all of his memories would rush out at once and he wouldn't be able to stop them until all he had left was an empty hole with nothing in it. He runs his hand through his hair, “I don't know.”

“If you're worried about crying in front of me, Steve, you shouldn't. I've seen men bigger than you lying on that couch crying their hearts out.”

“I just...I think I've had enough for today.”

“Alright,” she says patiently. Bucky Calls him.

“I'll see you on Thursday, ma'am.”

“Until then.”

~~**~~

Bucky continues to call him after that. He looks it up on the internet and finds that it's not unusual for half of a bonded pair to hear the other Calling even after death. It's psychosomatic. Like phantom limb pain and Steve isn't sure whether he's happy or sad that it's all in his head. If Bucky were really Calling him it would because he were in trouble and Steve doesn't know where he would be. It's better that it's all psychological, he tells himself. For Bucky's sake it is. By the time he thinks it could be anything else “Bucky” stops and Steve convinces himself that he's not disappointed.

1 Year Later

The Avengers fall into a routine. Tuesdays are usually spent fighting someone who wants to screw things up, Wednesday they have team movie night, Thursday they train, Friday Tony and Steve go for burgers, Saturday they train again, and Sunday they rest. It's a Monday when E! Wants them on the show and after a year or so of doing television appearances he's gotten used to putting on his press face, answer questions in a way he knows won't land him in the tabloids, and dodging ones about whether or not he's seeing anyone. That seems to be their favourite and magazines speculate every time they see him out with someone who isn't bonded.

The lights are hot but he doesn't break a sweat, usually doesn't except for now. It's beading on his forehead, sliding down his back, and if he could get food poisoning that's what he would have diagnosed himself with.

“So what are the plans for the Avengers in the New Year?”

“I think I speak for us all when I say partying. We're having a party, you should come, bring some friends,” Tony winks at the hostess and she laughs.

“Speak for yourself, Tony,” Steve says, hoping to distract himself from how he's feeling light headed.

“I have to say I'm with Cap,” Natasha agrees, “I was cleaning glitter out of my hair for weeks last time.”

“Mostly...” and it sounds weak so he smiles, “mostly we're just going to continue to keep you all safe. Villains don't take holidays and when it comes down to it, neither do we.”

“See I was going to say that but it would just sound like a lie coming out of my mouth,” Tony hams it up for the camera and predictably it focuses on him. Steve is more than happy to relinquish the spotlight.

“That's because you're the one responsible for those pictures of Cap floating around on the internet,” Clint chimes in and the hostess laughs, probably shows the photos of Steve in his star spangled pyjamas (they'd been a gift from a very nice old lady for his birthday and he hadn't had the heart to tell her he doesn't wear the stars and stripes every waking hour) from their adventure to Paris on the screen behind him with how the others burst into giggles that have no business coming out of grown men's mouths.

“That's it from us here on E! To view clips from the interview and more information about the Avengers visit our website after the show.”

It's not until after they actually do finish talking to the hostess outside of a formal interview and are discussing getting something to eat with her and the rest of the crew that he feels like he's being punched over and over in the stomach. He manages to get out of the room before falling to his knees gasping for breath. He doesn't know why this time, this moment has him weak and shaking until he remembers the date. Bucky had died today. Other things had been creeping into his dreams for the past year so that white abysses and the whistles of trains had little room to appear, he could have almost forgotten that near to this time last year he'd been a mess. No, not last year. It doesn't matter, it'd been last year to him and his body doesn't care what the actual timeline is either.

“Cap? Steve? Hey, big guy, come on,” Tony is kneeling in front of him, the confident smile from the interview gone and he doesn't want Tony to see him like this. They're friends, sure, can't not be friends with a guy who's saved your ass more than a few times in the last year but it doesn't change Steve's mind. Tony is the last person he wants to see him fall apart.

“I'm f-fine,” he forces out through gritted teeth and forces himself to stand despite how wobbly his legs are. He nearly falls again except that Natasha catches him.

“I'll take him home, Stark.”

“Yeah, okay, but medical...attention...”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut because he's shivering violently enough that there's no way anyone could not notice and he can't bear to see the looks on their faces. He's supposed to be better. He's been getting better. Sleeping better, not feeling guilty for smiling, forming a sort of routine that involves people other than his therapist. This is a step back and he knows he shouldn't be beating himself up about it for all that he is.

“I need you to stay calm for five minutes until we can get to the car,” Natasha says in his ear as they stride not quickly enough for his tastes to the elevator, “five minutes, that's all.”

“I can do it.”

Can do it because he's done it before. Fighting the urge to give in to just becoming next to non-functional as a person is harder than battling a Chituari or a Doombot but he shoves everything pouring out of the hole Bucky had left on his way out back in and locks it away in a chest marked “do not open”. He straightens his back, takes a deep breath through his nose as they wait for the elevator to reach the bottom floor. Natasha's hand is on his back as if he needs it but she removes it when the doors open.

They reach the front door then make a u-turn. The front of the station is swamped with people and he can't help but feel bad that he's just walking out on them rather than sticking around to answer their questions, sign things, just shake hands like he does after every interview. They take the back route that yields a mostly clear way. A couple of people have caught on, slipped past security, and wait with cameras for them.

He opens his mouth to say something but Natasha cuts him off and when he looks down she's wearing a bright grin, “sorry, ladies, Cap ate some bad seafood earlier so we have to leave.”

When they don't move she adds, “now.”

They scatter like terrified deer and he can only imagine the kind of expression she'd levelled at them because he's already looking towards where he knows the valet parking is.

His teeth start chattering once the car is in view no matter how he struggles to keep them from doing it but Tony's driver-Happy, his name is Happy-doesn't ask questions when they clamber in the back.

“Where to, Cap? Ms. Romanoff?”

Steve gives him the address of his apartment and a shining example of why Happy is Tony's driver later they're stumbling up the stairs. Happy jogs over once to help though Steve thinks it's probably less to do with him and more to do with how Natasha is wearing a low cut top but even he's gone once he's certain they'll be alright.

“Go lie down.”

“I-”

“You're arguing with a lady, Cap?”

He shakes his head, wishing he could do more than that, before making his way to his room. It's not warm enough even under the blankets and he rubs at his arms to warm them though he knows he's not physically cold at all. The cold is seeping from that spot in his chest again as though it knows what day it is.

Natasha appears ten minutes later with a mug of tea-he doesn't know where she'd gotten the bag because he only keeps coffee in the house and doesn't ask-then sits on the edge of the bed.

“Your records didn't say anything about being bonded,” her face is neutral. It's probably a matter of pride to her; having everything up to date and correct. It's why Clint constantly tries to pawn his paperwork off on her.

“What?” he forces out after a minute. He'd written who he'd been bonded to on all the forms. He'd never made any secret of it. Everyone knew on paper even if they never actually spoke about it out loud.

She presses the mug into his hands, “drink first. It helps.”

“But-”

“Drink.”

He gets a mouthful mostly in his mouth then shakily sets it on the bedside table, “I-. never. I told them. I told them he was.”

They're saying it meant nothing. Just a platonic bond. Captain America didn't have anyone for all that he had and he clenches his trembling hand into a fist because it makes him too many things to put into words. He chokes on a sob-Bucky'd been his. Bucky'd been everything and they'd just erased that like it'd been just a minor feeling. A drop of blood in the ocean. But he can't break down in front of Natasha. She's not his mother, he's not her responsibility.

“One of your Commandos.”

“Y-Yeah. Bucky he was-” it still feels too strange to say 'was', “my best friend I...I told them on the forms and everything. Everyone knew.”

“What was he like?”

He rubs at his eyes, “arrogant. Too proud. Always got into fights. Handsome-not...I don't mean it. Like that I...the girls loved him.”

She nods and he goes on.

“Loud. Him and Morita, when they got together...Wasn't a bar in town that would take them without me or Falsworth there to reign 'em in.”

They don't speak for awhile, just sit on Steve's bed while he shakes and tries to drink his tea until he says, “he died today.”

“It wasn't your fault.”

“You don't know that.”

“I know that you blame yourself for everything even when there was nothing you could have done. I do this for a living, Steve, I know how you think. Why didn't you say anything to your therapist about this?” she pats her thigh, “lie down.”

She does know and the idea of that is more comforting than scary. He knew he didn't have to explain. “You don't have to do this.”

“I was a mother once,” her face doesn't change when he lies down, “I don't mind.”

It feels strange leaning on her but she doesn't do anything but run her fingers through his hair. He'd never been able to imagine Natasha as a mother before now in spite of all the work she does at the women's shelters and maybe that time has passed for her despite how young she is. She could try again for all that he knows she probably won't. They're locked in to this now and they need her every bit as much as a child would.

“I was young. Younger than I am now and running off of faith in the Motherland. My husband and I didn't have anything, no ring, just a piece of string tied around our fingers. They took everything.”

He doesn't know who 'they' are but doesn't ask. She's telling him what she can and he can't ask for anything else.

“They bonded me to whoever was convenient at the time after that but none of them really took so they made it so I couldn't anymore. I still felt every break,” her voice doesn't waver. She's talking about old wounds that have healed into scars rather than ones still bleeding, “it passes.”

“How long?”

“However long it takes.”

It's not a good enough answer for him-he likes to know, has to know but she's different than him. She wouldn't know how long it would take him to shake this feeling again because she'd probably done it in hours just like Bucky would have.

She stays with him that night in spite of how everyone will have a field day ribbing them on their night of wild passion and holds him when he needs it-he doesn't know how to repay her except that her expression seems lighter the next morning so maybe he already has.

