Archive of Our Own

Steve waved when Clint got on the plane, then did a double take. Clint looked tired; he looked worn down. There was a dark stain on his pants--not blood, maybe coffee--and he had finger-shaped bruises on his neck.

Steve didn't buy Clint's "nothing to worry about" response for a second, but he dropped it so Clint could get some sleep. They all needed to be at their best once they got to Norway, and Phil wouldn't have okayed Clint coming along if Clint were injured.

By the time they were in the air over the Atlantic, Clint had put his seat back and was out like a light. Natasha, who was sitting next to Bruce across the aisle from Clint, was looking at him with what Steve thought was a combination of tenderness and concern, although it was hard to tell for sure with Natasha. She looked at Steve for a moment and he raised his eyebrows. She gave a tiny shrug and turned to say something to Bruce. Apparently she didn't know anything more than Steve did.

Phil would know.

Phil might be sleeping, too; JARVIS had confirmed that he'd left the Tower with Clint around two that morning. But Phil was their friend, their handler, and their leader, and they were leaving on an op, so he was probably awake.

He took his phone out and dialed Darcy's direct line instead of Phil's, just in case. "What can I do for you, Cap?" she asked brightly.

"You can tell me how the boss is doing," he answered. "Is he there?"

"Nope, he's in a meeting with the director," Darcy said. "You want me to have him call you when he gets out?"

"I'd appreciate it," Steve said.

"Will do," she said. "As to how he's doing, I think he was up all night, but he seems fine. Well, as fine as he ever seems when Clint's on a mission; you know how he gets."

"I do," Steve said. Maybe he should forget asking about Clint; Phil had a lot to deal with already.

After he said goodbye to Darcy, he got out his tablet and to go over the briefing materials again, even though they were pretty thin. They'd gotten some intel of unsure reliability linking Hydra to an attempt to get both Loki and the tesseract out of Asgard and back to Earth. The Hydra cell was supposedly located in Tromso, so that was where they were ultimately headed, although they'd be visiting the SHIELD base in Oslo first.

"You doing okay, Steve?" Bruce asked, coming over to sit next to him.

"I'm fine, thanks," he answered absently.

"It looks like you got some sleep last night," Bruce said, studying him.

"Yeah, I slept," Steve answered, frowning. "Look, Bruce, I appreciate your concern, but like I said, I'm fine."

"Okay," Bruce said easily. "Do you think you'll need me for this? It doesn't seem like we're expecting much resistance."

"Just because we're not expecting it doesn't mean it won't be there," Steve said. "I'd like to have you on standby."

"No problem," Bruce said. "I'm about to grab some breakfast for me and Natasha; can I bring you something?"

"Sure," Steve said, because even though he'd eaten before they left, he could stand to eat again. "Whatever you're having. Is there coffee?"

About half an hour after he'd finished eating, Thor came and sat down. "Are you well-rested, Steven?" he asked. "Do you require sustenance? I have brought Pop-Tarts."

Steve sighed and pinched his nose, and then he ate some Pop-Tarts. He could see Tony thinking about getting up after that, torn between playing mother-hen and working. Steve put his tablet down and closed his eyes, feigning sleep, figuring that would keep him away.

He wasn't planning on actually falling asleep, but apparently his body had other ideas. He woke up when his phone rang.

He looked at the display, accepted the call, and said, "Hey, thanks for calling me back."

"It's not a problem," Phil answered. "Is this an okay time?"

Steve snorted. "I'm on a plane halfway to Europe, Phil; I'm not exactly busy at the moment."

"Stark's on the plane. You could have been mediating another round of astronauts versus cavemen," Phil pointed out dryly.

Steve chuckled. "He's too busy with some schematics on his tablet."

"Hopefully it's something useful," Phil said. "Have you talked to Clint?"

"Not really," Steve said, hesitating for a moment and then deciding to go ahead and ask. "He has bruises on his throat, and he looked wiped out when he got on the plane. I'm concerned about him. He said he'd tell me what happened when we got back, and then he fell asleep. What's going on?"

"If Clint said he'll tell you later, then he'll tell you later," Phil said smoothly.

"You…really?" Steve said. "Phil, it looks like someone tried to strangle him." Maybe he was more worried than he'd realized.

"I'm aware of that," Phil said, his voice as calm as ever. "I can assure you that he's fine, Steve. I wouldn't have let him leave if he wasn't. If he thinks it's best to wait to have that discussion with you until after the op, I will support his decision one hundred percent."

"You're sure he's okay?" Steve asked, frustrated.

"I am," Phil said. "I'm glad he's getting some sleep, but he's fully capable of doing his job to his usual standard. Have Thor and Stark ready in case he jumps off any buildings."

"All right," Steve said reluctantly. "Maybe you should get some sleep yourself."

"I have an appointment with my sofa for the next two hours," Phil said. "Darcy insisted on putting it on my calendar. Everyone else on the team doing all right?"

Steve snorted. "They keep feeding me and casting worried glances my way," he said. "I think Tony's up next; I can see him watching me."

"Far be it for me to keep you from being coddled by Stark," Phil said, amused. "Sitwell's taking point on the op, as you know, but I'll be here if you need me."

As soon as Steve got off the phone, Tony got up and came over to him, not even trying to hide his concern. "Did you find out what the hell happened to Clint? Did you see the bruises on his neck?"

"No, Phil wouldn't tell me," Steve said, frowning, although he was a little relieved Tony was focused on Clint instead of on him. "He said he'd have to respect Clint's decision to wait until after the op. He said Clint's fine, though."

"Natasha either doesn't know anything or isn't telling," Tony said, glancing over at her. She looked like she was asleep, her head resting against Bruce's shoulder, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.

"Phil wouldn't have let Clint on the plane if he were really hurt," Steve said.

Tony's face smoothed out a bit, and he nodded. "That's true," he said. "What about you?"

"I'm fine, Tony," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "I slept plenty last night, and I've already had a nap and two breakfasts. Three if you count Thor's Pop-Tarts."

"I was just thinking it was a perfect time for lunch," Tony replied, smirking at him. "I may not be able to cook, but I can fix a mean sandwich. Can I get you one, or maybe two?"

Steve sighed. "Sure, Tony. That would be great."

After he ate lunch, Sitwell came to talk to him, fortunately about the actual mission. Steve figured from the way he looked at Clint that he knew what had happened, but Steve didn't bother pressing him. Natasha woke Clint an hour out of Oslo. The bruises on his throat had darkened, but when he came out of the bathroom, he was wearing clean clothes and a satisfied expression.

***

Oslo didn't have any new intel, so they planned the op and got back on the jet. Tromso was cold, dark, and rainy. The warehouse they were scouting was in the middle of nowhere, and they'd seen no vehicles on the road or in the parking lot. Clint and Thor took covering positions, and Steve said a prayer of thanks that Thor had agreed to forego his armor just this once and go with SHIELD black, because he and Clint were more exposed than Steve liked. Natasha went in first, and when she reported the building appeared to be deserted, Steve and Tony followed her.

The minute Steve walked through the door, dozens of Hydra operatives appeared from out of nowhere. "You see this, Sitwell?" he asked through the comm, and then more were coming and he got busy fighting. He heard Sitwell tell Bruce to get angry, and he could see Tony and Natasha fighting. Thor came down and started throwing his hammer around, and Clint was shooting off arrows from his perch, but the enemy just kept coming and coming. Even Hulk was barely making a dent; it seemed like there were hundreds of them, and more every minute.

"Sitwell, call for backup," Steve said.

"Already done, Captain," Sitwell answered. "They're thirty minutes out."

"Thirty minutes is a long damned time," Tony said. "Thor, look out, there's one behind you."

"I see," Thor said, swinging Mjolnir. At least their armor wasn't any good against it. And there weren't any giant space eels, or civilians in danger.

"I think I see where they're coming in," Clint said in Steve's ear. "It must be some sort of portal. I'm going to check it out."

"Hawkeye, you're moving out of visual range," Sitwell said urgently.

"We need to figure out what's going on," Clint said bluntly. "Let me do this."

"Go ahead," Steve said, catching his shield and slamming it against the neck of the nearest Hydra agent. "Be careful, Hawkeye."

"I always am," Clint said cheerily, which wasn't very reassuring, given what Clint considered being careful.

The fighting got more intense without Clint helping, and for several minutes Steve was too busy to worry about anything else. He knew Clint would go radio silent until he had something specific to tell them. He noticed some sort of commotion towards the back of the warehouse and smiled, figuring Clint was busy doing his thing, but he still heard nothing on the comm. "Sitwell, when's the last you heard from Hawkeye?" he asked, grunting as he took down yet another of the endless horde of Hydra agents. They were really living up to their motto; it was annoying.

"Fifteen minutes, Captain," Sitwell said, sounding stressed. "Backup is eight minutes out."

"Tony, can you get eyes on him?" Steve asked.

"On it," Tony answered, taking off towards the commotion.

Steve and Natasha found themselves fighting back to back while Thor and Hulk moved all over the warehouse. Maybe thirty seconds had gone by when Tony said, "I found his bow, quiver, and vest, but no Hawkeye. I think I see the portal he was talking about; I'm going through to find him."

"No, Tony," Steve said firmly, his heart sinking. "We don't know what's behind it."

"Only one way to find out, Cap," Tony said. "The longer we wait, the harder it'll be to find him."

"You will not go through that portal. Is that clear, Mr. Stark?" Phil's voice said. Of course he was plugged in from headquarters; Steve should have known. "We don't need to deal with two team members missing."

"It's clear, Coulson," Tony said. He blew out a large chunk of the roof with his repulsors, muttering obscenities under his breath, but he stayed where he was. "I'll hit anyone who isn't Hawkeye who comes through the portal."

"Good idea," Steve said. "Coulson, do you have visual from Stark's suit?"

"I do. Agent Sitwell, report," Phil said. He sounded as calm as he ever did, but Steve knew he had to be worried.

"Back-up is six minutes out, sir," Sitwell said. "They don't seem to be sending any more goons, though."

"I bet we have Barton to thank for that," Tony said, taking out a swath of the enemy with his rocket launcher and coming just a little bit too close to the Hulk for comfort. Fortunately, the Hulk seemed to think it was funny. With no additional soldiers coming through, they quickly regained control of the situation.

By the time the Oslo SHIELD team arrived, it was all over except clean up and locating Clint, but the portal shut down before they could send Natasha and some of the Norwegians through. Thor picked up Clint's bow and quiver, and Steve got his vest. He knew Clint kept something of Phil's in the pocket on missions, but he'd never asked what it was.

The Norwegians set up a perimeter and blocked off the area surrounding the defunct portal. Tony and Bruce commandeered some techs and started trying to get some readings. Sitwell, Thor and Natasha holed up in the van to talk to headquarters; they found out Clint's tracker had been disabled. SHIELD was sending more agents from Europe for back-up.

Steve sat in for a few minutes, but it seemed like they didn't really need him, and while Fury, Hill, and JARVIS were in on the conversation, Phil wasn't.

He found a corner that was relatively quiet and dialed. "Hello, Steve," Phil said when he picked up. Steve noted the use of his first name with relief; he wanted to talk to Clint's husband, not the head of the Initiative.

"Hey, Phil," he said. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay," Phil said. "I'm dealing with it. I've dealt with it before."

"We'll find him," Steve said firmly.

"I know you will," Phil answered, both of them deliberately ignoring everything that could go wrong.

"I wanted to let you know I have his vest," Steve said cautiously. "I didn't take it out, but I can feel that something's in the front pocket."

"I know," Phil said wryly. "It's got a tracker."

Steve smiled; it was just like Phil to add another level of security beyond the usual. "Does Clint know that?"

"Probably," Phil said. "He put one in my wedding ring."

Steve laughed. "Of course he did."

"Steve, there's something I need to talk to you about," Phil said. He sounded the way he had that Saturday night months ago, serious and concerned.

All of a sudden Steve got it.

"It was Bucky," he said, his fists clenching. "I can't believe I didn't realize it before. Damn it, Phil, it was Bucky, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Clint was with Bucky the night before you left," Phil acknowledged.

"Bucky tried to strangle him?" Steve asked. "Why the hell didn't you call me?"

There was a pause. "We didn't call you because Bucky asked us not to," Phil said. "Clint felt that seeing you might push him over the edge, and I agreed. And you were about to fall over from exhaustion; you needed to sleep. I understand if you're angry, but I stand by our decision."

"You're damned right I'm angry," Steve said. "I hear what you're saying, but I disagree with your decision. At least I understand now why Clint didn't want to tell me on the plane. What happened, Phil?"