“I'll see you back at the tower,” he says and she takes it as her queue to leave, placing a scrap of paper on the dining room table before she does.

When he checks it there's a phone number under 'Soulmate loss support group'. He doesn't know if he will go but types the name and number into Google anyway. He adds it to his mental calender of activities along with the other myriad of obligations he's cultivated for himself.

Chapter Text

“So, you and Natasha...You know...” Tony makes a lewd gesture with his hand and doesn't wither under Steve's glare. He'd been waiting for him when he got home, flipping through the channels on the TV in the rec room, and Steve thinks it's about all he could get that Tony waited until he had a shower and changed into his comfortable pair of pants to start hounding him about two nights ago.

“She made sure I got home and stayed the night. I slept on the couch,” he lies. He doesn't think he'd slept at all that night nor the one after.

The others have skipped out on team movie night for various mission related reasons and Bruce has some sort of research he has to get done before a deadline so it's he and Tony in front of the TV. Tony glances down at his phone and informs him Rhodey will be coming in ten minutes. Steve isn't sure if Rhodey had actually agreed or if Tony had just complained long enough that he'd eventually given in. Rhodes had been wrapped in work for the past six months and the only time he had gotten off Steve had happened to be on a mission.

He can practically feel Tony's excitement though he really doesn't understand it all.

“We're not going to bond, Tony.”

“No, I know, he's just kind of a huge Captain America fanboy. Are you going to sign his original copy of issue one of the Captain America comicbook Steve?”

“Tony.”

“Come on, he won't ask himself. It would make his day, I promise. You'll love him.”

“We're not going to date, either, Tony,” he sighs because Tony has managed to hang onto this obsession longer than any of the others and they'd thought for sure his four month long penchant for buying and building miniature Transformers would last forever. Steve thinks he still has one of them shoved in a drawer after it had started trying to fight the other robots in the house and destroyed at least three pieces of furniture in the process. Tony of course had thought it all amazing and hilarious.

“I never said date. You're totally, one hundred percent straight, I get it.”

“Right.”

Tony stares at him, gets really close, close enough to kiss if he'd wanted to, “nothing?”

“Enough.”

“Just an experiment.”

“Based on what? I told you, Tony, I'm not like-”

“RHODEY!”

Tony launches himself off of the couch in a way that Steve has never actually seen him move outside of the armour. He tries not to watch as Tony basically molests his best friend under the guise of a friendly hug however he can't not. People these days are so handsy and well, Tony especially.

A moment later Tony drags Rhodey-taller than Tony, black, definitely recognizable as military even if Tony hadn't told him that-over to the couch and shoves him down, “Rhodey, meet Captain America. Like the actual guy it's actually him.”

“Yeah, I got that from the first thirty messages you sent me and briefing I received when the military was set to intervene in the attack by AIM,” Rhodey says with a deadpan look but there's all the trappings of fondness woven through the tone of his voice.

“The military doesn't know anything-no offence-so you should probably take my word for it.”

There a salute that's out of place-Steve is only a Captain-and a handshake as Rhodes smiles,“Jim Rhodes, pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Just Steve is good, Colonel.”

“Wow. I uh...”

“He's having a moment,” Tony supplies for him and plops down on the end of the couch so that Steve and Rhodes are forced to sit beside one another. He's not exactly a master of subtlety, “we're watching Bad Boys 2.”

Another unimpressed look, “We are not watching Bad Boys 2, Tony.”

“It's either that or Pride and Prejudice and not the zombies one either.”

“They made a movie of that?”

“Cap, we are not watching Pride and Prejudice we're watching Bad Boys 2 my house my rules.”

“If you're going to mention it then you should at least let us have a choice.”

Tony groans, “you're kidding, right? You're actually fighting for the chick flick. All in favour of Bad Boys 2 say aye. Aye.”

“...Aye. Sorry, Cap.”

“I never said I wanted to-”

“Okay so Bad Boys 2.”

The movie isn't bad contrary to the name but he wouldn't call it good, either. It's a nice way to spend a couple hours and Tony provides sarcastic comments from the peanut gallery that he can't help but laugh at. It's comfortable, warm, and when the movie is over he and Rhodes talk about their tours of duty while Tony texts Pepper.

“You probably get it a lot but what was it like? Saving Private Ryan get it right?”

“I haven't watched many of them but they're probably inaccurate. No one ever does their research anymore,” Steve shrugs-he can't imagine seeing movies about soldiers at war going home to their 'mates and not feeling something about it, “back when I was a kid you wanted to find something out you asked someone or read it in a book.”

“Yeah, and you'd be surprised how easy it is for people to hack into your computer and see all of your private information,” Rhodes nods, takes a swig of the beer Tony had provided, “people meaning Tony.”

“Hey, I'm all about privacy, I love privacy!”

“He said privacy not privates, Tony,” Steve fires out before he can stop himself, “I mean.”

Rhodes laughs, smacks him on the back like in that moment they've become best friends, “you have to admit he's got you pegged, Tone.”

“I am shocked and ...and offended, Steve, really. I bring you into my house, feed you, show you terrible movies...I'm betrayed. Hurt, even.”

“Sorry,” he says and doesn't mean it at all.

Tony grins, “so, Jurassic Park?”

Tony talks through most of the movie again until he goes quiet, slumped against Rhodes' shoulder asleep. They watch the rest of it-Steve doesn't know why an amusement park with dinosaurs has so few staff working-anyway and both cajole Tony into going to sleep in an actual bed.

“Still think you guys should date,” he slurs against his pillow.

“I don't think so, Tony,” Steve pulls the blankets up over his shoulders after Rhodes yanks off his shoes.

“Even if I was gay, no.”

“Why not, you could be grandpas together.”

“Good night, Tony.”

He doesn't get a reply. Rhodes walks with him to the elevator, “I'd stay over but I promised I'd show up for dinner tomorrow.”

“I'll make sure he doesn't get up again,” Steve says because Tony can never work like a regular person, he always has to push himself until exhaustion then push himself some more.

“Thanks. It was an honour meeting you. Sir,” another salute that Steve returns with a smile and then he's stepping inside the elevator.

“Tony said...something about...” he finally blurts out just as the elevator doors are closing. Rhodes' hand shoots in between the gap so the doors spring open again.

“Would you?” and Steve can see why they're friends-Rhodey is more controlled but just as eager. They'd probably gotten into much more trouble than Tony had even talked about before in spite of Rhodes trying to be a good influence because Tony isn't an easy person to say no to. “I'm going to kick his ass for telling you but...”

“It's fine.”

Rhodey steps back out of the elevator, pulls a comic from the inside of his coat-wrapped in plastic but well worn-with a slightly guilty looking smile then he produces a pen from his pocket, “not everyday you meet your childhood hero. Hell, you were the reason why I joined the military in the first place.”

“Never get used to that,” he's grinning though. People tell him that all the time but it never ceases to give him a warm feeling in his chest as he finishes the last letter of his signature.

“I know what you mean,” Rhodes says and Steve believes him, “Thanks, man.”

“You're welcome.”

“Good luck keeping him in bed.”

“I'll need it, thaks.”

The doors close for real this time and Steve turns towards the kitchen. He'd eaten a whole bowl of popcorn to himself but that'd been awhile ago so he opens the fridge, hums the tune of a song as he prepares what is probably the biggest sandwich he's ever seen.

Then Bucky Calls him. Loud, insistent like he's in the room with him and it's not words, but it feels like it could be. Just a tugging, yanking hard at his subconscious to get his attention and it's impossible. It's impossible. It's psychosomatic. He takes a deep breath and tries to ignore it.

~~**~~

There are more people than he would have thought at the group and they bring food for everyone that Steve doesn't dare eye. He isn't even sure if he'll continue coming because he can't afford to have everyone knowing his secrets. Bucky's secrets but he hears him Calling more and more frequently again, like last year, pounding at his head like a headache so he can't sleep because it's so loud.

It'd taken him two weeks just to get the courage to come here which means he can't just leave now that he's finally here. A quick count tells him that the number is uneven without him here which means if he leaves someone will have to talk to no one and that's not fair. That's what he tells himself as he wanders further into the room with the fluorescent lighting and uncomfortable looking chairs arranged in a circle. There are pictures by kids hung up because the room is classroom when it's not being used for the group and he takes awhile to glance at them. A couple already have “me and my soulmate” written sloppily in brightly coloured paint. He wonders if this is intentional-desensitization-but then figures that it's unlikely. They can't control what kids draw, after all. One of them is in pink, both figures meant to be people are pink and they're holding hands. He and Bucky had never dared draw anything like that. Some of the sisters hadn't liked it much that they did much of anything together and would actively work to keep them apart. In then end that'd been what'd pushed them to run off. He can still remember the night he and Bucky'd talked about it, heads bowed and saying things that only they could hear. “We don't need their stupid God crap, Steve” Bucky'd said and Steve hadn't agreed but he'd had enough of it just like Bucky had and so he'd nodded.

Eventually, as if their internal clocks are all synchronized the people come together and sit in a chair. Steve chooses one near the door, glances around at the people in varying stages of grief until the person leading the group speaks.

“It looks like we have some new faces this week so if everyone wants to go around and say their name before we start?” he points to Steve who nods too quickly.

“Steve Rogers.”

It hadn't occurred to him to use a fake name but only a few people look up to check him out again. Not surprising considering that he's not much outside of the cowl.

Jennifer Hughsly.”

“Peter Valentine.”

They go around until everyone's said their name and then the man heading the discussion says his name, “Garth Baxter. So, does anyone have anything they want to share this week?”

No one says a word. Then.

“I do,” it comes out before he can help it and maybe it's because Doctor Robinson has him open to talking now that he does, “I uh...I hear my 'mate Calling me sometimes.”

“They're dead?” Jennifer Hughsly crosses her arms over her chest. She's a brunette, short and thin.

“Yeah. For awhile.”

“That's not uncommon,” Garth chimes in and the others look at each other, “the brain hasn't quite caught up to the reality of what's happened and so it invents these phantom Calls. They can seem very real.”

“Well, must be great,” she says and he can feel the grief radiating from her. He shrugs in response.

“Jennifer, this is a safe space.”

“You know what, Garth?”

“Jennifer-”

“You can shove it up your ass,” she snaps and in that moment she reminds him so much of Bucky he has to blink, remind himself that Bucky is dead. It might be the reason why he follows her when she storms out.

“Hey, I'm sorry, I just-”

“No. It's not you. I...I just can't believe they want me to come to this,” she wraps her arms around herself and lets out a nervous laugh, “my psychiatrist.”

“My friend.”

“You want to get out of here?”

He does and so they do. He finds out over an overly expensive coffee that she'd only lost her 'mate a couple of months ago-another woman- and he tries to keep the shock from his face but doesn't manage well if her expression is anything to go by.

“You're one of those bible types?”

“Not anymore,” he says and it's mostly a lie, “I just don't meet many people who were same sex bonded.”

“I guess it's true what they say, then. All the good looking ones are gay,” she flashes a smile so brittle that he doesn't have the heart to tell her otherwise. Not now.

“I guess so.”

“You're Captain America, right?”

“Uh...How did you know?” he finishes off his drink, feeling the familiar blush creeping at his neck. Before he'd been Captain America and not Steve Rogers and now they're both being forced together in a way he's not certain he likes much.

“She was pretty into the whole...superheroes thing. Used to tell me all about you guys. I got jealous.”

“If you think it's your fault it's not,” he parrots Natasha because it's what he'd needed to hear and what she needs to, smiles even though it's near the last thing he wants to do with how Bucky is a constant buzz at the back of his mind, “I thought so too.”

“Yeah. Well...”

They don't talk anymore that night except to agree to return to the group next week, take it from there. Bucky Calls him on his way home on the bike and Steve ignores it until he's nearly back to his apartment and Bucky Calls him so loudly it's like a scream, it's like he's close even though he can't be. He steers the bike to the side of the road and screws his eyes shut. Bucky is dead, Bucky is dead, Bucky is dead.

Chapter Text

“I can't authorize a manhunt because of a 'feeling' you get, Captain,” Fury leans forward in his chair, hands in front of him on his desk, and Steve had refused the one he'd been offered in favour of standing. “Even if it's a damn good feeling.”

“It's not just a feeling. Sir. Bucky is...” he knows how it sounds. Bucky is dead except that he's calling Steve and the symptoms should have faded by now if it had been his brain making it up, right? “I'm just asking for a couple of guys, sir. Less than a week. If he needs-...”

“The answer is no, Rogers.”

It's the mark of a good CO that Fury said no. Running over into the wilderness of a foreign country, guns blazing in search of someone that had died 70 years prior is stupid at best, suicidal at worst. But it doesn't make Steve any less determined to go. If Bucky is Calling him, if he's trapped or needs him-he needs him he can feel it-Steve can't just turn a blind eye. Not anymore.

“We got the paperwork changed,” Fury opens the drawer nearest him, pulls out a folder, and places it on the desktop. Steve steps closer and drags the beige folder towards him, “you can still take it back if you want but it's strictly classified until you choose to make it public knowledge.”

And he can't remember when he'd asked for it to be changed but it'd probably been Natasha who had done it. The others don't have to know except that by now Tony will if he notices there's new information on the SHIELD database and he'll tell the other Avengers-the idea bothers him less than it might have a year ago. It's not dragging Bucky's name through the mud to admit they'd been bonded.

When he flips it open and reads it over it doesn't look any different than when he'd originally filled it out. Bonded: Y. [Sargent James Buchanan Barnes]. For a second he doesn't meet Fury's eye except that there's nothing to be ashamed about, “thank you, sir.”

“No trips to Siberia, Captain.”

“No sir.”

They both know he'll do it anyway.

~~**~~

Tony is nodding along with what he's saying-Steve isn't being entirely fair because Tony is also welding right now however the details don't matter. “So would you?”

“Okay...” and Tony turns off the torch, pushes up his face shield, “just so I'm not getting this really, really wrong. You want to go back to where your friend died because you have a feeling he's still alive. Already assuming Fury said no which is why you came to me because I have a jet.”

“Look, Tony I-”

“Hey, I didn't say no. Gimme a few days to free up my schedule and I'll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” he says and there's really no way he can express it other than that. He doesn't know why Tony is agreeing to it but he's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth either.

“Okay I need you to hold this in place.”

“Sure,” he takes hold of the heavy upper part of the armour and thinks of how he's going to smuggle himself plus a team of whomever is willing to accompany him out of America without Fury knowing or at least without Fury knowing before they've already left.

The next day he goes to his appointment with Doctor Robinson and she tells him it's all in his head again. Tells him that even if Bucky had survived the fall that he would have passed away by now and she puts her hand over his as she says it but it doesn't lessen the blow anymore.

“I'm not...”

“No, but I do think that it's time that you talked some more about Bucky. This is clearly effecting your mental state more than I thought-you never told me you two were bonded, Steve.”

He'd told her more after the anniversary of Bucky's death but never that they'd been bonded. Told her about how he and Bucky used to do damn near everything together, how even the most uptight dame would eventually succumb to his charms, and how he'd always protected Steve in fights. Business has been slow for villains and so instead of talking about those he'd been forced to talk to her about the past. Now he'll do it again.

“I didn't think it was important.”

“I don't believe that.”

“I thought that...even though it's okay now for two guys to be...I didn't want it to be like that. We weren't like that,” it's still hard to talk about it but not as hard as it would have been a year ago. He manages to meet her eyes, “sorry.”

“No you aren't. But what do you mean, 'like that'?”

“Romantically bonded. Everyone always thought we were even though Bucky loved girls,” he smiles, “a lot.”

“Is there a difference in bonds to you?”

Steve frowns and she continues to hold his gaze, “is this a trick question?”

“Not at all. There's just no other way for a bond to be, Steve.”

“Bucky liked girls, ma'am,” he finds he can't meet her eye anymore. Everything but her face is the most interesting thing he's ever seen.

“But not you?” she prompts gently and he wonders how she can tell. What he'd done to tell her without meaning to because there might not be any other way for a bond to be except romantic but Bucky'd loved girls and Steve had loved Peggy. It hadn't been like that. Even if maybe the tiniest part of him had wished that Bucky could touch him the same way he pawed at those girls it hadn't been like that because Bucky didn't want Steve and it's okay. Steve hadn't thought he had a claim to him just because they'd been bonded.

“It wasn't like that.”

“Can you explain?”

He sighs, “he's my Soulmate but he doesn't belong to me. Just because I...I might have wanted...It doesn't mean he was obligated to give that to me.”

“Is that what you feel it would have been? Obligation?”

“Maybe. I don't know.” Yes. Because Bucky'd protected him but even the most tolerant of dames didn't want anything to do with him in a romantic way-just because scrawny Steve Rogers wanted his best friend it didn't mean his best friend wanted him back. But he'd made peace with that long ago. It doesn't sting to think of it.

“Did you ever think that maybe he would have wanted the same thing as you?”

“No.”

“You know Steve, the hearing him Calling you issue you've been having could be due to how you've been repressing yourself.”

“It's psychosomatic. That's all it is,” he says because he can't have her knowing that he's planning on going back there. Finding Bucky.

The next day the Winter Soldier pings on SHIELD's radar.  

Chapter Text

Steve paces the length of the holding cell. They'd taken the Winter Soldier in after a long struggle-only Steve whacking him upside the head with the shield had eventually beaten him into submission and he wants to know what this guy's deal is. What he's got against Steve in particular because they'd been drawn into a trap that had isolated him from the other Aveners-he's still kicking himself for not noticing-and he'd spouted inane things about how Captain America was trying to bring about the downfall of the Motherland. He hadn't liked it much when Steve had informed him no such place existed anymore. It'd been a tough fight. Idealism against idealism and Steve had been distracted more than once by the feeling that he'd been missing something important. The feeling remains even now as he wears a path in the floor in front of the door.

He can see inside the tiny cell thanks to the large two way window however nothing is familiar about the man lying strapped to the bed. His left arm, the metal one, has been removed leaving a pocket of empty air on that side and his hair covers his face. They hadn't let him into the interrogation room when they'd taken his mask off so it's all a waiting game now. He doesn't think that this man is anyone he knows. Can't be because all of the people he knows, really knows, are within the building or are dead. He huffs out a sigh. They won't let him into the cell, not with how violent of a reaction the Winter Soldier as he called himself had to Steve's presence. Even without the cowl and uniform he knew him somehow. Spat at him like a cornered cat. But he has to know.

“Feeling a connection to your attempted murderer, Cap?” Tony saunters up to interrupt his path as if his hair isn't a mess and he doesn't have the kind of shadows under his eyes that only three days without sleep can provide. He's wearing just a red button up with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of dark slacks, his hands are buried in his pockets in a display of attempted nonchalance.

“Maybe.”

“You know you don't have to try to be friends with him. He did try to kill you dead.”

Steve nods, “I know. I just...I get the feeling I should know him.”

“Maybe you saw a PSA against letting yourself become part cyborg with him in it.”