"I'll tell you, but I have to warn you, Steve, it's going to be very difficult to hear," Phil said, and Steve had known him long enough to recognize the concern in his tone, concern for Steve beyond what he was already feeling for Clint. "Bucky is stable at the moment; he's okay. In fact, I think there's a good chance that this will have a long-term positive impact. But I'm not going to lie to you--it was rough. It was touch and go for quite a while."

"I understand," Steve said, his heart in his throat. "Tell me what happened."

"Bucky had some sort of dream about you," Phil said. "He appeared extremely agitated, even despondent, when he woke up. JARVIS notified us, and as we were getting dressed, Bucky attempted to strangle himself with his prosthesis. Clint saw what he was going to do and ordered the agent in charge to hit the kill switch on the arm."

"He tried to kill himself?" Steve asked, horrified.

"Yes," Phil answered simply. "But he doesn't appear to be suicidal any longer."

"Okay," Steve said, trying to take it all in. "Tell me the rest of it."

"Later, after Clint went in to talk to him, Bucky insulted me and came on to Clint," Phil went on. "Clint realized it was a ploy and called him on it. Bucky grabbed him by the throat and threatened to kill him. It seemed to Clint to be another suicide attempt."

"My God," Steve breathed. "Did you gas him?"

"We didn't have to, although it was close," Phil said. His voice caught, and Steve heard him take a deep breath and let it out. "Clint…Clint talked him down. It was incredible. He laid everything out for Bucky, told him everything in this calm voice, and all the while Bucky had his hand on Clint's throat. Clint told him about Loki, about what it was like when he thought I was dead; he bared his fucking soul like…." Steve heard Phil take another breath. "I'm sorry; it's difficult for me to maintain any sort of professional distance with this."

"It's okay," Steve said. He'd never heard Phil sound like that before. "It's okay, Phil. We'll find him."

Phil took another breath. "We've limited access to the recording to those who were there--me, Clint, Sitwell, Hill, and Fury--and to you," he said, in control again. "I'll show it to you when you get back. By the end of it, Bucky let Clint get close enough to touch him."

"He let Clint touch him?" Steve asked, astonished.

"Not only that," Phil said, quiet but proud. "He trusted Clint enough to stay in the room with him while he slept. To stand guard."

"That's…that's amazing," Steve said, trying to keep the jealousy out of his voice.

"He never stopped telling Bucky that you love him, Steve," Phil said perceptively. "I've been telling him the same thing. So has Dr. Solomon."

"Okay," Steve said. "I want to talk to him."

"He's not ready," Phil said. "Not yet. But he knows you're all on a mission, and he asked me to let him know when the team gets back."

"Will you at least tell him you talked to me? Phil, please, tell him I love him, tell him I know about what he did and it doesn't change anything," Steve said, embarrassed at how desperate he sounded. "Tell him I'll be there whenever he's ready."

"Of course I'll tell him, although I'm sure he already knows," Phil said. "I'll talk to him in the morning."

"You…you sound like you believe it," Steve said hesitantly. "You don't think he's faking it, or playing you."

"Clint believes it," Phil said quietly. "I trust his judgment. I think even Nick is fairly convinced at this point, based on what he saw. I don't think he's playing us, although of course that's still a possibility."

"You're saying he's really come back to us," Steve said, then winced, because Phil had to be thinking that Clint might not.

"I'm saying I think he's trying to," Phil said. "There's still no guarantee, Steve. This could all go sideways very quickly."

"I understand," Steve said by rote. He wouldn't let himself think that way, just as he wouldn't let himself consider the possibility they wouldn't find Clint. "You'll let me know if anything else happens?"

"I will, I promise," Phil said, and Steve relaxed a bit, because Phil kept his promises. "There's something else I wanted to talk to you about. It also concerns Bucky."

"What is it?" Steve asked.

"I'm going to ask him about Hydra," Phil said. "I think he might be ready to tell us what he knows, especially given what happened. If he has any leads…."

"That would be great," Steve said quickly. "Do you think he knows anything?"

"He was with Lukin for over a year," Phil said. "I don't know how much Lukin told him, or how much he remembers, but it's worth a shot."

"Phil, have you gotten any sleep?" Steve asked, suddenly conscious that the sun was coming up, which meant it was the middle of the night in New York.

"I'm fine, Steve, but thank you for your concern," Phil answered blandly.

"He'd want me to make sure you're getting enough rest," Steve said gently. "It's going to be a while before Tony and Bruce finish analyzing the portal."

Phil snorted. "You're one to talk. Fine, I'll take a nap. Call me if anything changes."

"You know I will," Steve said.

***

The Avengers slept in shifts. Bruce was first, because he was always exhausted after Hulking out, then Tony. Natasha refused, saying she'd slept on the plane. Thor had just challenged Steve to a "wrestling battle of the arms" (by which he meant arm wrestling) to determine which of them would rest when Sitwell told them all to come to the operations center they'd set up in the warehouse.

"Go ahead, sir," Sitwell said when they were all crowded in front of the display. Phil and Fury were on the screen; Steve thought they both looked tired but hopeful.

"We have some new information that might be helpful in locating Agent Barton," Phil said. "It comes from a source we believe is reliable, although some here at headquarters have doubts."

Steve leaned forward, searching Phil's face for confirmation of what he already knew. Phil turned his head and nodded, and Bucky sat down at the table. Fury cuffed his normal arm to the table. Steve could tell his metal arm was frozen to his side.

"Go ahead, Sergeant," Fury said.

Bucky looked at the monitor in front of him and then glanced away again. His eyes held none of the cold anger they had the last time Steve had seen him. "I'd wave hello, but that's not really an option at the moment," he said, shrugging his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, buddy," Steve said before he could stop himself.

Bucky looked down at the table tensely and didn't say anything for a moment. He took a breath, frowning, and said, "I don't think it's Hydra that has Barton."

"What do you mean? Of course it's Hydra," Tony said, gesturing dismissively. "Did you see all the heads we cut off, metaphorically speaking?"

"What I mean is, the group that took him is a splinter group. If I'm right, it's an offshoot of an offshoot, not Lukin's Hydra," Bucky said.

Steve couldn't take his eyes off him sitting there. He was tense, yes, but his voice and mannerisms were all Bucky. There was no sign of the Soldier.

"Die Schlange?" Natasha asked.

The Snakes, Steve thought.

Bucky nodded, glancing at the monitor again. "That's who I think, yeah. They're more of a cult than a terrorist group," he explained. "Natasha knows a little about them. They're obsessed with Johann Schmidt; they think there's a way to bring him back. Coulson told me your intel said they wanted Loki and the tesseract; I'd bet they think they can use it to find Schmidt."

"But why would they take Clint?" Bruce said. "If they want Loki and the tesseract, why wouldn't they try for Thor?"

Bucky shrugged again. "Expediency? Maybe they think Barton still has some link to Loki. Point is, these Snake mooks aren't that bright. They're fanatical, and there are a lot of them, but Lukin basically ignored them because he didn't consider them a threat."

"Do you know where they might take him?" Steve asked.

Bucky looked down at the table, his jaw tight. "Uh, yeah," he said. "It might be in Alta, but I'm betting it's Schmidt's old headquarters in the Alps."

"We destroyed that place," Steve said, looking at Fury. "You told me they destroyed it, after."

"They've had some time to rebuild it, Cap," Fury said dryly, and Steve blew out a breath, frustrated.

Bucky gave them what details he had on Schlange hangouts in Alta, just in case.

"We'll go check those out now," Sitwell said. "Stark, Thor, Banner, Romanoff, you're with me."

Natasha looked into the camera and said, "It's nice to see you, James."

Bucky glanced up just long enough to nod jerkily. Natasha watched him, then left.

"Bucky," Steve said softly.

"Don't," Bucky said. "I can't." His voice was flat, but Steve recognized the set of his shoulder, the curve of his neck. He'd seen it whenever Bucky thought about his mother.

"Okay," Steve said, wondering what, or who, Bucky was mourning. "Thanks. For the intel, I mean."

"Barton's a good guy," Bucky said gruffly. "I'm ready to go back to my cell now," he added, addressing someone Steve couldn't see.

Steve watched until he moved out of the frame, until he heard a door open and close. Fury got up and left the table, and Steve was still standing there.

"Are you okay, Steve?" Phil asked him.

"Yeah," Steve said hoarsely. He swallowed. "Yeah, Phil, I'm fine."

"I offered to bring the team his intel," Phil said. "He said he wanted to tell you himself."

"That's…thank you," Steve said.

Phil nodded. "It's progress, Steve. That's what I told Clint after he took Bucky to the range, and I'm telling you now."

"Yeah," Steve said again, and told himself to focus. "Okay, what do we know about Schmidt's old hangout? Are there any sat feeds?"

"We're moving one into place as we speak," Phil said, and they spent the next hour planning. By the time they finished, they had word Alta was a bust. Natasha went ahead with Tony to scout out the location, and the rest of them got on a quinjet and flew out after them, three more jets full of back-up following them.

Resistance wasn't as bad as they were expecting--maybe the Schlange used up all their good operatives earlier--and the layout was basically the same as it had been in the forties. This time, they had the upper hand from the beginning. Before long, Steve heard Natasha say "I've got him," and he grinned, taking out another thug with a satisfying swipe from his shield.

"What is Barton's status?" Phil asked.

"I'm fine, sir," Clint said; Natasha must have given him an extra comm. "Just a few bruises, maybe a cracked rib. These idiots don't know much about interrogation; they barely speak English."

"Good to know," Phil said. A year ago, Steve might not have been able to tell, but now he could hear the relief in Phil's voice. "Captain, make sure he gets checked out by Medical in Oslo."

"Copy that, sir," Steve said. "Hawkeye, Thor's got your weapon. Your vest is waiting for you in the jet."

"Okay. Thanks, Cap," Clint said, the relief in his voice clear as could be.

"Welcome back, Barton," Sitwell said. "Team, let's try to keep the destruction to a minimum; we need to figure out what's going on with these goons and their tech. Stark, can you rein Hulk in?"

"I can try," Tony said, and a moment later Steve heard him talking softly to Hulk in the way that only Tony could. To his surprise, he heard Natasha's voice as well.

As soon as they had Clint and had dealt with most of the enemy, they left the Norwegians to do clean-up; Tony stayed to study the portal. Thor took his cape off and wrapped it around Clint's shoulders when they got outside; it was snowing, and Clint was down to his boxers and a t-shirt. His face was pretty banged up, and he was favoring his right side, but other than that, he seemed fine. Steve gave him a careful hug once they got on the plane. Clint embraced him tightly and murmured, "Thanks, buddy. You got here fast."

"We had some help," Steve said, letting him go so they could get seated for take-off. "From Bucky."

"Yeah?" Clint asked, grinning so big Steve was worried he was going to split his lip open again.

"Yeah," Steve answered, smiling back at him. "Here," he added, pulling Clint's vest out from behind the bulkhead.

Clint put it on and felt in the front pocket. "Thanks," he said. He didn't take whatever it was out, but Steve didn't expect him to.

"You're welcome," Steve said. "Now sit down and call your husband."

"Yes, sir," Clint said with another grin. A minute later he was talking to Phil in a soft voice.

***

Steve didn't talk to Clint about Bucky until the flight back to New York. Clint confirmed everything Phil had already told him, apologized for not calling him but stood firm on why he hadn't, and said that he thought Bucky had turned a corner.

"Phil says we need to be cautious, that there's still a possibility that he's playing us," Clint said.

"But you believe it," Steve said.

Clint nodded. "Every instinct I have says those were real emotions. And I'll tell you something else."

"What?" Steve asked, leaning forward.

"He still loves you, Steve," Clint said, his hand on Steve's forearm. "And that terrifies him."

Steve nodded, feeling hope and also some fear of his own. "Okay. What do we do about that?" he asked.

"We give him the time and the space he needs," Clint said.

"Meaning me, right?" Steve said, looking down. "I need to give him space."

"Yeah," Clint said, nodding. "I know it's not what you want to do--"

"If it's what he needs, I'll do it," Steve said firmly, although he wasn't sure how he was going to handle not seeing Bucky every day. "Just promise me one thing."

"If I can," Clint said.

"The next time something happens, don't keep it from me. Tell me what's going on. Even if he doesn't want to see me, I need to know what's happening."

"I know you do. I'll tell you about anything I can," Clint said. "If there's something he asks me not to tell you about, I hope you'll understand if I keep that confidence."

"Has he said anything like that?" Steve asked.

"No," Clint said, shaking his head. "And I don't know if he will. But if I want to continue to build trust, I need to respect his boundaries."

"Of course you do," Steve said, frustrated. "I just wish he trusted me."

"Give it time," Clint said, patting his arm. "He'll get there, Steve."

"Yeah," Steve said, trying to believe it.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go talk to Nat about all of this," Clint said, glancing over at her. "I don't think she's going to be much happier about it than you were."

"Clint," Steve said, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. "I am happy about it. I mean, not that he…that he felt so awful that he wanted to end it, or that he hurt you. But I'm relieved that he trusts you, that he remembers. I can't thank you enough for all the time and effort you've put in with him."

"There's no need to thank me," Clint said. "You know that. Besides, I'm getting to know the guy you've been telling me about for so long. He's pretty cool."

"Yeah, he is," Steve said, smiling a little. "So are you. I always thought the two of you would get along like a house afire."

"Maybe soon we'll be able to watch that baseball game together," Clint said, smiling back at him. "But for now I'd better go talk to Natasha, before I lose my nerve."

"Good luck," Steve said, and waved him off.

He glanced over at Clint and Natasha a few times while they talked. Natasha hit him at one point, and Steve winced in sympathy. But soon enough she was laughing at something he said.

Steve put his head back against the headrest and shut his eyes, wondering if Bucky would be ready to come to the Tower by the time the playoffs started. He slept the rest of the way back to New York.

***

Phil was waiting for them at the airport; he moved just a little quicker than his normal pace when Clint got off the plane. "Welcome back, everyone," he said, his eyes on Clint. He looked more exhausted than Steve had seen him since he'd been in the hospital.

"Barton, thanks to your cracked ribs, you're off field work for the next two weeks," Phil continued. "Since you were all debriefed by Sitwell in Oslo, I've arranged for you all to be taken home; you'll report to headquarters at 0900 tomorrow. The van is this way, if you'll follow me."

Steve watched as Clint moved to Phil's side, the back of their hands brushing together as they walked. Clint took Phil's hand the moment they got in the van, and Phil leaned in and rested his forehead against Clint's for a few seconds before sitting back up again. It was more demonstrative than Phil usually was outside of their home, but that only spoke to how worried he must have been.

"How's Bucky doing?" Steve asked after a minute or so, when Phil looked more like Agent Coulson than a relieved husband.

"He's been meeting with Hill," Phil said. "He's giving her everything he can remember about the Red Room, the Russians, Lukin, Hydra--it's going to be days before he's finished. So far, all the intel he's given us has checked out."

"That's great," Steve said, although it wasn't really what he wanted to know.

"Steve wants to know how he's doing, Phil," Clint said fondly. "Not what he's doing."

"Right. Sorry," Phil said, looking so distracted that Steve felt guilty that he hadn't waited a little longer to ask. "He's doing as well as we could hope for at this stage, I think. He's not sleeping well, but he's talking--not just to Hill, but to me and even to Solomon. He's eating. He responds to his nickname without complaint, and he's shown no signs of wanting to harm himself. He appeared concerned when I told him that Clint had been captured, and relieved when we found him. I'm afraid he hasn't said anything about being ready to talk to you yet, but the fact that he was willing to brief the team on the Schlange was a huge step forward."

"Okay, thanks," Steve said. "Can I…can I see the security feed of his meeting with Hill? He wouldn't object to that, would he?"

"No, I don't think he would," Phil said, "although I can't give you audio." He pulled up the feed on his tablet so Steve could get a better view than he would have on his phone.

Bucky was sprawled in a chair, his head down, gesturing with his right hand as he described something. His right shoulder was tense, and his left arm was rigid at his side; they must have activated the kill switch again. At least he wasn't cuffed to the table this time. He didn't look happy, but it couldn't be easy to talk about the years he'd spent as the Winter Soldier.

Steve watched the feed until they pulled up in front of the Tower, then kept it running in his apartment until Bruce called and demanded he come down to the kitchen for a team dinner. Even Phil and Clint came down, both of them looking a lot more relaxed. Clint was wearing his ring again, and he fiddled with it off and on until Phil took his hand halfway through dinner.

Pepper and Tony were a bit more obvious in their affection, Thor and Jane even more so, but that was normal. Natasha was sneaking bites off the plates of both Bruce and Clint; Clint accused her of being a potato ninja, but Bruce just smiled at her. Everything felt like it was back to a level of normality they hadn't experienced in months, since before they started looking for Bucky.

Steve managed to avoid checking the security feed more than once, just to confirm Bucky had made it back to his cell. He wondered if Tony, Bruce, Thor, Pepper, and Jane had any idea what had actually happened the night before they'd left; he knew Clint hadn't told anyone except Steve and Natasha. Better to leave it like that, he thought. Better to preserve as much of Bucky's privacy as they could.

Phil had promised to show him the recording, but not until the next day. "We all need a good night's sleep, Steve," he'd said. Steve knew it was selfish to want any of Phil's attention that evening, not when he'd been so worried about Clint, so he'd nodded instead of forcing the issue.

He wasn't able to sleep himself until he had confirmation from JARVIS that Bucky was resting quietly. Even then his sleep was restless.

After he worked out and ate some breakfast the next morning, he sat down on the sofa and thought for a while. Then he took out a pen and some paper and wrote a letter to Bucky. The letter was short and to the point, promising that Steve would respect his wishes and not come by until Bucky was ready to see him. He emphasized that he would do anything that Bucky needed, no matter what it was, and that Bucky could call him any time if he wished to.

He signed it "Yours always, Steve."

He sealed it in an envelope and put it in his jacket pocket for the ride to headquarters. After they finished the debrief, he gave it to Clint, and Phil set him up in his office to watch the footage from the other night, with strict orders to Darcy not to let anyone disturb him.

The audio included not only what was going on in the cell, but Clint's and Phil's conversations before, and Phil's comments during the time Clint was with Bucky. Even knowing what to expect, it was all Steve could do to sit there, watching and listening as Clint ordered the agent at SHIELD to hit the kill switch just in time, as Bucky cried out in despair. Watching him flirt with Clint and then grab him by the throat wasn't any easier. Phil was right, though--Clint was incredible. Steve's heart ached as he listened to Clint tell Bucky about what had happened the previous summer. It ached even more as he watched Bucky's body tremble and then relax when Clint touched him.

That night Bruce made something Indian Steve had never heard of, and they all ate together. The food was flavorful and delicious, but Steve barely tasted it.

Phil gave the team an abbreviated version of what had been happening with Bucky, leaving out both the attempts at suicide and on Clint's life. Steve could tell that no one was fooled; they'd all seen the marks on Clint's neck. No one brought it up, though, preferring to focus on the positive. Steve mentioned his idea to have Bucky over for a baseball game, and Tony immediately started making plans for improving the security in the penthouse and the Tower in general.

Clint dropped by Steve's apartment for a short visit that evening, letting him know that he'd given Bucky the letter. "Hill's got him pretty busy with debriefs," he told Steve. "I didn't really get a chance to talk to him, but he seemed okay."

"He's handling the debriefs all right?" Steve asked. "It can't be easy, talking about all that stuff."

"Phil was in with them today, and he said Bucky was doing all right," Clint answered. "He's meeting with Solomon every evening, and the guards say he's not having as many nightmares as he was before. I guess maybe talking about all of it is helping."

"That's good," Steve said, surprised.

"Yeah," Clint said. "Listen, I'd better head back upstairs. I think Phil's still in that place where he feels better if he can see me."

"Of course," Steve said; he could certainly understand that mindset. "Have a good night; I'll see you tomorrow."

Clint texted him to come by the range the next day. "You ready to learn to shoot an arrow?" he asked when Steve arrived. He was holding out an extra bow.

"Sure," Steve said, hiding his disappointment. He spent the afternoon with Clint, shooting arrow after arrow until he could hit the bulls-eye most of the time. It was relaxing; it took his mind off things.

"You're better at this than Bucky," Clint said when they were done. "I'll have to tell him that."

"When will you talk to him?" Steve asked, trying to tamp down his eagerness.

"As soon as he's finished with Hill and is back in his cell," Clint promised, putting a reassuring hand on Steve's shoulder. "I'll tell you about it tonight, okay?"

"Okay," Steve said, telling himself once again to be patient.

He made himself spaghetti for dinner and waited for Clint to stop by, but he didn't show up until nearly nine. "I ended up eating with Bucky," he explained after Steve let him in.

"How is he?" Steve asked.

"He's doing okay," Clint said. "He gave me a message for you. He said, 'Tell Rogers I read his letter. Tell him I'm not ready yet.' I said, 'Yet?' and he made a face, but he didn't say anything else."

"What do you think it means?" Steve asked, leaning forward.

"I think it means he needs some more time," Clint answered, giving Steve a wry grin. "He'll get there, Steve. I'm sure of it."

"Okay," Steve said, and swallowed his disappointment.

***

Steve was finishing up his morning workout when Clint came into the gym three days later. "Hey, I'm glad you're still here," he said. "I've got another message for you."

"Yeah?" Steve asked hopefully.

"Yeah," Clint said, smiling. "Bucky's ready to talk to you. How's eight o'clock sound? He's not due in Hill's office until 9:30."

"It sounds great," Steve said, grinning. "I'll just, jeez, I'll go get cleaned up. Thanks, Clint."

"I'll be around after," Clint said. "Let me know how it goes, okay?"

"Of course," Steve said, practically running to the elevator.

He took a shower, then got caught up in trying to decide what to wear. After looking through his closet half a dozen times, he finally gave up and called Pepper.

"Something familiar," she said thoughtfully. "Your blue shirt would be good; it brings out your eyes. That and your dark grey pants."

"Thanks," Steve said, relieved.

He toasted a couple of bagels and filled two travel mugs with coffee, putting the bagels, some cream cheese, and lox in a bag. He thought about taking his bike but decided the subway would be faster. He spent the entire ride to headquarters staring at nothing and rehearsing what to say. A group of tourists snapped pictures of him with their phones, but he barely noticed.

Going through all the checkpoints was routine by now, although the security personnel made him give up the knife he'd brought to spread the cream cheese. At least they let him use it before they confiscated it. He was worried it would make him late, but he arrived at the last checkpoint a few minutes ahead of schedule.

He stood in front of the door to Bucky's cell for a moment, reminding himself not to expect anything. Then he nodded to the guard and knocked on the door to let Bucky know he was there.

"Hey, Buck, it's me," he said as he came in. His mouth was dry, and his heart was beating quicker than it had since that day in Bayreuth.

Bucky nodded at him but didn't say anything. He was sitting on his bed, his right hand fisted on his thigh, his left arm stiff at his side. He was wearing SHIELD-issue pants and a t-shirt, both black.

"I brought bagels and lox," Steve said, gesturing with the bag. "Sesame seed, your favorite. And coffee."

"Stark's coffee?" Bucky asked, and Steve nodded.

"Here," Steve said, holding out one of the travel mugs with the handle facing Bucky. Bucky gave him a look he couldn't read and accepted the mug. He drank, then put it on the floor. Steve took the bagels out of the bag, moving deliberately and making sure he telegraphed every movement. He put one of the bagels on the bed next to Bucky, close enough for him to pick it up. Then he sat in the chair across from the bed.

Bucky gave him another look, but he picked up the bagel and took a bite. "It's good," he said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Steve said. He bit into the second bagel, feeling as awkward as he used to on double dates with girls who were only ever interested in Bucky.

They finished their bagels in silence. Steve kept going over all the things he'd planned on saying, but he was afraid of breaking the tentative, fragile accord he sensed they'd found.

Finally, he couldn't stand the silence any longer. "How are you doing?" he asked, grimacing at the awkwardness of the question. This was Bucky, his best friend, his lover, and he had absolutely no idea how to talk to him or what was going on in his head.

Bucky shrugged his right shoulder. "Okay for a guy who doesn't know who the fuck he is, I guess."

"But you…your memories are back," Steve said hesitantly. "You know who you are. You didn't before, but you do now." It came out more like a question than a statement.

"I know who I was," Bucky corrected him. "You people seem to think that's all that matters."

Steve frowned at the "you people," but he forced himself to let it go.

"Who do you want to be?" he asked.

Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes; it was almost normal. "You sound like Solomon," he said.

"Does talking to her help?" Steve said.

"Hell if I know," Bucky said, looking at the floor.

"Is there anything I can do?" Steve asked.

Bucky grimaced. "No," he said. He shifted on the bed, rubbing at the spot where the metal attached to his left shoulder.

"They didn't have to do that," Steve said. He should have said something earlier, damn it. "JARVIS, tell them they can give Bucky back control of his arm. He's not going to hurt me."

"God, you are an idiot," Bucky said. "They didn't do shit."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked, confused.

"I told 'em to freeze my arm," Bucky said, meeting his eyes for the first time.

"Why?" Steve said, taken aback. "Why would you do that, Bucky? You know I trust you; you're not going to hurt me."

"You don't know that!" Bucky said. His voice was angry, but he looked scared. "Stop being such a dumbass, Rogers. I'm a weapon, don't you get that?"