“Really?” he raises an eyebrow because if anyone can't talk about that it's Tony.

“His arm is a piece of junk, seriously. I actually believe him that he was trained by a spy school in the Soviet Union because that's how terrible it is,” Tony turns to peer inside the cell, “on a scale of one to Pepper will hate me how bad would it be if I tapped on the glass to make him look at me?”

“Pepper will hate you. He's not a wild animal, Tony.”

“I never said he was a wild animal I said I wanted him to look at me instead of the ceiling.”

Steve steps close to the glass, tries to get a better look but it's no good. Tony taps his foot beside him to the beat of some song Steve probably isn't a fan of and drums on the window frame, carefully avoiding actually tapping on the glass.

“Thor brought Asgardian mead if you're coming to join the party,” Tony says finally, “we were kind of throwing it for you but then you weren't there.”

“Sorry, I just wanted to see if...” he's okay. Which is stupid. This guy doesn't care if Steve is okay. He wants him dead. But for all their promises that their interrogations are only as violent as they need to be Steve knows this kind of man. He won't talk even if they beat it out of him and if he does they won't know if his information is truth or lies intended to buy him some time. And he's worried, for some reason, about him.

“He'll still be here when you get back. How long has it been since we partied with Thor, Steve? How long?”

“At least 8 months.”

“8 months. Eight, Steve. Come on, you can listen to his stories about killing monsters and sit in the corner with Pepper gossiping about me.”

He lets himself be led away though he keeps his focus on the cell until he can't see it anymore, “you didn't invite Jim?”

“Jim...Oh. Your boyfriend, no. He's deployed and he gets cranky when I tell him about the awesome stuff I'm doing without him.”

“He should join the team,” Steve thinks outloud because he's been thinking of it for awhile. It would give Tony a bit of a break sometimes and besides that the War Machine, from what Steve has seen of it, is an even heavier hitter than the Iron Man. They could use that on missions where speed isn't necessarily the most important thing. Of course, he's been thinking of adding a lot of people to the roster lately. There will come a time when it will be impossible for most of the others to keep up with the team; whether it's a family or other work obligations and he wants to prepare for that before it comes. He isn't naive enough to think that they'll all want to do this forever. Banner has his science research that's been going well-he'd been published in several journals recently-Clint is just a man and he's been seeing a blonde woman lately that Steve knows could turn into something serious, Natasha has no Soulmate however she too will grow tired of fighting eventually, Tony isn't getting any younger, and Thor routinely has obligations on Asgard.

“Are you replacing me, Steve because I'm-”

“No, Tony. I was thinking of getting ahold of that woman you know, Carol Danvers? And asking her to join too. You said she has powers, right?”

“Yeah, freak accident a couple of years ago.”

“What about Janet Van Dyne and Hank Pym?”

“What's up with this all of a sudden I feel like there should be a team meeting, I'm calling a team meeting,” Tony's fingers fly across his phone before Steve can stop him, “also okay on Jan and Hank, okay on Carol...Anyone else you've got there in your bag of tricks, Cap? What about Spider-Man? The kid who runs around slinging from webs?”

“Too young.”

“Yeah but he's already out there doing it.”

“He's only a kid, Tony. He should be focusing on school, not running around Manhattan in a costume,” he steps out of the elevator when it reaches the ground floor with Tony at his heels, “he deserves to have a childhood.”

“He's a teenager, actually. I was making robots and drinking illegally when I was his age,” Tony catches up with him and falls into step, “what about Wolverine? I know he's technically with Xavier but he can cheat on them, right?”

“Wolverine is fine,” he agrees, “and you're a genius, Tony, you were too smart for your own good. Spider-Man is a kid who got powers somehow.”

“You telling him he can't be an Avenger isn't going to make him stop being a superhero, Steve.”

“Well maybe it should! He's too young. That's it,” he hopes it will put an end to the conversation however it's never that easy with Tony once they've both got their backs up.

They get in the car and Tony continues, “You know what? I think you're scared.”

“You're right, Tony, I am scared. And you should be too. A kid running around with us fighting super powered villains? Do you not realize how dangerous that could be or do you think that everyone has a suit like yours?”

“These people aren't you Soulmate, Steve. They aren't and if you're planning on keeping someone capable off the team because the idea of them being trained properly with qualified adults scares you then I don't know what you want.”

“That's not what this is about, Stark,” he hisses out between his teeth because Tony presses his buttons too easily.

“It's exactly what it's about! You're scared because you think that someone else you're responsible for is going to get killed and that's not a good enough reason to deny him access to SHIELD's resources!”

“If you think it's a good idea then you go ahead, Tony! You've seen people die for you, you of all people should know what it's like!”

Tony laughs-always laughs when he's feeling vulnerable, “oh so now we're bringing up this again, okay, you wanna play hard ball? I'm texting the kid right now. He's officially 'not your problem'. I take full responsibility because you're too chicken to admit when you're wrong.”

“He is not old enough to enter a legally binding contract, Tony, and you know it.”

“Then I'll have him sign a non-legally binding contract.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

When they reach the tower they go their separate ways to cool off. Tony hangs around Pepper and Clint, steals their drinks while Steve lets Thor hand him shot after shot of Asgardian mead. It still doesn't get him drunk but it occupies his time at least while watching Natasha execute feats of gymnastics on one of the tables. She's doing well until Clint tries climbing on too and they fall in a tangle of limbs and broken glass and Thor toasts their valiant efforts beside Pepper who is trying in vain to convince Natasha that she may actually need stitches for the gash on her arm.

The night is winding down, Steve still mulling over what Tony had said, when Natasha-she had been eventually convinced that gauze wouldn't hurt to stop the bleeding-strides over and sinks into the couch cushions. He's got the Food Network on the tv, a drink in his hand that he's only putting up all pretences of drinking as she says.

“I know the Winter Soldier.”

He sets his glass on the floor beside his foot, “from before?”

“We trained together. They tried to bond us but we weren't compatible.”

“Is he dangerous? Do you know anything about him? Does SHIELD know you know him?”

She smiles, “of course.”

And he doesn't know what she's answering so he asks again.

“SHIELD knows as much as I told them but they don't know everything. And yes, he's dangerous. He's not some stray cat they picked up on the street-he's an assassin, Steve. If he's got you in his sights he's not going to stop until you're eliminated.”

“Why? What can I do to help?”

“I don't know, maybe it's that you represent everything that goes against his teachings from Mother Russia?” it's sarcastic in the way he rarely hears her vocalize, “it doesn't matter why. What matters is that he's after you and won't stop until you're dead.”

“You used to believe those things,” he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I did.”

“So what's different about him? He could be an ally given the right course of action.”

“No, I don't think so. He was in deeper than I was, Steve. The Winter Soldier project was different than even what I experienced. If they were successful that means that the only thing left now is a machine. A machine bent on killing you,” she puts a hand on his back, “I know you're thinking that we still have to try but I don't know if there's anything left to try for.”

“There's always something to fight for, Natasha. You got out; so can he.”

He hears her voice drop back to the guarded tone she's known for, that he's learnt to recognize, “do you know him?”

“I don't know, but I feel like I should.”

“You can take a look tomorrow once SHIELD is done with their second round of interrogation,” she leans back against the couch cushion, “he's not going to break. We were trained better than that.”

The other conversations are low and Steve knows they're probably listening in however it makes no difference whether they find out now or later, “what happens if he doesn't?”

It won't be good. He knows it won't be. They can't allow a murderous man thirsting for Captain America's blood back out on the streets; not ever and he's no doubt capable of launching escape attempts from regular prison. It's either hold him captive forever or...

“That's Fury's call.”

“Avengers don't kill.”

“Fury isn't an Avenger,” she says and Steve tries to breath through the wave of too many feelings to name that rushes over him.

~~**~~

The next morning he has a meeting with the head of the school board to plead his case as to why kids with powers shouldn't be segregated from the others with Professor Xavier and it's guaranteed to be an uphill battle. People these days claim to be more tolerant but he can see it in this, in the way that the smallest incident involving mutants or Bruce Banner causes widespread panic about 'when They take over', in the way that there are entire hate groups dedicated to people like the X-Men or the Avengers. People don't like people that are different, they never have, but Steve had thought after seeing all of the strides they'd made that they would be more accepting of this too.

He shakes Xavier's hand, then the head of the school board before sitting down. They're in his office-a cozier version of Tony's and with, if it's possible, more paperwork proudly displayed on the walls. The chairs are hard and the cushion it does have is just as unyielding which Tony has told him is deliberate but it'll take more than that for Steve to agree with what this man is saying about mutants and other children with powers.

“Good morning, gentlemen, I think that it's best we get right down to business, shall we?” he's balding with blond hair, a less than athletic build, and the wall behind his desk is filled with pictures of himself with what Steve assumes are his children. Another blatant tactic to gain their favour.

“Of course, sir.”

“As I'm sure you're all aware, the public school board of New York wants nothing more than for everyone to live in complete harmony however several parents have brought us concerns about their children fraternizing with children who are...special in some way.”

“Is it not you, chairman, who is pushing for the Mutant Registration Act which would deny mutant children the right to disclose their abilities, or not, according to their own discretion?” Xavier's voice is calm probably from dealing with people like this his entire life. Steve nods along with him.

“That is a gross over-simplification, professor, I merely wish to protect the right of the children to have a safe and secure school environment.”

“And how would outing those kids help that? With all due respect, sir, the only reason any of the mutant population has shown aggression is due to the pressures placed on them from birth to be normal. Try to act like you're something you're not your entire life and anyone's bound to crack.”