"You're not," Steve insisted. "Bucky, you're not. You were, maybe, but you're not anymore."

"That's what everyone wants to believe," Bucky said bitterly. "You, Barton, Coulson, Solomon. Hell, even I'd like to believe it. Doesn't mean it's true."

"We won't let them near you," Steve said, reaching out and then dropping his hand. "I promise, Buck, you're safe; we won't let Lukin or anyone else get to you ever again."

"I know," Bucky said softly. "It doesn't matter, though. I'm still what they made me."

"You're not," Steve said, getting up and moving to Bucky's side before he realized what he was doing.

Bucky got up in a flash and moved to the farthest corner of the cell. "God damn it, Steve, don't do that!" he shouted; Steve could see his hand shaking.

"I'm sorry," Steve said, moving to the opposite corner and sitting on the floor, trying to make himself as small and unthreatening as he used to be. "I didn't mean to…I thought maybe it would be okay, but it wasn't, and I'm sorry."

"Just…don't do that, okay?" Bucky said, his voice as shaky as his hand.

"I'm sorry," Steve said again. "I wanted you to know you could trust me, and then I screwed it all up. Do you want me to leave?"

Bucky was looking at him with an odd expression on his face. "Trust you?" he said. "That's what you think this is about, that I don't trust you?"

"Well, yeah," Steve said, confused. "Isn't it? I mean, I know you've gotten to trust Clint…."

"You really are stupid," Bucky said, and he almost sounded fond, like he used to. He sank down onto the floor, looking a little calmer.

"So what's it about then?" Steve asked after a moment. They used to be able to practically read each other's minds, but now he felt completely lost.

"You know what I have in here?" Bucky asked, pointing at his head. "I have lists. Lists of people that other people want or wanted dead, and orders to go along with them. Think of them as to-do lists for the Winter Soldier."

"Okay," Steve said, nodding. "That makes sense. But you're not the Winter Soldier anymore."

Bucky shook his head. "The Red Room, the Soviets, the Chinese, Hydra, Lukin--they all had lists. There's one name that's on every single kill list they ever gave me, usually at the top. Steve Rogers, AKA Captain Fucking America. Everyone wants you dead. Lukin wants you dead, too, but you're number two on his list. Natasha's number one."

"She betrayed him," Steve acknowledged. "I still don't see--"

"There's another list with another set of orders. People Lukin wanted captured alive," Bucky interrupted. "Stark's on that list. So are Thor and Banner. Lukin didn't care if they were hurt, mind you--he just wanted them useable."

"Lukin's a bad guy," Steve said, his shoulders tight. He didn't understand why Bucky was even talking about this stuff. "I told you, Bucky, we'll protect you, just like we'll protect Natasha and the rest of the team."

"Barton's barely on Lukin's radar," Bucky continued, ignoring what Steve said. "I think he figured he could use him as a hostage, as leverage to get at the rest of the team, but he was really more of an afterthought. Coulson's not on the list at all, which was really short-sighted of Lukin, but at least that means I don't have to worry about him. It's kind of restful."

Steve looked at Bucky, working through everything he'd said. He didn't like the conclusion he was reaching.

"Have you got it yet?" Bucky asked. "It's not about trusting you, asshole. Of course I trust you."

"I'm glad," Steve said quietly. "God, Bucky, I'm really glad to hear that."

"You still don't get it," Bucky said, shaking his head. "That just makes it worse. Because I'm the one I can't trust. And you can't trust me either."

"Bucky, you remember who you are--who you were," Steve said. "You're not the Soldier anymore. You're in control. You're not going to hurt me. I do trust you."

"Did the serum give you the ability to read minds, Steve?" Bucky asked harshly. "Can you dig into my brain and make sure there isn't anything hidden there? Because I am telling you, I know they put shit in there, and I have no idea what it is. Could be this whole thing is a long game to get me into a room with all the Avengers and take them all out at once, and all my memories coming back isn't just a con on you, but on me as well. Could be I'm meant to get into SHIELD's computers. Hopefully JARVIS could stop that; I don't think anyone knew about him, thank God. Or maybe you're right. Maybe there's nothing left; I guess there's a chance that's true, although it's a pretty damned small chance. But there is no way of knowing that I won't go off tomorrow or next year or ten years from now and start killing everyone in sight."

Steve gaped at him. "Jesus, Buck," he said. "Is that really what you believe?"

"I have to," Bucky said, his voice hard. "Otherwise…."

"Otherwise, what?" Steve asked. "You start believing you deserve to live your life? Believing that people care about you? That it's safe to care about them?"

"Otherwise I risk getting people I might have cared about killed," Bucky said bluntly. "That's what you have to understand. I think you'd better go now."

"Okay," Steve said slowly. "I'll go. Not because I believe you're going to go crazy and try to kill me or anyone else. You wouldn't do that, Bucky. I know it, even if you don't. Whether you want me to or not, I trust you. Let me know if and when you want to talk again."

"Barton was right," Bucky muttered. "You don't know when to quit."

"I don't give up on the people I care about," Steve said. "I love you, Bucky."

Bucky looked up at that, almost like he couldn't help himself, and when Steve looked at him, he saw everything that Bucky had been trying to hide. It only took a second, but he saw it. It was just like Clint had said. Now he finally knew what Bucky was so scared of.

He saw when Bucky realized what he'd given away, as he forced his expression back into blankness. He gazed back at Bucky openly, letting Bucky see that he wasn't scared. "I love you," he said again. "Nothing you do or did, nothing that they did to you, will ever change that. If something gets switched on in your brain tomorrow and it makes you try to kill me, it won't matter. That's not you, Buck. That's them. You would never hurt me."

Bucky was staring at the floor again, his body nearly as rigid as his prosthesis. "I need you to go," he said tightly. "Please, Steve, just go."

Steve nodded and knocked on the door so that the guards would let him out.

***

He walked away from the containment area before he called Clint.

"Hey, how'd it go?" Clint asked; it sounded like he was in a good mood.

"It was…I'm not sure," Steve said, "It was different from what I expected. Are you busy?"

"Not with anything that can't wait," Clint answered. "You want to meet up somewhere?"

"Do you know if Phil's available?" Steve asked. "I'd like to get his input."

"He's at the Initiative offices this morning, but I'm sure he has time for this," Clint said. "I'll give him a call and meet you there."

"That would be great," Steve said, relieved.

He made his way back to the Tower and took the elevator to the Initiative's executive floor. Darcy waved him in to Phil's office, which was enormous (because Tony had designed it) yet comfortable, not ostentatious. Phil was on the phone and simultaneously typing on a keyboard, but he still managed to nod at Steve.

Darcy brought in some coffee, and a minute later Clint came in. "Hey," he said quietly to Steve, putting a companionable hand on his shoulder.

Phil finished up his conversation with a grimace. "Politicians," he said. "Tony needs to invent a taser that works over the phone."

"I'm sure it would come in handy," Steve acknowledged.

Phil pushed his keyboard away and focused on Steve. "Clint said you wanted to talk about Bucky. What happened?"

"It didn't go like I expected," Steve said; now that he was facing Clint and Phil, he wasn't sure exactly what he wanted from them. "But I figured out what he's so scared of."

"You mean besides the fact that he still loves you?" Clint said.

Steve nodded. "That's true, but that's not why he's scared. He thinks they put some sort of trigger in him, like River in that movie."

"Go on," Phil said, his calm voice just what Steve needed to hear.

"He doesn't want to hurt anyone. But he thinks he's going to end up killing me, or killing all of us, or something else, like capturing Tony or Bruce," Steve explained. "It's not that he doesn't trust us--trust me. He does. But he doesn't trust himself."

Clint nodded, and Phil looked at him expectantly. Neither one of them looked the slightest bit surprised.

"The question is, what do we do about it?" Phil said. "Do you have any suggestions, Steve?"

Steve sat back in his chair. "I don't know how to convince him that he's not going to hurt anyone."

"There's always going to be a chance that he will," Phil said.

"There's always a chance Bruce is gonna hurt someone, too, but we've all accepted that risk," Clint pointed out.

"It took Bruce years to accept it in himself," Phil said.

"It didn't take Tony years, though," Steve said, sitting forward. "Or even Natasha; she and Bruce are good friends now. I think it's time we showed Bucky that we trust him. I think it's time we brought him to the Tower."

He looked at Clint first, hoping he'd see that this was their best play. "Steve's right, Phil," Clint said. "It's time."

Phil nodded slowly. "Tony gave me an update on his security measures yesterday," he said. "I think we could handle the situation safely, especially if the entire team is present. There's still one problem, though."

"What's that?" Clint asked as Steve tensed in frustration.

"How do we get Bucky to agree?" Phil asked. "If he's convinced his presence puts all of you in danger, he'll refuse the invitation."

Steve didn't swear often, and he usually limited himself to words that barely garnered anyone's attention these days, but some days called for worse. "Fuck," he said, looking down. He clenched his fists on his thighs, wishing he had a punching bag handy.

"I'll talk to him, Steve," Clint said, putting his hand on Steve's arm. "I'll play up the security angle, talk to him about JARVIS and Thor and everything else. I'll tell him it's the playoffs."

"Tell him…tell him I don't have to be there," Steve said, looking at his hands. "I'd like to, but if he'd be more comfortable, I'll stay away."

"I'll tell him," Clint said gently.

"He should be finished debriefing Maria within another day or two," Phil said. "Let's try for this weekend, barring any need to assemble the team."

"There's a few games on Saturday," Steve said.

Clint nodded. "We can talk to the team about it at dinner tonight."

***

The team was enthusiastically in favor of the plan. Clint asked Bucky for the first time the following morning, but Bucky refused outright.

Phil tried the next day, but he didn't get any further than Clint had.

Steve stopped by the next day. "It's me," he said through the comm system. "Can I come in? I brought pastrami."

"Okay," Bucky said after a moment.

Steve put the bag in front of Bucky and sat down at a distance. "They're almost as good as the ones we used to get in our neighborhood," he said.

"I'm not gonna agree to come over to the Tower because of a sandwich," Bucky said, but he ate with evident, if subdued, pleasure.

"Is there anything else you're missing?" Steve asked when they'd finished. "I'd be happy to get you whatever you want to eat or drink."

"Why?" Bucky asked; he hadn't looked at Steve the entire time. "I told you I'm not going to change my mind."

"Maybe I just like seeing you, Buck," Steve said quietly. "If going to every restaurant in New York is the only way to spend time with you, I'll bring you something every day."

Bucky looked at him then, his expression full of loss. It was all Steve could do not to pull him into his arms, but he forced himself to stay where he was. He forced himself not to say anything, just to wait. After a minute or two Bucky sighed and looked away again.

"Okay, well, I'll see you later," Steve said eventually, and stood to go.

When he got to the door, Bucky muttered, "It's been a while since I had cheesecake."

"I'll bring you some tomorrow," Steve said, keeping his voice even.

He tried cheesecake, pizza, hot dogs, and Chinese over the next week. He didn't bring up the game, although he was worried the Dodgers, the Mets, and the Yankees would all be eliminated before they got Bucky to agree. He always sat in the chair, with Bucky on the bed.

Natasha came by his cell that week. Bucky talked to her briefly, said he was sorry that he hadn't helped her more when they'd met, but shook his head when she asked about the game.

Solomon suggested they try hypnosis again. Bucky agreed to it, but he wasn't convinced when Solomon couldn't find any evidence of a trigger.

Bruce taught Bucky some meditation techniques and talked to him about his struggles with the other guy. Bucky listened, but he still refused to leave his cell.

"I get where he's coming from," Bruce told Steve that night. "I know what triggers the other guy now, and I can control him a lot better than I used to, but I remember what it was like the first couple times it happened."

Steve nodded, remembering what Bruce had said that day on the helicarrier. "Do you think mediation will help?"

Bruce shrugged and polished his glasses on his shirt. "It can't hurt; at the very least, it could help him accept everything that's happened."

The last thing Steve wanted was for Bucky to accept that he was a danger to Steve, but he was afraid if he said anything, Bruce would start talking to him about needing to accept things, so he kept his mouth shut.

Bruce gave him a knowing look and clasped his shoulder. "Let me know if there's anything else I can do to help."

"Thanks," Steve said.

Steve brought Bucky food nearly every day. Their conversations were still awkward, but each time Bucky relaxed a tiny bit more in Steve's presence. Occasionally Bucky even brought up a memory from their days in Brooklyn. Steve told him about waking up to the radio broadcast of the game they'd attended. Bucky snorted and said SHIELD should have known better.

Steve was always careful not to get too close, not to touch Bucky, not to question his insistence on keeping his arm inactive, even when it was clearly bothering him, which seemed to happen more and more often.