“Yes, but most children don't have the ability to propel spikes out of their skin.”

Steve frowns, “no, but when has that ever stopped anyone from hurting someone who's hurt them? If you try to pass this as law, sir, there's nowhere these kids will be safe. It's your job to ensure every child, regardless of how they were born, gets and education. Don't you think this country has had enough of this kind of violation of civil rights?”

“Listen, Captain America, we all want everyone to tell safe however the fact of the matter is some parents don't feel secure in sending their children to a facility where mutants are allowed to hide out.”

“Why is it that the children-the mutant children-feel the need to hide, chairman?” Xavier says, voice still calmer than Steve's and he tries to match it when he speaks again.

“They should have the right to choose when they reveal themselves to the public, sir. Just like anyone.”

The rest of the meeting goes about as well as he'd imagined it would. Things got more heated than they probably should have, Steve made a speech that Tony would have laughed too hard at, and most of all they didn't actually come to any agreement. The school board had a right to their opinion, of course but Steve has a right to think their opinion is selfish, mutantphobic, and utterly ridiculous besides that. He walks back to his apartment to change but doesn't stay long. They'll be continuing the Winter Soldier's interrogation today and his head has stopped lying to him about Bucky but he still feels drawn to SHIELD HQ.

He just has to find out what's going on with him, who he is, and then he can drop it.

~~**~~

They've got the Winter Soldier in one of their dimly lit rooms that Steve doesn't go inside. He's done interrogations before, of course, but never through SHIELD and if he's honest he's not sure he ever wants to. Natasha is right-Fury isn't an Avenger and for all that Steve will fight to keep their prisoner alive sometimes there isn't a way out.

His fists clench and unclench as he waits for them to drag him from questioning back to his cell. It's nerves he knows but he wishes he could stop doing it because it looks more aggressive than most people feel comfortable seeing from a man his size and he has no intention of punching anyone besides that. When he hears footfalls on the floor he looks up-Tony is striding confidently up to him, a tray of coffee and a box of donuts in his hands.

“Still waiting on them to finish?”

There's a small metal table positioned between their chairs which Tony sets his peace offerings on before cracking open a coffee. Steve doesn't make a move for anything, not until he's sure that they are indeed offerings of peace and not bribes to let Spider-Man onto the team. Randy's Donuts. Tony had taken him there once when they'd been in town for another baseball game and they'd eaten three dozen donuts between the two of them.

“Yeah.”

“Hungry? Go on, I know you didn't eat when you were with Xavier-school boards are stingy assholes about food.”

Steve nods, takes one of the coffees then a donut, “he offered us cafeteria food but I think that was more of an insult than anything else.”

“Knowing you you'd probably eat it,” Tony smirks, shoves a donut into his mouth like he's not worth billions of dollars.

“I was tempted.”

“What he have to say?” and he knows it's just Tony being nosey but he answers anyway.

“He's still pushing for the MRA. I don't know what he's thinking.”

“You know it could help.”

He sucks in a breath, takes a slow sip of his coffee, “I don't see how.”

“Think about it. If we knew what kids were mutants we'd know who would need special help. There wouldn't be mutant kids blowing up schools because there would be programs in place to teach them to responsibly use their powers, meet other kids like them.”

“Or people would know exactly where the find the witches they were hunting.”

“Godwin's Law.”

“I'm not calling you a Nazi, Tony,” Steve gives him a sharp look that makes him put his hands up in surrender.

“Close enough but anyway, what if it was voluntary?” Tony talks with his mouth full, waves the hand holding the donut around as he speaks.

“We both know that that wouldn't work.”

“Yeah, if they went about it wrong. We could make it work. Xavier did.”

“The professor also did it without having to rely on some restrictive law to tell where his next students would be.”

“Hello, mutant? He can read people's minds-always thought that was creepy-it would be like throwing the shield to him,” Tony takes a gulp of his coffee before running his hand through his hair. Steve cringes and Tony looks down at his hand sticky with donut glaze with a sigh.

“People have the right not to divulge things about their lives, Tony, what happened to privacy or does that not exist anymore?”

“Actually-”

The door opens and they pull the Winter Soldier from the depths of the room, his hand and ankles shackled together as if that would stop someone with Natasha's kind of training. The SHIELD agents around him stop, salute he and Tony gives about half a second of warning before the Soldier is taking them down in a frenzy of chains and motion. He overbalances, obviously not used to the lack of arm on one side, but recovers just as quickly as he'd acted. Someone sounds the alarm that rings shrilly to alert all agents of a security breach and the hallway fills in under a minute while the Winter Soldier hunches like a cornered animal. His breath comes fast and he turns to glare at Steve as though it's his fault that he couldn't escape.

“Bucky?” the name falls from his mouth before he can stop it because it's Bucky. Under all the hair, the stubble, the haunted eyes it's Bucky and if he could faint anymore from hyper-ventilating he probably would. It's Bucky. It's Bucky. The aggression seeps from Steve's body like air out of a punctured balloon and Tony gives him a comically surprised look as he takes a step towards him. His palms are sweaty, his mind stuck on repeat with one thought.

Bucky is alive.

Chapter Text

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

“I know you're confused, but-”

“The only person here is the man who is going to kill you,” his lips turn up in a smile too cruel for the face it's on and Steve just barely moves out of the way before Bucky is trying to wrap his hand around his throat.

It's not a fair fight and if Steve is truthful he doesn't want to fight him anyway, “just try to remember who I am.”

SHIELD has the two of them more or less subdued before it can escalate but he snaps at them to let him go without feeling very guilty about it afterwards. “We're bonded. It's okay.”

Tony is beside him again, holds up his hand and everyone more of less stops what they're doing, “okay, two seconds because Steve he's trying to you know, kill you.”

“He's my Soulmate, Tony,” he tries to keep his voice even because they'd just made up after fighting but he's been kept from Bucky for too long. He can't go another day, month, year, even minute without touching him.

“And his hand apparently has a date with your neck, Steve.”

“You're not taking him and putting him back into that room, that's an order,” he turns on the SHIELD agents who to their credit don't cower like they used to.

“Sir, it's up to Director Fury to decide where this goes.”

“Steve, come on, we'll go clear it all up Fury in like, two seconds. He's your 'mate there should be no problem.”

And he knows that Tony is just trying to get him out of the situation but he nods anyway. He'll have to talk to Fury sometime and with Tony backing up his story it'll be easier to get him to agree to let Bucky go. Or at least make him seem like he's rational in comparison to Tony as it so often happens.

He has a difficult time keeping his eyes from returning to where they have Bucky held down, probably sedated while he speaks to the agents, “Until then you're not doing any more interrogations.”

“Uh...Y-Yes...sir?”

Tony has to nearly drag him just to keep him from staying rooted in his spot but he goes, and they're in Fury's office before Steve has even thought of what he's going to say beyond “Bucky is alive”. He keeps turning the words over in his head as if tasting one of those too expensive wines that Tony says are way better than any of the crap Steve has ever had. Bucky is alive. And he wants to kill Steve but it must be some sort of brainwashing because Bucky would never hurt him, never like the Winter Soldier wants to. They're bonded.

Fury looks up from his phone call, tells the person on the other end that he'll call them back, and leans forward in his seat, “for the last time, Stark, SHIELD is not allowing an Avengers trip to Bermuda.”

“It would be great, I know you think it would be that's why you're so against it. But totally not why we're here, actually.”

“Bucky is the Winter Soldier,” Steve blurts out and he'd intended it to be more eloquent than that however being direct has always worked best for him anyway.

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Yessir.”

“Your dead Soulmate.”

“Yes.”

Fury sighs for a long moment, scrubs his hand over his forehead, “are you shitting me, Rogers?”

“No sir. I would recognize him anywhere. It's Bucky, he's alive,” he says and a grin bursts across his face in spite of himself because even in his wildest of dreams this had never happened and now it has.

“This is the same Winter Soldier who tried to kill you.”

“...It must have been-I don't know why he thought had to do it but he must be confused. Maybe he didn't know it was me.”

“And you had a totally rational chat with him about how we don't hit people while the alarms were going off.”

Steve clenches his fists, “sir, I don't think you're taking this seriously. This is Bucky, he's not like that.”

“I'm taking this very seriously, Cap. But I can't just let an internationally wanted Soviet assassin loose on New York because he and Captain America are best buddies.”

“So you're keeping him under lock and key until what?”

“Until such a time that I can prove without a shadow of a doubt he isn't a danger to himself or the people around him,” Fury takes a deep breath after Steve stares him down for a minute, “you can have unlimited visitation rights, Rogers, but that's all I can give you until we can get inside his head.”

“Fine.”

It's not fine and they both know it but he has too much respect for Nick to go off on him in his office when he doesn't know the whole story. He can ask Bucky about it when they both settle down. Tony is on his heels, keeping up like only SHIELD personnel and Pepper can manage and grabs his shoulder as if he knows where Steve is headed.

“You up for a movie? Pep's been asking to watch this terrible drama one, chick flick, probably something you'd like.”

He breathes. Can't let this spiral out of his control. “Yeah, sure.”

It'll keep his mind off of Bucky and he thinks just as well, if not better, in his subconscious mind and besides that it's been three days from hell or close to it. He doesn't deserve a break really, but he probably needs one if Tony of all people is trying to entice him into it.

“Food first then movie.”

Steve nods his agreement but he isn't seeing him when he looks at him.

~~**~~

Pepper hugs him for longer than is probably necessary when he and Tony make it to the penthouse but Steve doesn't have it in him to tell her no. Especially not when it's his fault they all think he's some sort of swooning miss after his incident after E! He thinks that the fight with the Winter Soldier-Bucky he corrects himself-has made them see he's no longer compromised however this will be the real test. Steve isn't about to fail it. He'll be fine. Bucky is alive and he's safe and Steve's first responsibility is to America. Bucky'd call him all sorts of names if he didn't remember that.

“How come you never hug me when I walk in a door, I feel neglected. Is this what other people feel like all the time?” Tony shoves past Steve and holds out his arms. Pepper turns away with a shrug and heads for the couch, “Pepper we are not watching Pirates of the Caribbean. Am I the only one with taste in this house?”

“Ten minutes ago you were complaining about my first choice.”

Steve takes a seat beside her and Tony...Tony drops down too so that he's got one of them on either side, “tell Pepper we're no longer talking and that we should just watch Taken.”

“We're not watching Taken again, Tony.”

“What was that? Must've been nothing.”

“Tony says you're no longer talking and that he wants to watch Taken,” Steve turns to Pepper and smiles. She rolls her eyes.

“Then tell Tony he can choose either Pirates of the Caribbean or Pride and Prejudice.”

“What is with you people and prejudice and pride? Is this a dig at me I feel oppressed.”

“Yeah, it's all about you, Tony,” Steve mutters.

They watch Pirates until Tony and Pepper both fall asleep against his shoulders and Steve is left alone with his thoughts. Bucky'd tried to kill him, sure, but there had to be something they could do. SHIELD couldn't just throw him out like yesterday's trash without him knowing and even if they could they wouldn't. Nick had more respect for him than that. But in case he didn't Steve had a man on this inside. Well, woman. She hadn't said much about her relationship with Bucky-The Winter Soldier-other than that they'd trained in the same place but she has to care for him somehow if she'd agreed to keep an eye on him for him. Natasha doesn't do anything as a favour to someone unless she wants to or it will have some sort of benefit for her and Steve doesn't have anything she wants, won't bow to pressure if she tries to blackmail him later. People aren't as black and white as in cartoons or the old Captain America comic books-he doesn't know why writers tried to make it seem that they are.

~~**~~

The next day when he goes into SHIELD they've got a mission for him over in Cuba and Steve can barely keep from going on the warpath. He heads to his session with Doctor Robinson and paces the length of her office, fuming silently until she talks him down enough so that he sits.

He wants to snap at her that they can't just send him away when Bucky has just gotten back but it wouldn't be fair and hell, he recognizes how childish it would sound. He's a grown man with responsibilities and he can't just throw them away because of this except that his mind is thrumming with the possibilities of this, excitement over how lucky they'd been. He'd seen Bucky fall and now he's here and he'll be messed up, Steve'd been but he's here and that's all that matters. He takes a deep breath, expelling the tension from his body for now.

“You know nothing will change while you're gone. Bucky's recovery isn't going to happen overnight,” she says gently and he does know-he hadn't changed overnight, still isn't entirely, after all and Bucky is more resilient, better, however he's been through a lot. That much is clear. The thought of the empty space on his left side makes grief seize his chest-he should've been there-but he pushes it back for now.

“You think you can help him?” he doesn't bother keeping the hope from his voice because he wants her to know he's trusting her with this.

“I think that I can try.”

He nods, trusts that she will while he's gone because there's really nothing else he can do short of sitting in on every session they do and he really doesn't think that'll work out. It's better for him to keep busy, to not think about how Bucky is in that room alone, hurting. When he comes back from the mission he can tell Bucky all about it. When he gets back maybe they'll be able to stand face to face without him lunging at Steve like a caged animal.

“When you get back we'll talk some more about this,” she tells him when the session is ending and he's heading for the door.

“Yeah. Good luck.”

He takes Clint with him to Cuba because of the two of them his Spanish is better and Natasha is being kept with SHIELD for help with the Winter Soldier. Clint is good, though. Mouthy, sarcastic, and too cocky but he has his back so that's all that matters really. They spend the first night in Cuba in some bar, playing the part of idiot American tourists looking to buy some cheap booze and cheaper entertainment. Natasha would have wanted to be on this one if she could've been, he knows, but he's grateful for her staying behind anyway. And unfortunately, there's always missions to take down human traffickers. She'll get the next one and the next after that. He manages to keep the smile on his face as they're led to where the “merchandise” is kept but only barely. It isn't about Bucky or his feelings about him being back, it's the lack of regard for human life. Clint shakes his head at him while the pimp is looking away, shakes it again more vigorously because of something he sees on Steve's face, then sighs when they enter the run down hostel where the man promises that his girls are ready and waiting for them.

He keeps a lid on it for the sake of the mission until they send in a girl who can't be older than 16. Skinny, sickly, and she won't meet their eyes. She tells them how she'd gotten into the business, how she'd run away from home to find a better life and had been found instead by this man who had promised her honest work while Clint jumps on the bed and makes suggestive sounds to mask the sounds of their talking. Tells them how she wants to get out but he says that he'll kill her if she tries and Steve promises to get her out of here by the end of the week, asks if it's okay to hold her when she cries because she's had enough of men taking without asking. He doesn't tell her who he is and can't give her SHIELD's number for her own safety but he tells her to meet him at the fountain downtown on Friday and he'll have a way out for her and whomever she brings. They pay her only a little more than what they'd agreed upon to keep them from looking suspicious, to continue looking like the idiot tourists who have a hint of a conscience, then go back to their hotel room in a nicer part of town. He thinks of the people who can't afford this or use their bodies to pay for basic necessities that people in the US take for granted and understands why Natasha insists upon coming on missions like these.

“That guy was about to burst into flames with that look you were giving him,” Clint remarks with a smirk.

“That obvious?”

“Yeah, you can't act worth a damn, Cap.”

“Back in my day you put on a uniform and spoke a couple words of German before beating the tar out of a guy not...this,” he gestures to the pile of clothes that had worked as a disguise.

“Yeah well, part of a covert op is not beating anyone up. Not that I don't want to. I really, really want to. But SHIELD will take care of that part. Always do.”

“It's not that.”

“You just wanna save them all, I get it. But that isn't what we're here for. We can take a few but that means neither of us can come back here again without facial reconstruction.”

“Then what are we here for?”

Clint sighs for the second time, “find out who's running this business, gather intel and get SHIELD in here to nab 'em. It was in the mission docket I-”

“I read it. Are you really okay with just waiting for big brother to come in and do all the work?”

“Look, Cap, I'm not Stark so can we not have sexual tension laden conversations cause you're great but I'm not interested. The game should be on, let's watch the...” he flips on the television that half the picture is obscured on due to static, “aw, TV, you suck.”

"So you're a yes man."

"I'm a 'I need to get paid so my girlfriend doesn't give me the eye' man. Living in New York is expensive. Hey, you got a couple of bucks I could borrow until payday because I bought these new arrows. Bobbi's birthday is...when we get back. Okay, I just want to buy more arrows, stop looking at me like that."

It's a joke but Steve doesn't laugh. Clint groans and says he'll talk to SHIELD about letting him punch a couple of traffickers and then groans some more about how he wishes Natasha were here because Natasha doesn't act like a disappointed father every time he says something.

Steve doesn't get much sleep that night.

Chapter Text

The rest of the mission goes well enough that Fury is likely to send him out on more but not yet. The moment he gets back he makes a donation to a charity that helps women trying to get out of the sex industry and wishes he could do more. Had done more even if the others would tell him he'd done all he could. His next stop is Bucky's cell and Natasha falls into step with him halfway there.

“You skipped your debriefing.”

“It can wait.”

She nods, “Clint said the mission went well.”

“Brought back three. SHIELD'll take care of the rest. How is he?”

“The same,” her boots click on the floor though they aren't heels and she stops him before they reach the room, looks up, “Fury wants you to be prepared.”

“For what? For them to kill him? Because I'm not letting that happen, Natasha.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, “for the fact that he may never be the same man you grew up with. He might remember you eventually, he might not, but there's no guarantee that he'll be the same.”

“Bucky is two years younger than me. He went to war the same year I did so no, he's not the same guy I grew up with but I'm not the same guy he did either,” he moves past her and she stops him again.

“You have to promise you won't interfere with his treatment,” her eyes are firmly fixed on his and she looks as calm as ever but he knows the kinds of things that can hide under that sort of stillness.

“You can't promise that.”

“That's why I'm asking you to,” she doesn't blink, “I want him alive as much as you do.”

“Were you two...”he shifts on his feet, not sure if he wants the answer in case he feels jealousy over an ages old relationship by all accounts.

“He taught me how to speak English like a real American. Taught me almost everything I know.”

He nods, “I wasn't planning on screwing around with his treatment.”

“Fury said you came into his office guns blazing when you realized it was him. Thought I should talk you down.”

“He knew?”

Natasha starts down the hallway again.

“When was he planning on telling me, if ever?” But he already knows the answer to that. Fury wouldn't have told him unless he'd found a way to stop him from being a threat. If they hadn't been able to restrain the Winter Soldier they would have spun some magnificent lie so that Steve had no idea of who the man who had attacked him had been.

“You know the answer to that.”

“I'm starting to get the feeling again that Fury doesn't trust me.”

She smiles over her shoulder, “now you're getting it, Cap.”

Bucky really isn't any different. His skin is still sallow, washed out by the fluorescent lighting and the restraints around his wrist and ankles haven't come off. There's no sign of chafing which means he hasn't been struggling but then he's just lying there, eyes half closed like he's doped to hell and back. Which he probably is. The brief respite from seeing him like this had somehow numbed the wound but now the pain is back, worse than before. He wants to go inside, brush the too long hair out of his eyes, and tell him that he's a jerk. Wants to. Can't.