It was Tony who finally wore Bucky down. He came in with a multimedia presentation that included a detailed outline of all the ways they would take Bucky down if he were triggered, a 3-D graph of Steve's mood as it correlated to Bucky's status, and projections for the rest of the playoffs and the Series, down to the Yankees winning in five games. When he threatened to bring in a new presentation every single day and make sure JARVIS played them all on repeat whenever Bucky was awake, Bucky finally agreed to come to the Tower that weekend.

***

Fury insisted Phil and Clint have additional SHIELD personnel for the transfer to the Tower, complete with armored car escort. Steve and Tony went down to the garage to meet them all. When Bucky came out of the SUV, he was shackled at the wrists and ankles, forced to move in a shuffle like a common criminal.

"That's completely unnecessary," Steve told the guards. "Get those off him now."

"It's protocol, Captain Rogers," one of the guards said.

"I don't give a damn about your protocol," Steve said coldly. "Unshackle him."

"Can't do it, sir," the second guard said.

"Sergeant Barnes is my guest, gentlemen," Tony said. "I'm not in the habit of treating guests like inmates."

"We're just following orders, Mr. Stark," the first guard responded. He at least had the decency to look apologetic; the other guard was stone-faced. "Once we officially release him into Agent Coulson's custody, you can do whatever you want."

"It's okay, Steve," Bucky muttered. "It's safer this way." Every time Bucky used his first name, Steve felt warm inside, but it didn't help with his anger this time.

"It'd be quicker to take him up than get Phil down here," Tony said, looking at Steve.

Steve sighed and pinched his nose. "Fine," he said.

"Follow me, folks," Tony said. He shepherded them through the new security protocols he'd set up, and eventually they made it into the elevator, all of them standing silently as it made its way up to the penthouse.

Phil met them at the elevator, wearing jeans and a polo shirt but still every inch the agent's agent. He and the guards exchanged various electronic devices. Phil, the first guard, and Bucky all submitted to thumbprints and retinal scans, documents were signed, and through it all Steve seethed until finally everyone was satisfied enough to release Bucky from his chains.

Tony took charge again, smoothly introducing Bucky to the people he hadn't already met: Pepper, Jane, and Darcy. Steve guessed from his expression that Bucky wasn't thrilled that there were civilians present, but he greeted the women with the flirtatious charm that Steve remembered very well, and he nodded politely at Thor, whom he'd only encountered when they'd captured him.

"What can I get you, Sergeant?" Tony asked from the bar. "I hear you're a whiskey man."

"I'm not gonna drink whiskey during a ball game," Bucky said, rolling his eyes. "Give me a beer."

"What kind?" Tony asked. "I've got local microbrews, imports, and pretty much anything else your heart could desire, Sam Adams to Yuengling."

Bucky's eyes went wide, and he looked a bit lost, so Steve grabbed two bottles of Sam Adams and handed one to Bucky, careful not to allow their hands to touch. "Thanks," Bucky said. "Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing; he couldn't open the bottle with only one hand.

"Sure," Steve said, twisting the top off and handing it back. "You know, it's okay if you want control of your arm back."

Bucky shook his head, so Steve dropped it for the moment.

Steve didn't realize until Tony turned on the television that he had no idea who was playing. It turned out to be the Indians and the Yankees again, and there was a predictable amount of friendly disagreement about whom to root for. Tony and Pepper were Yankees fans (of course they were). Darcy, as they all knew, hated the Yankees, so she was rooting for Cleveland.

"Besides," she said, "how can you be against a team with a player named Shin Soo Choo? That is the most awesome name in the history of ever. And they have Asdrubal Cabrera and Ubaldo Jimenez, too; they totally win at names."

"Baseball sure has changed," Bucky said quietly to Steve. "I bet Gabe and Jim were pleased."

Steve nodded in acknowledgment.

Jane said she couldn't in good conscience root for a team with a racist caricature as a mascot, so she and Thor were rooting for the Yankees by default. Bruce declared himself neutral territory, and Natasha joined him, saying that baseball was a stupid game anyway, although Steve knew she harbored a not-that-secret fondness for the Detroit Tigers for some unknown reason.

Clint was rooting for the Indians, as he did for any team that could be construed as coming from the Midwest, especially when they were playing the Yanks, whom he hated nearly as much as Darcy did. Steve knew Phil had grown up rooting for Boston and New York, but he was wearing an Indians cap that matched Clint's t-shirt. "My niece got them for us," he explained. "She's going to college in Ohio."

"I never know who to root for anymore," Steve told Bucky, who gave him a wry smile in response that got Steve's heart beating faster. "It's too weird with the Dodgers being in California; I can't get used to it. I don't want to root for the Yankees, but it feels strange rooting against them, too."

"I guess the problem would be solved if the Mets were playing," Bucky said. "How long has it been since Cleveland won the Series, anyway? I say let's root for the underdog."

"Go Indians!" Steve said, grinning at him, only just stopping himself from patting Bucky on the back.

That turned out to be a good choice; the Indians were ahead by five runs by the seventh inning stretch. Tony got up in disgust and went out on the roof to grill the hot dogs and burgers, which was about the extent of his cooking ability. Steve helped Bruce and Pepper set things up in the kitchen. Thor came to join them, ostensibly to help, but really to help himself to Phil's potato salad. "The Son of Coul is a masterful cook," he said, just before stuffing an enormous spoonful into his mouth.

Thor was talking about his latest trip home between bites when Steve had an idea. "Thor, I have a question about Heimdall," he said. "What, exactly, can he see?"

"He can see all," Thor answered. "He is limited only when certain spells are cast."

"Can he see into someone's mind?" Steve persisted.

Thor looked at him thoughtfully. "You wish to know if Heimdall can help James Barnes."

Steve nodded. "Can he?" he asked bluntly.

"He can't read the minds of men as you might wish," Thor said. "He can see some of the future, but likely not far enough to determine a threat years from now. However, it's possible that my Lady Mother might be of assistance, or one of our healers. Forgive me, my friend; I should have offered it earlier."

"Let's talk about it with Phil on Monday," Steve said, conscious of Bucky's presence in the living room.

"I will gladly do so," Thor said, inclining his head.

Pepper brought in a platter of burgers, and everyone gathered around to pile food on their plates. "What's the score?" Steve asked Bucky.

"Seven to one, top of the eighth," Bucky answered, smirking.

"Yankees suck," Darcy said gleefully.

"It's the beginning of the division series," Tony said, waving his hand dismissively. "Plenty of time for the Yanks to come back."

"You just keep telling yourself that, Tony," Phil said, just a bit smug, which spoke to how relaxed he felt. "Clint and I promised to take Hannah to the World Series in Cleveland, barring alien invasions or apocalypses."

"Don't jinx us, babe," Clint said, bumping shoulders with Phil.

Once they'd all settled back to eat and watch the end of the game, Steve noticed that Bucky was struggling to manage his enormous cheeseburger, even though he'd cut it in half. Before he could say anything, Tony spoke up.

"Barnes, come on already, let JARVIS give you back your arm," he said. "My burgers are meant to be enjoyed with two hands. I promise we won't let you kill us all in a murderous rage."

Bucky frowned and looked at the mess on his plate, which had barely avoided his lap. "Okay," he said after a tense moment.

"JARVIS?" Tony said, looking up.

"I have restored your control, Sergeant," JARVIS said.

"Thanks," Bucky muttered. His left arm jerked, and Bucky's eyes went wide.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked, moving closer.

"It's not working," Bucky said. "Are you positive your AI can override the switch?" he asked Tony.

"I assure you that the switch is currently inactive, Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS said.

Steve could see the muscles in Bucky's back twitching under his t-shirt as his arm jerked again. Bucky grimaced and tried once more. His arm jumped more forcefully, but Bucky's face paled, and he swore under his breath.

"Something's wrong," he said. "I can't move it, and it hurts."

"Let me take a look," Tony said, sitting down next to Bucky. He waited for Bucky's nod, then gently picked up the artificial hand. The prosthesis moved freely, no longer locked stiffly at Bucky's side. "Try just moving one finger."

"I'm trying," Bucky said, and Steve could hear the panic he was trying to hide. "Nothing's happening."

"Does it still hurt?" Bruce asked.

"It aches," Bucky said, staring at his artificial hand like it had betrayed him, which Steve guessed it had. "It hurt like a son of a bitch when I tried to move it at the shoulder, though."

"Where does it hurt, exactly?" Bruce asked. Tony was studying the joints of the prosthesis, probably with an eye to taking it apart.

"Here," Bucky said, pointing to the upper portion of the arm. "Which doesn't make any fucking sense; there's nothing left there to hurt."

Bruce got a speculative look on his face. "If it's okay with you, I'd like to take a look at what's under there," he said. "You'd have to let me and Tony take the arm off."

Bucky thought for a moment, then nodded. Steve had believed Bucky when he'd said he trusted them, but it still surprised him how easily Bucky allowed the team to help him.

"Pep, can you go down to the lab?" Tony asked without taking his eyes off Bucky's arm. "JARVIS will help you find the tools I need."

"Of course," Pepper said, smiling reassuringly at Bucky. "I'll be back in a jiffy."

"I didn't think people in this century said 'jiffy,'" Bucky said, attempting a smirk and not quite getting there.

"I say it," Steve said, trying to play along.

"You would," Bucky said, and there was unmistakable affection in his voice. "I think there's a release somewhere in my underarm," he added, looking at Tony. "They didn't want me to know about it, but Tasha found it once by accident."

"Let me see," Natasha said, moving in and feeling the underside of Bucky's arm.

"Fuck," Bucky said as she moved his arm up for better access.

"Sorry," she said. "I've almost got it…there."

There was a barely audible click--Clint had muted the television--but when Natasha tried to gently twist the prosthesis off, Bucky swore again and went white as a sheet, clenching his fist on his thigh.

"It's not releasing," Natasha said, looking at Bucky. "Maybe they changed it."

"They'd do something with it every time they iced me," Bucky said, color slowly coming back into his face. There was sweat beading on his forehead. "Never told me what it was, just said they had to keep it in good working order."

"Didn't the techs check it out when we first brought Bucky in?" Clint asked Phil.

"They did," Phil answered. "They disarmed several booby traps and disabled all the advanced weaponry. There were no problems with either disengaging or replacing the prosthesis, although of course Sergeant Barnes was sedated for the procedure."

"It didn't hurt when I woke up," Bucky said. "It's never hurt like this, not since…" he trailed off, looking briefly at Steve.

"You can say it, Buck," Steve said. "Not since you fell. Not since you lost your arm." Not since I failed you.

"Wasn't your fault, Steve," Bucky said quietly.

Steve was saved from having to respond when Pepper came back. "Let's move over to the table," Tony said. "The light's better there, and it's a better work surface."

Bucky grimaced in pain when he stood up and his arm swung at his side. "Okay," he said, taking hold of it with his human hand and holding it in place as he walked. He sat down and carefully levered his arm up onto the table, his breath hissing between his teeth as he did so.

"Is the pain still limited to your upper arm and shoulder?" Bruce asked.

Bucky nodded sharply, his eyes closed.

"Tony, I think we should start with his hand and work our way up slowly," Bruce said. "We don't know what we're dealing with."

Tony nodded, reaching for what looked like the world's fanciest screwdriver. "Do you mind taking your shirt off?" he asked Bucky.

Bucky grimaced again and nodded. It wasn't easy for him to maneuver around his arm, but everyone knew better than to offer to help. Steve bit his lip when he saw the scar tissue around the prosthesis--it was red and gnarled, even swollen. He could see Bruce and Tony looking at it with concern and a little confusion, but they didn't say anything.

Steve had seen Tony work before. He'd thought he knew what Tony was capable of. But watching him work on Bucky's arm was a revelation; it was like watching Clint shoot. His fingers moved quickly, the tools an extension of his hands, every motion efficient. He talked through everything he was doing, scattering jokes and sarcasm through it all, but working more gently than Steve would have believed possible as he took Bucky's arm apart piece by piece.

The four of them were the only ones sitting at the table; Steve was vaguely aware of Phil, Clint, and the rest off in a far corner, talking softly. Everything went smoothly until Tony disengaged the forearm from the elbow joint.

Bucky inhaled sharply, his fist clenched so tightly his nails had to be digging into his palm. Steve placed his hand on the table close to Bucky's, palm up: an offering, hopefully not an intrusive one. Bucky looked at it out of the corner of his eye but otherwise ignored it. Steve realized that Tony and Bruce weren't actually saying anything, and that worried him enough to glance over at what they were doing. That's when he saw the blood.

There was some staining the inner surface of the piece Tony had just removed, most of it dark and dry, but some fresh. A slow trickle was welling out of the recess of the still-attached upper arm.