Bucky hadn't gotten sick very often being the stronger of them. Mostly he'd just gotten the sniffles for a few days and then been fine except for once. They'd been 14 and 12, struggling to make ends meet as usual, when Bucky'd caught something. Steve thinks it'd been Pneumonia with how horrible he'd sounded but at the time he'd been terrified it was TB. Bucky'd looked pale like this then, too. Laid up in bed for weeks shivering in spite of a mountain of blankets and he'd snarled at Steve to stay the hell away in case he got it too because Steve'd gotten it every winter except this one and they both knew he probably couldn't handle another bout. So he'd listened to Bucky cough and choke on his own breath until he fell asleep. He'd probably known about Steve coming in after that, putting a cool towel on his forehead, and begging enough scraps of food off of the landlady to make some terrible tasting soup but if he did he'd never said anything.

Steve remembers watching Bucky's chest rise and fall with each breath, remembers wondering if like his mother it would ebb then stop, remembers wondering what he'd do if Bucky died, and remembers not knowing. Become a superhero is apparently the answer.

“Can I get you anything?” Natasha asks, gets to her feet to walk a little.

“No.”

He doesn't know what he could possibly want anyway.

“I'm heading back to the tower,” she says and she must want to stay too but Steve knows how much of a brooder he is. No fun to be around when he gets into this kind of mood. Bucky used to laugh at him, sling an arm around his shoulders. “Cheer up, kid,” he'd say and Steve would glower, tell him he wasn't a kid for all that they both had been back then and Bucky would laugh some more.

He doesn't know if he'll ever hear Bucky laugh again.

~~**~~

“You were specifically told not to go inside, Captain.”

He narrows his eyes, “because you didn't want me to see your little experiment?”

“Look-”

“No you look,” he tries to shake the image of Bucky hooked up to those machines, “you really look, Nick because this might be the last time you see me or Bucky.”

“Rogers, I need you to take a seat,” Fury's voice is calm but he knows that there's at least three things behind his desk that are strong enough to temporarily put down Captain America and another two that will call things strong enough to do it permanently.

“First the Hydra weapons-what was it you called it, Phase two? And now this. What the hell are you doing?”

Bucky had looked at him for all of a second, face blank, but that was all it had taken. They'd had him hooked up to something, running combat simulations like they were of all things training him again. Like they'd wiped his memory again and put something more favourable to SHIELD in his head so they would work for him and Bucky isn't for them. Bucky isn't their weapon. The module had yielded easily under his fists until SHIELD personnel had restrained him and for a second he'd thought they'd drug him too because Bucky hadn't been struggling. He'd been too calm to not be doped.

“We're treating him.”

“By making him your personal war machine?”

“Cap-”

“No. Whatever it is you're doing, or thinking of doing, he's opting out. I see him in another machine screwing with his head again, sir, and we'll both be going very far away.”

He doesn't know how far they'd get with Bucky wanting to kill him and all but he'd still have to try. Bucky deserves better than what he'd got in life.

Fury raises his hands in surrender, “Alright, we'll go another route. Just stand down, soldier, there's no reason for this to get ugly.”

And he knows that by now the agents have returned, ready to rush into the office and drug him to his eyeballs for all the good it would do in the long run so he takes a couple of breaths, tries to calm down because he doesn't know where the anger had all come from but it's too much.

“I want what's best for him,” he says finally, “messing with his head isn't what'll help.”

“We have the best personnel on his case, Cap, no one's trying to make anyone into a weapon of mass destruction.”

“Remember that when he's better.”

Because Bucky'd always been a great sniper, a great soldier and he's certain SHIELD will want a piece of him once he's in his right mind again no matter how many times he says no.

“No one's forgetting who he is.”

“He's mine,” he says and possessiveness curls around his chest like he's never felt it before. It nearly chokes him because Bucky deserves better but right now Steve is what he's got, and he's what Steve has, the only thing he has that's really his and he'd always squashed the feeling down back before the ice but now it's an asset. Taking Captain America's Soulmate from him wouldn't be an option even if when he Calls Bucky doesn't answer, even if he doesn't feel Bucky like he used to back then. SHIELD doesn't have to know that.

“And no one's taking him away.”

“How long were you going to wait until you told me?”

Fury settles back in his seat, “I'm not gonna bullshit you, Rogers. You've got Romanoff on your side and I don't know if you've noticed but keeping secrets from her is damn near impossible. Until we were sure it was him.”

“And you didn't think-” he stops because he feels the possessiveness twisting into something darker, takes another deep breath, “that maybe I should've know right away that Bucky was alive? How long were you planning on interrogating him for?”

“Captain, do you know how many average New Yorkers came around Army HQ after your plane went down claiming to be you? A hell of a lot. We couldn't just say it was him without running tests.”

It's not everyday someone comes back from the dead, he wants to say but doesn't because he had. Of course Bucky had too and while he's sure they hadn't hid Bucky's return for his own benefit it had helped not to get his hopes up immediately. He nods, “no more computers.”

“No more computers.”

~~**~~

The weeks pass by quickly. Villains come out of the woodwork, there's always something to do, and before he knows it they're telling him that they'll reintroduce him to the Winter Soldier, Bucky, face to face. He paces the waiting room the entire day until they send Natasha out to get him and she nods at him before heading back the way she'd come.

“Is this a good idea?” he asks in spite of how he doesn't care in the slightest because he hasn't been able to keep up a vigil the entire three months they'd had Bucky in isolation. They'd sent him on more missions and he'd wanted to protest except that they'd always made sure they'd been missions he couldn't say no to.

“His memory is still spotty but he remembers back until he and I met. We didn't train together long.”

So there's no reason he wouldn't remember Steve eventually, he thinks she's saying. Hopes she's saying.

“Right.”

“I'm delivering you to the doc in charge first. She's got her list of rules for you to follow.”

“I'd be surprised...”

“But this is SHIELD?” she smirks, “some rules are made to be broken.”

He nearly says he isn't sure if he agrees then remembers how he'd gone in and saved Bucky, the Commandos from Zola against orders, had gone after Loki 'against orders', and there'd been that time when he and Bucky had snuck out from the orphanage to play at being grown.

It takes about half an hour before doctor Robinson can brief him on the “rules” but even that feels too long. Even that feels too short, like he can't possibly be prepared to see him, really see him, again. Maybe he doesn't deserve this. Maybe it'd be better if Bucky never remembered what'd happened to him like Steve can't really, truly remember the feeling of icy water creeping up on him anymore. Steve wonders out loud if it's selfish to want him to have his memories back and she tells him that that's something he'll have to figure out for himself.

"Okay," he says and he means it except that he can't possibly follow through with it. Bucky is kept behind locked doors, sedated, and restrained like an animal and Steve wants to go to him, tell him he's here because it hadn't been psychosomatic. Bucky had been Calling him up until SHIELD had taken him in but he isn't now. He can't feel him at all and doctor Robinson told him it's to keep Bucky from getting overwhelmed that they're suppressing the part of his brain that registers Steve on his mental radar. It's almost as if they aren't bonded at all and they'd said this could finally break their bond if it's not already on Bucky's end. They'd said that Bucky could've been torn apart inside until he couldn't bond anymore like Natasha. So he shoves his hands in his pockets before going in.

The door requires a retinal scan and they don't release Bucky from his bonds when Steve enters the room even though Steve could easily take him down if he had to.

"Bucky?"

"Who?"

"James. You uh...you used to call yourself Bucky."

"Are you here to run more tests?" he doesn't sound like Bucky. His voice is flat and calm in a way that normal people rarely ever manage.

"No I-I'm just a friend."

Bucky tracks his movement as he moves closer to the bed, narrows his eyes at him, " I don't have any friends."

"You have me."

"And who are you?"

"Steve. We were best friends before this," he smiles and Bucky nods slowly.

"I don't remember you."

"Doc said you wouldn't for awhile. There's uh...there's a lot of stress on your brain right now. Probably better not to think too much," he resists the urge to touch him but only barely. He looks lost and Steve has to know if Bucky will respond to him even if he knows that he probably won't. Not while he's locked up like this. Doctor Robinson talks in his ear and reminds him not to do anything rash.

"Okay. Why send you here then?"

"I asked if I could come. Wanted to see if you were okay."

Bucky looks him over again, "that's it?"

"Are you feeling okay? They aren't..."

"They prick me with needles. Ask me a lot of questions I don't know the answer to."

Steve nods, "good."

"Are we..." Bucky raises his eyebrows, points to himself then Steve, "lovers?"

"No! No."

"Okay," Bucky says and Steve gets the distinct feeling that he doesn't believe him.

“Why? They tell you that?”

“I don't know. Just...How you look at me.”

“A fella isn't allowed to be happy to see his best friend?” he diverts the question with a laugh that sounds nervous to his ears, “you still play cards?”

Bucky stares at him for a second, brow furrowing with concentration then shrugs, “I don't know.”

“Guess I'll teach you this time. First time we ever played you taught me poker. I think you took every penny I had that night.”

“I don't remember that. Why would I do that?”

“You were looking to go out with a dame and I was the only one of us two blockheads who could save money worth a damn. You were uh...You were always spending it on pretty girls,” he smiles and tries not to notice how Bucky flinches when he reaches into his back pocket for the deck of cards.

“Why?”

“I don't know, guess because it didn't matter how poor you were girls'd always give you the time of day,” he shuffles while he stands, listening to doctor Robinson tell him he's doing well but to be careful about how much he says. Talking too much about things he didn't remember could set him off and then Steve would have one angry ex-Soviet assassin on his hands, she tells him in his ear.

“Huh.”

“Yeah, huh.”

“Sit,” Bucky says, mouth tight in the corners and Steve does on the end of the bed once Bucky pulls his legs up so they're folded underneath him.

“Okay, so first thing about Texas Hold 'Em-” he deals out the cards amongst the too-white sheets.

“You said it was called Poker.”

“Same thing.”

“Okay.”

“You get two cards-don't look at 'em yet-and I get two. Then we bet.”

“I don't have anything.”

He reaches into his pocket again, ignores how Bucky's eyes flick to his hand as if assessing a threat, and places down a handful of nickles, “You get half, I get half. The best hand is a pair of aces but I wouldn't count on that. Face cards like the King, Queen, and Joker are good too. Everything but those are worth what it says on the card.”

“So I want the highest number.”

“Yeah. And you're trying to make the other guy quit too.”

“How?”

“Acting like you've got a better hand than you do, or acting like you haven't got anything when you do.”

Bucky nods, “so if I win I get all of those nickels.”

“You get whatever we both bet.”

“I'll bet it all.”

He tries not to smile but he does and Bucky catches it.

“Is that something I'd do? Back when you knew me?”

“Yeah, even if you lost you'd have all your money and mine by the end of the night. Guess I could've said no and kept it but,” he takes a breath because the memories are choking him with Bucky right here in front of him but so far away.

“You wanted to keep playing.”

“Yeah.”

He nods and peeks at his cards. His face doesn't change and Steve is glad he'd only brought nickels. Back then Bucky'd had his tells, he'd been too cocky when he had nothing or reserved when his hand had been good, but they're lost now.

“How long are you going to stay here?” Bucky asks after they have a few hands a few piles of nickels each.

“Are you tired? Sorry, it's getting late.”

“I want to keep playing,” he says and meets Steve's eyes, “I raise”

Bucky cleans him out of nickels that night but when Natasha falls into step with him afterwards she smiles, “Poker, Steve?”

“Gotta prepare him for team game night somehow.”

“Give him a dictionary too or he'll never keep up with Clint on Scrabble night,” she walks him to the door then halts, “have a good night, Cap.”

It goes without him having to say that he already has and she shakes her head when he's on his way muttering something that sounds like 'god damn Americans and their Poker'.

Chapter Text

“How'd the conjugal visit go?” Tony asks as he flops on the couch beside him, “are you seriously watching A Walk to Remember, Steve?”

“Good. He didn't try to strangle me,” he ignores the second question because Mandy Moore is a great actress and that other guy isn't so bad either.

He can hear the smirk in Tony's voice, “you know some people would think that meant it went badly.”

“And some people should watch what they say.”

“Ooh, touchy. So how long until he's in Avengers shape because I'm guessing that you're, you know, going to try to get your snookums on the team.”

“Never. He's not going from being someone else's weapon to Fury's, Tony, and that's it.”

“Well when he is he can stay here. Unless you're planning on trying to rent a two bedroom apartment in Manhattan which, good luck.”

“I don't know what we're going to do.”

There's silence for awhile and it's how he knows Tony has been getting to this point their entire conversation, “You know a one bedroom apartment would be cheaper. One bed, one bathroom. It'd be grugal.”

“Frugal.”

“Whatever. Anyway you're Soulmates, don't tell me you aren't looking to make a love nest, white picket fence, a dog-”

“We aren't like that, Tony,” he cuts him off before he can go any further because maybe he had wanted that before but before is not now.

“Like...Soulmates or...because that's totally your style, you probably have the dog's name and breed picked out alread-”

“We're just platonic.”

“No such thing, Cap,” Tony has conjured a drink out of nowhere and takes a sip, “is that what they told you in the 40's?”

“Even if they hadn't, Bucky likes women.”

Tony stares at him, reads between the lines perhaps as well as Doctor Robinson had, “well that's awkward.”

“Not really.”

“Kind of awkward. It's really, really weird, how do you not-” Tony breaks off, types something into his phone for a minute then waits, “Pep says it's really weird too.”

“He doesn't even remember me, Tony.”

“We'll fix it, it'll be fine. I'll donate some money to SHIELD, that kind of thing.”

“No,Tony.”

“No but I already did it, right JARVIS? You totally just donated money to SHIELD.”

“Of course, Sir,” the disembodied voice says in agreeable tones.

“I could do without you patronizing me,” he says and Tony rolls his eyes at him.

“It's called accepting help, Steve, you should try it.”

“Like you do?” the words hurt, he knows they do because they've always been best at finding each other's sore spots in spite of how a smirk spreads over Tony's face. He thinks he's hiding it but he isn't.

“Did Pepper tell you that one because I feel a familiar sense of smug superiority.”

“The doc told me not to get my hopes up. Money can't bring back a person's memories, Tony.”

Stark frowns for once, and looks like he gets it, “hey, look, I got some tickets for a baseball game next week. Smuggle your boytoy out and show him around New York, might jog his memory.”

“Yeah.”

“So are you actually watching this or can I take you and Pep out for a burger and fries?”

“I could eat,” he replies after a moment of silently watching the movie in front of him. It'll be on again, always is.

Tony flings himself to his feet, fingers tapping at the keyboard on his phone screen a few seconds later,“Wipe your tears with your hanky and meet me downstairs in ten.”

They bring Banner along too because he'd just so happened to be passing by on his way to his lab when Tony had left the communal living room and he very nearly matches Steve in volume of food.

“Sorry, haven't eaten in a day,” he balls the last of the hamburger wrappers up with a quick smile. The diner is one they've come to often, usually with Thor who for whatever reason has a fondness for them. Steve senses a story there however he's not entirely sure if he'll be able to handle another Thor Story so soon. The last time he'd been on Earth he'd told them about killing Draugr who had been running amok and Tony had begged for a sample of their undead flesh.

“Gave up after a day? Amateur.”

“Yeah, well, someone had to give Steve a run for his money.”

“No one has to give anyone a run for anything,” Pepper chimes in, “the last time Tony staged an Avengers Eating Contest it cost thousands.”

“You were the one who said to invite everyone.”

“Sif ate fifty cheeseburgers, Tony. And that was only Sif,” she has her arms crossed over her chest but her lips are failing to stay in a frown-Steve remembers not knowing how a woman her size could eat that many burgers until Thor had told him of the great feasts of Asgard.

“Yeah, didn't Volstagg eat like...ballpark...150?”

Bruce has moved onto writing notes Steve can't understand onto napkins with a pen he'd tucked behind his ear though he looks up to say, “And that was only the cheeseburgers.”

“Yeah, you didn't mention the pies.”

“Or the hot dogs,” Steve adds and Pepper shakes her head at them all.

“I was thinking tropical beach party for Fourth of July. So...pineapple eating contest?” Tony holds up his hands as if he's being totally reasonable, as if he's anticipating their approval even until Pepper sighs at him.

“Tony, have you ever actually eaten a pineapple before?”

“Sure, there's this place in Mexico that serves their drinks with little pieces of pineapple-”

“You know if you wanted Thor and his friends not to eat you out of house and home that'd be the way to do it,” Bruce sounds as agreeable as usual and Steve wonders if he was always this calm or if it's just because of his accident necessitating it.

“Am I missing something here? I feel like I'm missing something.”

Steve manages not to laugh during his meeting with Fury when he gets a text from Tony saying only 'never eat an entire pineapple'.

~~**~~

When he heads into SHIELD HQ the next morning Bucky doesn't quite smile at him when he walks through the door of his cell but it's a near thing. He recognizes him from before, anyway, so it's a start.

“Here to lose more money?” he asks and they haven't untied his arm or legs yet so Steve does that first, carefully avoiding any bare skin that might have sent his mind reeling, searching for a Bond he doesn't know exists anymore before answering.

“I thought we could play something else,” There's a second where uncertainty flickers across his face but it disappears before Steve can bring himself to comment on it, “baseball?”

“They letting me out of here?” his face is carefully blank, limbs loose and relaxed as he asks. His hair is long, Steve notices again and Bucky would have grimaced at it but this guy isn't Bucky, not yet and there are scars that creep up from under the green hospital shirt they've given him to wear that Steve knows aren't from their time in the Commandos.

“Not yet. I uh...got them to let me use one of the rec rooms. But you're gonna have to wear some restraints. I tried to get them not to-”

“It's fine. I tried to kill Captain America-a necessary precaution, I think.”

“You didn't know-”

“I knew you were him and you were my target.”

“Buck-James-”

He shakes his head, “you should be more cautious. I'm the man who tried to kill you twice, not your friend.”

“Not to me,” he barely manages to stop his hand from reaching out and Bucky sees it, levels his gaze on it.

His voice changes to something different, a hint of an accent seeping into all of his words, “Most of all to you. You are a good man, you come here to save your friend, but where I come from there are no good men and your friend is gone,” he taps his finger against his temple, “there is nothing here but the Winter Soldier now.”

“That's not true. You-the Winter Soldier-he wanted to kill me but you couldn't. You stopped. I read your file, you've never failed an assassination before, James. Why did you hesitate?”

“You should go now, Steve.”

He opens his mouth but Bucky cuts him off, “go now.”

It happens quickly so he acts without thought and grabs his hand, stopping it from lashing out though only with a split second to spare. And then he hears the doctors ordering him out of the room in his ear, their voices hurried and clear except all he really truly manages to make note of is the words dropping from Bucky's mouth, the buzz in his head that doesn't come from the device in his ear.

“Steve? That you?”