"What do you think, Bruce?" Tony asked, all the sarcasm gone.

"I don't know," Bruce answered. "Bucky, has this ever happened before?"

"Has what ever happened?" Bucky asked, turning to look; he'd been avoiding watching too closely. "Shit, am I bleeding? Why the fuck am I bleeding? Where's it coming from?"

"I'm not sure," Bruce said, his brow furrowed. "I have an idea, but it's pretty crazy."

"Maybe not," Tony said, looking at Steve speculatively. "Listen, Barnes, maybe we should take you over to Columbia; we've got a private wing over there. It's where we took Phil after Loki."

Bucky jerked away from the table, swearing at the pain and grabbing reflexively for Steve's hand. The sudden movement must have done something bad, because the amount of bleeding coming from the inside of the prosthesis turned from a trickle into a steady stream.

"No hospitals," Bucky said, almost pleading. "You can't take me out, not to a hospital. It's not safe."

"We need to stop the bleeding," Steve said, trying to stay calm. "Clint, we need you," he called urgently over his shoulder; Clint was the best field medic on the team. "Pepper, go get the first aid kit. Bucky, we need to get at the source of the bleeding. Will you let Tony take a look again?"

Bucky nodded, his jaw clenched. Tony reached for the prosthesis again, frowning; Bruce tilted his head to get a closer look, handing Tony a towel to mop up the blood.

"What's the situation, Captain?" Phil asked. He was still wearing a baseball cap, but he sounded like he was wearing a suit and tie and talking through the comms.

"Bucky's bleeding somewhere up there," Steve said. "I sent Pepper for the first aid kit; I thought we might need Clint as a medic."

"You want a medic, you'd be better off with Coulson," Clint said easily, putting a hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezing. "He's saved a lot of lives over the years, including mine and Nat's."

"Is there anything you're not good at, Agent?" Tony asked absently, gently prying at one of the panels on Bucky's arm.

"He's crap on horseback," Clint said, reaching for the first aid supplies Pepper had and opening them up.

"Requiring a saddle and bridle does not make me crap at riding," Phil said, putting on a pair of gloves. "Not all of us grew up in the circus, Barton."

"Anyone can ride with a saddle and bridle, boss," Clint said, handing another pair of gloves to Tony. "That's practically cheating."

Tony looked at the gloves for a second, but he didn't put them on. "I'll be back in a minute," he said, tapping the band on his wrist. "JARVIS, deploy." He walked towards the balcony.

"What the fuck is he doing?" Bucky asked.

"Tony, why do you need your suit?" Steve called out, barely keeping his voice under control.

"Infrared sensors, precision control, and a laser," Tony answered as the suit surrounded him. "Plus it looks cool."

"Exactly how precise is that control?" Bruce asked.

"Precisely as precise as it needs to be," Tony said, stepping back towards the table.

"Tony, this isn't a bunch of debris in the engine of the helicarrier," Steve said. Bucky's hand tightened on his.

"None of my tools are going to get that metal off any time soon, not without causing more damage," Tony said bluntly. "With the infrared sensors, I can see exactly where your buddy stops and the machinery begins. Which is, as I thought, a little bit different from what used to be the case."

"What?" Bucky asked, frowning. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Better turn your head, Sergeant," Tony said. "Everyone might want to look away for a minute."

"You didn't answer my question," Bucky said, but he turned his head just before Tony fired up the laser in his gauntlet.

Steve focused on Bucky's face, listening as Tony talked to JARVIS and Bruce, listening to the hissing sounds of the laser cutting through metal. There was a snick, and Bucky's hand tightened on Steve's again.

"Coulson," Tony said, his voice uninflected in a way that worried Steve a great deal.

"I see," Phil said, "Sergeant, this is going to hurt."

Steve raised his eyebrows at Bucky, and Bucky nodded, then bit his lip. Steve kept hold of his hand but turned to look.

Most of the metal was gone. What remained stuck out from the middle of Bucky's upper arm like a naked artificial fibula. Phil was applying a pressure bandage to the skin that surrounded the metal.

There was a stump extending four or five inches from Bucky's shoulder. The skin was pink, and it looked as fragile as that of a newborn baby. When Phil reached a particularly sensitive spot, Bucky hissed and twitched his arm away from the pain.

Steve had seen Bucky when they first brought him in, had seen him unconscious, with his prosthesis removed. He'd seen the hollow space under Bucky's collarbone where it attached. It was no wonder the skin looked like that of a baby--the flesh was brand-new.

"Holy shit," Bucky breathed as he finally took a look for himself. "That…where the fuck did that come from?"

"You grew it," Steve said, awestruck. "Like when I regrew the top of my index finger back in the war, remember?" It'd been chopped off by a stray bullet in the middle of a firefight. It took a week to grow back.

"How is that possible?" Bucky asked. "Why would it happen now, of all…." He trailed off, frowning.

"Bucky?" Steve said, squeezing his hand.

Bucky pulled his hand loose. "They cut it off," he muttered angrily. "That crap about refitting my arm every time they woke me up--the fuckers wanted to keep me like this, keep me dependent on them, so they'd just cut it off again."

"Jesus, that's horrible," Steve blurted out like an idiot. Because what did he expect of the people who'd held Bucky captive for decades, who'd wiped his brain and made him kill scores of innocents? That they'd say, "Oh, your arm's growing back, how wonderful"?

"As much as I'm sure we'd all like to take the people apart who did this to Barnes, I think we have bigger issues at the moment," Phil said as he wound a few layers of gauze over the metal sticking out of the stump. "We need to get him back to SHIELD for further evaluation: X-rays, maybe a CT scan. He needs surgery to remove the rest of the metal implants."

"We don't need to go to SHIELD for that," Tony said, lifting his faceplate. "Columbia has scanners and surgeons, probably better ones than SHIELD."

"I told you, I'm not going to a hospital. It's not safe," Bucky said, shaking his head. "You don't know what I could do in a place like that."

"Even if we ignore the security issues, the anesthesiologists at any hospital won't be able to work with Bucky's metabolism," Phil pointed out. "SHIELD's the only place equipped to put him under for surgery."

"I really don't like the idea of taking him back there," Steve said unhappily. "What if they lie and tell us he died on the table? It's not like they haven't done it before."

Phil frowned and looked away, but Steve refused to feel guilty for bringing it up.

"There is another option," Thor said. "I shall take him to Asgard. We have powerful healers there; I believe we can help James Barnes not only with his arm, but perhaps with other matters as well."

"What other matters?" Bucky asked suspiciously.

"There may be those who can see into your mind, see if the triggers that worry you so terribly are truly present," Thor explained. "I do not know for certain if they can be removed, but it is possible."

Steve saw the hope break over Bucky's face. It was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen, even as Bucky struggled to shut it down again.

"What do you think, Phil?" Steve asked quietly. "Would SHIELD allow it?"

"Who cares what SHIELD will allow?" Tony said. "Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I say Thor books to the Bifrost with Bucky right the hell now!"

"If we're going to do this," Phil said, taking his gloves off, "there are some important considerations."

Steve's shoulders loosened in relief.

"Thor, would Asgard object to an embassy of sorts accompanying you and Barnes?" Phil asked.

"I do not see why they would," Thor said. "They've met with your people several times since the Bifrost was repaired."

"I'm coming, then," Steve said firmly, but Phil shook his head.

"No, Captain, I think it's best that you stay here," he said. "I think Natasha should come; her knowledge of Red Room techniques could prove invaluable. I have custody of Barnes at the moment, so I need to be there as well. The rest of you should stay here to deal with any threats."

"Tony, Bruce, and Clint can handle things," Steve protested.

"Coulson's right, Steve," Bucky said quietly. "You don't know what the Schlange are up to, and then there's Hydra and Doom and all the rest. Your team's already gonna be down by two--"

"Three," Clint corrected. "Coulson's as important as anyone else on the team. And I agree with him on this one, buddy. I know you want to go with Bucky, but Phil, Nat, and Thor will make sure he's okay."

"All right," Steve said reluctantly.

"That's settled, then," Phil said, standing up and asking JARVIS to connect him to Fury.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, sir?" Clint asked.

"I'm sure I don't want Fury coming down on your asses, and that's what'll happen if I don't sweet-talk him first," Phil said. "Don't worry, I'll get him to agree to it."

Phil headed to his apartment to pack, talking to Fury on the way; Clint went with him. Thor and Natasha followed a minute later. Tony took off in the suit for headquarters to get a few things for Bucky. Pepper, Jane, and Darcy went down to Darcy's apartment, located on the same floor as the Initiative's offices. Bruce stayed, which Steve knew Bucky appreciated, but he moved to the far corner of the penthouse, leaving Steve and Bucky at the table.

"Does it still hurt?" Steve asked, wishing he could take Bucky's hand again.

Bucky shook his head. "Aches a little, that's all," he said. "Just have to remember not to move it."

"Did Phil put enough gauze on it to cushion it?" Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged. "It's fine."

"You know, this wasn't how I imagined this was going to go," Steve said wryly after a moment. "I thought, hey, let's watch a ball game with some friends. Eat some burgers. Drink some beer. Relax."

"Shoulda known better, pal," Bucky said, a trace of a smirk on his lips.

Steve nodded. "I'm still glad we did it, though."

"It doesn't change anything," Bucky said abruptly. "It can't."

"Yeah, I know, you're a weapon, you can't be trusted," Steve said, smiling a little. "You know what I think of that theory."

"What I know is that you're an idiot," Bucky replied. "At least if I'm off the planet I can't hurt anyone."

"I'm glad you're getting your arm back," Steve said, deliberately changing the subject.

"We don't know that for sure," Bucky said. "I didn't get the same serum you did, and an arm's a hell of a lot more complicated than the tip of a finger."

Steve snorted. "Is there anything you're not horribly pessimistic about, Buck?" he asked. "Because from where I'm sitting, we have a lot to be grateful for. You're alive, you're safe, you've got your memories back, and there's a very good chance you'll not only grow your arm back, you'll finally be free from your fear of, as Tony said, killing us all in a murderous rage."

"Is there anything you're not stupidly optimistic about?" Bucky said. He was trying to frown, but Steve could see the corner of his mouth going up. "You haven't changed at all, punk." He stiffened slightly as he realized what he'd said.

Steve didn't hide his grin. "Of course I haven't changed, jerk," he said. "Not where anything important's concerned." He didn't tell Bucky he loved him again; he knew he didn't need to.

His stomach growled loudly. "We never did get to eat," he said. "There's plenty of food, even if it's cold. We can heat up some hot dogs, or I can make you a sandwich. Who knows what they'll try to feed you in Asgard."

People gradually filed back in as they were eating: Tony appeared on the roof, Natasha and Thor out of the elevator, and eventually Clint and Phil. Phil was in a suit, and Clint wasn't wearing his ring; he had one hand in the pocket of his jeans, fiddling with whatever it was that he kept in his vest during ops.

"Are you ready, Sergeant?" Phil asked when Bucky finished his sandwich and stood up.

Bucky nodded silently, holding onto the gauze-wrapped metal sticking out of his arm.

"We'll be flying to a remote area by helicopter," Phil said; Steve could hear one approaching. "Thor will summon the Bifrost from there, where it will draw less attention. We already have a cover story in place."

"When will you be back, do you think?" Steve asked, looking from Thor to Phil and back again.

"I am unsure how long the healers will need," Thor said. "I expect we will be back in a few days, but it could take longer. I'll come back to update you on our progress if I can."

"That would be great," Steve said, nodding.

"If you'll excuse me, I wish to make my goodbyes to Jane," Thor said.

Phil moved to Clint's side to do the same; Steve could see them embrace out of the corner of his eye. Bruce pulled Natasha aside and into his arms, which startled Steve for a second until he realized there had been plenty of hints that their relationship was evolving beyond friendship. He just hadn't been paying enough attention; he'd been too caught up in his own life.

Steve turned to Bucky. He wasn't going to try to talk his way onto the helicopter; he knew Bucky wouldn't want that. "Good luck," he said softly. "I'll see you when you get back."

"Yeah," Bucky said. "Thanks."

A minute later the helicopter was lifting off the roof and they were gone.

***

The next forty-eight hours seemed like they lasted for weeks. Steve went running with Clint in Central Park. Bruce made dinner. Tony took the pieces he'd removed from Bucky's arm into his lab and came up with a dozen prototypes for new prosthetics. Steve and Clint hung out and drank beer and missed the men they loved. And they waited for word from Asgard.

The third day promised to be more of the same, but mid-morning they got a call to assemble. SHIELD, the FBI, the ATF, and local law enforcement in Boston were tracking a group of anti-government types were threatening to blow up the Coast Guard base and a few other buildings. Steve wasn't quite sure why the Avengers were necessary until the quinjet landed on the north side and he got a look at just how many tightly packed buildings were under threat.

"They've also set bombs in the tunnels," Sitwell said through the comms.

"Do we know for sure that the bomb threats are for real?" Tony asked.

"There were dozens of casualties this morning when they set off their 'warning' bomb on a Coast Guard ship," Sitwell responded.

Because of the wide range of targets, they had to split up. Steve didn't like the idea of the four of them on their own, even with a team of non-Avengers to support them, but after discussing the situation, they agreed to work in teams of two. Steve and Clint headed for the USO, and Tony and Bruce went to check out the tunnels.

The local cops and the MPs had managed to evacuate most of the people by the time Steve and Clint got to the building, but a few of the bad guys still had hostages inside. Steve couldn't believe someone would stoop so low as to bomb a USO building just because they disagreed with the government, but it just made him more determined to find the jerks and take them down before they hurt any more people. Clint spent some time talking to the Boston PD SWAT team and convinced them he could infiltrate the building from the roof.

Steve stood by, feeling even more conspicuous than usual in his uniform, until Sitwell gave him the signal to move in. He used the same entrance that Clint had. When he got up on the roof, he could see the baseball fields just to the west of the building and said a silent prayer of thanks that there were no kids out there playing ball that morning.

He followed the directions that Sitwell spoke into his comms, occasionally supplemented by a whispered correction from Clint. He was still on the top floor when Clint tapped his comm three times, the signal indicating that he had eyes on the bombers.

"Hawkeye, do you have a visual on the bomb?" Sitwell asked.

Clint tapped once for yes, then tapped three more times. Three bombs. Steve started moving more quickly; if Clint had been able to shoot any of the bombers, he'd have heard the bowstring.

"We have the bomb squad on standby, Hawkeye. Captain, they're in the basement. Hawkeye, Cap is on his way to your position. SWAT is locked on your signal and is up on infrared but is unable to verify the number of signals. Please identify the number of hostiles."

Clint tapped his comm six times.

"Six hostiles, solid copy. Identify the number of hostages."

Twelve taps.

"Twelve hostages, solid copy."

Steve was at the basement door when he heard Clint breathe in slowly and blow it out through his mouth. He was getting ready to take a shot. Steve sped around the corner as quickly and silently as he could, just in time to see Clint release his bowstring, following the first shot with two more in rapid succession.

People were yelling and screaming from inside the room; Steve catalogued the sounds automatically as he moved in. He took out two more of the bombers with his shield, and Clint started motioning for the hostages to leave. The last hostile was holding a deadman switch; Steve didn't know why he hadn't hit it yet.

"The bombs are already armed," Clint said tensely, taking the guy out with another arrow. "Set to go off in seventy-nine seconds. Get these people out of here, and I'll see if I can disarm them."

"Iron Man, what's your status?" Steve said into the comms, making sure the hostages were heading up and out.

"Little busy with some bombs here, Cap," Tony responded.

"I'm looking at three of them in a series, Stark," Clint said.

Steve focused on keeping the hostages moving while Tony, Clint, and the techs from SWAT talked through the best method to disarm the bombs. He kept a running count in his head. When it got below thirty-five seconds, he went back to Clint.

"We need to go now," he said, but Clint shook his head.

"Almost got it," he said. "Give me ten more seconds."

"What can I do to speed that up?" Steve asked, squatting next to Clint and keeping his shield close.

Without looking up, Clint said, "When I give you the signal, cut that wire." He pointed, and Steve got out his knife and waited. "Ready, now," Clint said. Steve cut the wire, and the digital timer went black. Clint stood up and rolled his shoulders, and Steve realized that was it. The bomb was disarmed.

He heard Tony report that he'd taken care of the bombs at his end. All of the hostages had made it out the front door, and the FBI and Boston PD had managed to disarm the bombs in the other buildings and tunnels.

"Cap, wait a second," Clint said, frowning at the bomb. "That was too easy."

"Too easy?" Steve said. "You're kidding, right?" As he stood there, the timer lit up again, flashed ninety seconds, and started counting down once more.

"Hey, guys, guess what? The bombs have a secondary timer," Tony said. "Looks like it's counting down from ninety seconds again. JARVIS has the count."

"Yeah, ours is live again, too," Clint said, crouching down to examine the bomb.

"Sitwell, the tunnels are clear of civilians, right?" Tony asked.

"Confirmed; so is the USO," Sitwell said. "Count is at eighty seconds. Are you able to disarm the bombs?"

"Not in seventy-eight seconds," Clint said grimly. "I knew that was too easy."

"I'm calling it," Sitwell said. "All of you, get out now; the order's been passed on to the other agencies."

"We're getting, believe me," Tony said. Steve could hear the whine of the repulsors at full power; he had to trust that Hulk was moving with just as much speed as Tony.

"Come on," Steve said, pulling Clint by the arm.

They ran up the stairs and down the hall, and Steve knew they were both keeping count in their heads. They were out the door with thirty-seven seconds to spare when Sitwell said, "Captain, there's a missing soldier in the building; the hostages report a Sergeant Silviera was with their group. SWAT has located a potential IR signal heading up the stairs from the basement."

"I'm on it," Steve said, turning back.

Clint started to follow him, but Sitwell ordered him to stay clear. Steve could hear him protesting as he ran back down the hallway.

"I'm his best chance, Barton," Steve said as he approached the stairs. But the soldier who came through the door was a woman, not a man.

She was dressed in desert camouflage, her dark hair neatly pinned above her collar, and her eyes widened slightly when she saw him.

"Come with me, Sergeant," Steve said, gesturing for her to hurry. "This place is about to blow."

"Five seconds, Captain," Sitwell said urgently. It wasn't enough time.

Steve pulled Sergeant Silviera into the nearest doorway and crouched down to cover them both with his shield, hoping it would be enough.

It was. Barely. The blast ripped through the floor and shattered the walls and the ceiling, but Steve was able to cushion Sergeant Silviera's head and shoulders as they fell, and his shield kept the large beam that landed on it from crushing them both. Steve had to use all of his strength to keep his shield where it was; it felt like half the building had come down on top of them. It was dark, but the light on his belt came on with his voice command.

He shook his head slightly to clear the ringing from his ears and looked down at the woman in his arms. She was breathing, but she wasn't conscious. Her foot was caught under part of the beam that had broken off.

"Come in, Captain," Sitwell said in his ear, sounding a little panicked.

"I'm here," he said, coughing against the dust. "We're both here. Sergeant Silviera is with me. She's alive, but she's injured."

"Are you injured, Captain?" Sitwell asked.

"No, I'm fine," Steve answered.

"What aren't you telling us, Cap?" Clint asked. Sometimes Steve wished he weren't so damned perceptive.

"I'm not injured, but we're not in the best position," Steve admitted reluctantly. "A beam landed on us; I'm holding it up with my shield."

There was a brief pause before Sitwell said, "Solid copy. Iron Man and Hulk are on their way. We'll get you out as quickly as we can, Captain."

"Sergeant Silviera first," Steve said.

"Of course," Sitwell answered.

There was nothing Steve could do then but wait--wait and push up against his shield, which felt heavier and heavier as time went by. Sitwell or Clint checked in with him every few minutes, reporting on the progress Tony and Hulk were making. It was going pretty slowly considering who they had working on it, but Sitwell said they had to be careful not to take out something critical and bring the rest of the building crashing down.

Sergeant Silviera moaned about ten minutes after the explosion, but she didn't respond to Steve saying her name for another five minutes. "What?" she said, tensing up. "What the fuck?"

"Easy, Sergeant," Steve responded. "There was an explosion, but they're working on getting us out."

"Explosion," she muttered, shaking her head, then grimacing. "Right. I remember."

"How are you feeling?" Steve asked.

"Well, I'm pretty sure my leg's broken," she said. "Hurts like a motherfucker, and I can't move it. My head is killing me--how long was I out?"

"About fifteen minutes," Steve answered.

"Shit, are we gonna run out of air?" she asked, looking around wildly.

"I don't think so," Steve said; in truth he hadn't even considered it. "Agent Sitwell, Sergeant Silviera is awake. What's the status of the recovery team?"

"Still working, Captain," Sitwell answered.

"Do we need to be concerned about air quality?" Steve asked carefully.

"JARVIS says you should have another hour's worth," Tony said. "We'll get you out by then."

"Sooner would be better," Steve said; his arm was getting awfully tired. He let Silviera ("Call me Terri," she insisted) know what they'd said and concentrated on not letting anything above them shift. He asked Terri questions to keep her awake and their minds off the situation. They could hear muffled noises now and again, but nothing close.

"Steve, I've got some news for you," Clint said a few minutes later. He sounded pleased; Steve hoped that meant they'd made some progress. "I'm switching to the team's private channel."

"What is it?" Steve asked, bracing his arm as best he could.

"Phil's here, and he's got Bucky with him," Clint answered.

"Bucky's there?" Steve asked, so excited he almost forgot about the pain. "He's okay?"

"He's fine," Clint answered. "Thor says his mom cleaned out his head; there aren't any triggers left."

"Thank God," Steve said. "Can I talk to him?"

"He insisted on helping Thor and the others," Clint said. "He and Nat aren't as strong as the Hulk, but they can get into tight places a lot better."

"So can you," Steve said, frowning. "Wait, how can Bucky be helping? He's only got one arm!"

"He insisted," Clint said, sounding frustrated.

"Clint, what's going on?" Steve asked. "Bucky's down there, but you're not--what happened?"

"I'm fine, buddy," Clint said. "I landed a little wrong after the explosion, and Sitwell's being a mother hen."

Steve knew there had to be more to the story than that, but Clint sounded annoyed, not like he was hiding a major injury. "Have you talked to Bucky?"

"I've barely talked to Phil," Clint said. "We're a little busy trying to dig you out."

"That would be good," Steve grunted. Something above him had shifted, and he'd been forced to crouch down a bit lower. "The sooner the better."

"Talk to me, Steve," Clint said, sounding very like his husband.

"I've got Sergeant Terri Silviera here, and she's wondering how much longer this is going to take," Steve said.

"You don't want her to hear whatever it is," Clint acknowledged. "You sure you're not injured?"

"No, she's conscious--she's watching me right now. She's strong, but she's pretty tired," Steve said, trying to smile at her. He didn't think she bought it.

"Your arm's getting tired?" Clint asked sharply.

"That's right," Steve said. "Her leg's pinned down, and I'd like to get her some medical attention as soon as possible. The beam that came down looks like it'll take some muscle to move; I'm glad we have Thor, Tony, and Hulk working on clearing the debris."

"Steve, I'm gonna talk to everyone, see if we can speed things up, okay?" Clint said. "Once Phil understands, you know he'll put the fear of God into everyone. I'll check back with you in a few minutes. Hold tight."

"I'll do that," Steve said. It wasn't as if he had any choice. "Clint?" he said hesitantly.

"I'll tell him," Clint said.

Steve dropped his chin, relieved. He should have known Clint would understand. "Thanks," he said.

"You don't have to pretend, Captain Rogers," Terri said a minute later, looking up at him seriously. He thought she was probably only twenty-three or so, just a few years younger than he'd been when he joined the Army. "It can't be easy holding all that weight, even for you."

"It's not," Steve said, "but I'll keep doing it as long as I need to."

The noises had gotten a little closer, but the only change where they were was that the air was getting staler and Steve was getting more tired.

"Do you believe in God, Captain?" Terri asked him.

The question was a surprise, although maybe it shouldn't have been. "Yes," Steve answered, because he still did, mostly, despite aliens and nuclear bombs, and he figured she needed him to sound sure.

"My family, we're Portuguese," she said. "If you get us out of this alive, there are gonna be a lot of candles lit for you."

"That's not necessary," Steve said, "but thank you."

"My cousin Mike, he's probably already lit a few for you," she went on. "When you came out last year at that press conference, that finally gave him the guts to come out to his parents."

Steve sucked in a breath. "Did it go okay?"

"Yeah," she answered. "They were freaked out for a day or two, but it's fine now. He's even bringing his boyfriend to Thanksgiving this year."

"That's wonderful," Steve said, and this time he didn't have to force the smile.

"Steve," Clint said into his ear.

"Yeah?" he said hopefully.

"It shouldn't be that much longer," Clint said. "And I've got a message for you. A couple of them, actually."

"What is it?" he asked, his heart in his throat.

"SHIELD's given Bucky the all clear, and Tony's offered him a suite in the Tower. He accepted."

"That's great news," Steve said. "Was there another message?"

"Yeah. He said to tell you you're a stubborn-ass punk who's always getting into trouble."

"Jesus," Steve said, blinking. "Uh, could you tell him I'm still me, and he's still a jerk?"

"I'll tell him," Clint promised, "but you can tell him yourself soon."

"Are you all right, Captain?" Terri asked him. "Was that bad news or good news?"

"Good news," he said. "They said it shouldn't take much longer."

"You know, Mike has sent me a lot of YouTube links to your interviews," she said slowly. "Is Bucky Barnes really alive?"

Steve shook his head; it made his neck cramp. "If he were, I couldn't tell you," he said. "That kind of information is way beyond your pay grade, Sergeant." He made a note to talk to Phil about looking into her record to see if she'd be a good fit for SHIELD.

"Understood, sir," she said, grinning up at him. There was a loud scraping noise, and everything resettled painfully. Terri went from grinning to crying out sharply.

Steve grunted, sinking down even lower; he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on. "Clint, tell them to hurry," he said, no longer bothering to hide anything from Terri.

"Almost there, Cap," Tony said; Steve could hear the effort in his voice.

"Almost's not gonna cut it," Steve muttered.

Suddenly there was more light, lots of it, coming through cracks in the rubble. A moment later things shifted again, and Steve saw a hand, covered with dust and scraped at the knuckles, but unmistakable. It was Natasha.

It took another few minutes before they'd removed enough rubble to get at the beam trapping Terri. Steve crouched under his burden, watching as Terri's face got paler and paler, as she bit her lip and squeezed her eyes, until they finally got her leg free. It was a bloody, mangled mess below the knee; he could tell from her expression she knew as well as he did they'd probably have to amputate.

At least she was alive. He smiled at her as Natasha and a couple of medics gently got the body board under her and guided it through the small opening they'd created. "You're next," Natasha said as she followed them out, pushing the board ahead of her.

"She's clear," Sitwell said a minute later. The noises got louder again, and this time he could distinguish the sound of Tony's repulsors, of Hulk roaring.

Then Thor shouted, "No, Hulk, not that one!" but it was too late. More of the building came tumbling down on top of him. Something smashed his shield down onto his head, and everything went black.

***

It was different from when he'd hit the ice. Then, there had been pain, and freezing water, and then nothing at all until he'd awakened. This time, there were flashes to go along with the pain: voices, bright light, the pressure of someone's hand holding his. He couldn't open his eyes, but he could hear Bucky saying, "So help me God, Rogers, if you die I'm gonna kill you." He tried to squeeze his hand (he knew it was Bucky's hand), but he couldn't move.

The pain got worse, and he was out again. Then there were more voices, probably doctors and nurses, but he still couldn't move. They gave him something, and the pain got better, but the drugs pulled him under.

He floated, and it felt a little like the seconds right before he woke up in a new century. He could hear a voice again.

"They say you can maybe hear me," Bucky said. "I don't know if that's true or not, but in case it is, I wanted to let you know I was here. I've been here, along with everyone from your team. It's just me in here now, though."

Steve felt Bucky squeezing his hand and heard him take a deep breath. "I'm leaving soon, Steve," he said. "Not for good, I promise. I'll come back once I've figured a few things out."

Steve tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't. It felt like he had something stuck down his throat.

"Your heartrate just went up," Bucky said, something like wonder in his voice. "Can you hear me, Steve? They said they didn't think you'd wake up yet, but they don't know what a stubborn son of a bitch you can be."

Steve focused on the feel of Bucky's hand, made of flesh and blood and holding his. He tried to move his pinky.

"Hey, it's okay, calm down," Bucky said, his voice low and soothing the way it used to be all the times Steve was sick. "You were pretty banged up; the docs say it's gonna take some time before your motor control comes back. But you'll be okay. You're healing."

Something brushed over his forehead, something warm and soft. "I'm sorry I can't stay," Bucky said. "I hope you understand. I've got to do this, Steve. I'm not gonna be any good to anyone until I figure out how to be whoever the fuck I am now, and I can't do that with all of you hovering over me. I'm letting Coulson put a tracker on me. You can check it, but please don't follow me. I promise I'll come back as soon as I can. I don't know how long it'll be, but I hope you'll be patient a little while longer. When I get back, we'll talk."

Bucky snorted. "Shit, I don't know if I want you to remember this or not. If you don't, Barton will tell you. If you do…."

Bucky's voice trailed off, and he let go of Steve's hand. Steve felt bereft until he felt Bucky's fingers on his cheek. Half a second later Bucky kissed him gently on the lips. Steve listened to the scrape of the chair, the taps of Bucky's boots against the floor, and the soft click as the door closed. He kept listening, but the only sounds he heard were the quiet hums of the monitors, followed by the wheeze of the blood pressure cuff inflating. Eventually he fell into sleep again.

When he woke, he could move again. He could open his eyes, look around the room, and see that Bucky was gone.

***

They let him go home the next day, although he was supposed to take it easy until they were sure all his fractures were completely healed. He tried to tell them he was fine, but when Clint brutally laid out a list of the ways he would have been permanently paralyzed, brain-damaged, or killed if he hadn't had the serum, he held his tongue.

He visited Terri, who was being cared for in Tony's private wing at Columbia. Tony was already working on a prosthesis for her, using what he'd learned from studying Bucky's arm, and Darcy had befriended her in the way only Darcy could. It sounded like there were already plans in place to bring her into SHIELD once she'd recovered.

Phil updated him every day on Bucky's location. He was sticking mostly to Brooklyn; he'd even visited their old apartment building. Steve thought that was a good sign. He hoped it was, anyway.

Clint had a broken wrist and a sprained ankle; he was as restless and cranky as Steve felt. Tony, when he wasn't busy in his lab, was hovering over Steve (and occasionally Clint) in the obnoxious, outwardly self-obsessed, deeply caring way only he was capable of. Bruce made dinner every night. Phil came home from headquarters in time for dinner, without fail. Thor, Jane, and Darcy came with Steve to the hospital to visit Terri. Natasha was more silent than usual, and Pepper more solicitous, which Steve wouldn't have believed was even possible.

He knew why they were acting that way; he even appreciated the sentiment behind it. He just wished they'd leave him alone, because by the time three days had gone by, they were driving him crazy. He didn't need coddling. He needed Bucky to come back.

SHIELD gave him the okay for active duty again after X-raying what seemed like every single bone in his body and doing an MRI on his spinal cord. He listened to the iPod Darcy had given him for Christmas to help pass the time in the machine, which was a lot louder than he'd expected. He was itching for some activity once he got home, so he texted Clint to meet him at the gym, where he ran combat drills with Natasha and Thor. Clint watched and made occasional suggestions and frequent sarcastic remarks; it was comfortingly normal.

When Bruce came down to ask Natasha to help him make dinner, Thor made his apologies and called Jane to see when she was coming home. Steve thought about destroying some punching bags for old time's sake, but he went upstairs and took a shower instead.

Tony tried to get him to stick around for a movie after dinner, but he backed off easily enough when Steve said he was tired. Clint walked him to the elevator, clasped his shoulder, and told him to have a good night.

He was listening to Count Basie and poking at his sketchbook when JARVIS said, "Steve, Sergeant Barnes has just entered the building."

Steve bolted out of his chair and was halfway to the door before JARVIS said, "He's asked me to pass on a message."

Steve stopped and braced himself against the wall with one hand. "What is it?" he asked.

"He said, 'Tell Steve I'll be up to see him as soon as I've taken a shower,'" JARVIS said. "I've taken the liberty of notifying Mr. Stark and Agent Coulson that Sergeant Barnes is on his way to the guest quarters that were set aside for him."

"Thanks, JARVIS," Steve said. "Can you…I want Bucky to have full access to my quarters. Can you do that? I know I'll have to tell him the passcode."

"I would recommend that you change it," JARVIS answered. "Sergeant Barnes' birthdate is not a very secure code."

"I'll do that," Steve promised. "Tell Bucky I'll be waiting for him."

"Of course," JARVIS said. "Agent Barton is on the line, if you wish to speak to him."

"Put him through," Steve said, sitting down on the sofa.

"You okay, Steve?" Clint asked.

"I have no idea," Steve answered. "He told JARVIS to tell me he'd be up after he took a shower. He didn't even tell me himself."

"He's been wandering around the city for days, buddy. I'm sure he just wanted to clean up before he talks to you. Maybe brush his teeth before he kisses you."

Steve chuckled. "I hope you're right. I'd really like to be able to kiss him back this time. Jeez, maybe I should brush my teeth."

"Not a bad idea," Clint said, laughing. "Bruce does like to cook with garlic."

"Clint, what if…" Steve said, trailing off.

"He loves you, Steve," Clint said, full of conviction. "If you'd seen him when they pulled you out, you'd be as sure of it as I am. Shit, I wouldn't have let him leave if I'd had any doubts he was gonna come back to you."

"I hope you're right," Steve said again.

"Listen, I don't expect to hear from either one of you before tomorrow, but you know you can call any time if you need me," Clint said.

"I know," Steve said. "Thanks."

Steve brushed his teeth thoroughly, shaved, and changed his shirt. He thought about changing his pants, but he told himself he was being ridiculous and went back out into the living room. He was just about to switch the record to Sarah Vaughn when there was a knock on the door.

"Sergeant Barnes is here," JARVIS said unnecessarily.

"Thanks, JARVIS," Steve said. "Engage privacy mode." He took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Hi," Bucky said. His hair was still damp, curling a little at the nape of his neck. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. The stump of his left arm stuck out an inch beyond his sleeve; the end of it was bandaged.

"Is your arm okay?" Steve asked, worried.

"It's fine," Bucky answered. "The skin bleeds a little easy down at the end, so I keep it wrapped up. You gonna invite me in or what?"

"Of course," Steve said, flushing. "Come in."

Bucky walked through the door and looked around. "Nice digs," he said, a smirk on his face.

Steve stared at him, wondering. Bucky met his gaze and raised an eyebrow.

"Bucky…" he said, reaching out, but he stopped short of touching Bucky's face, afraid of scaring him off again.

Bucky took a step forward and leaned in to Steve's palm. He pressed his hand gently over Steve's. Steve could feel the stubble on Bucky's cheek, the warmth of his skin, the calluses on his fingers. He took a shaky breath, cupped Bucky's face with both his hands, and rested his forehead against Bucky's, closing his eyes.

"Just so you know, I'm still not sure this is a good idea," Bucky said, and Steve could feel his breath puffing out with each word. "But I'm willing to give it a shot if you are."

"You know I am," Steve answered. He moved his right hand to the back of Bucky's neck and slowly, carefully, tilted his head. The last thing he wanted to do was to move too quickly.

Bucky murmured, "Christ, Rogers, what the fuck are you waiting for?" and pressed their lips together.

Steve laughed into Bucky's mouth, full of joy. He could feel Bucky's answering smile, and he kissed the corner of it, licked his way into Bucky's mouth, wrapped his arms around Bucky's back, and pulled him close. Bucky held on with one arm, kissing him deeply, and, God, it felt so easy, so perfect, like it always had.

Bucky tasted a bit like toothpaste, and he smelled like the expensive toiletries Tony stocked the guest suites with, but when Steve buried his nose behind Bucky's ear he found the scent he'd recognize anywhere. He nipped gently at Bucky's earlobe and brushed his lips against Bucky's neck, his jaw, the corner of his eye, his nose. He kissed Bucky's chin, exploring the cleft with the tip of his tongue, which led to a huff of laughter gusting over the bridge of his nose. Steve could feel Bucky's dick hardening against his thigh, could hear him gasp softly when Steve shifted his stance to press his own erection into the hollow of Bucky's hip.

He kissed Bucky again, putting nearly two years of longing into it, pushing his tongue into Bucky's mouth and gripping the back of his head. He had this one moment, and he might never have it again. He hadn't been conscious of that when they'd shared one last kiss before getting out of their tent that morning in the Alps, but he knew it now, and he was determined not to hold anything back. If he lost Bucky again, he'd at least have this.

Bucky made a needy sound at the back of his throat, a sound Steve hadn't heard since the war, and rocked his hips against Steve, moving his hand down to Steve's ass. Steve groaned and moved forward until he'd pushed Bucky up against the wall. For a few seconds he wanted nothing more than to rut against Bucky, or maybe to drop to his knees and suck him off, God, but then he pulled back, gasping for breath, and rested his forehead against Bucky's again.

"They tell me it's nice to do this in a bed that's actually big enough for two people," he said hoarsely.

Bucky frowned up at him. "You mean you haven't…." He trailed off, then shook his head. "No, of course you haven't. Fuck, Steve, how long's it been for you?"

"Almost two years," Steve said, taking his hand and pulling him towards the bedroom. "Come on."

Once he had Bucky through the door and next to the bed, Steve kissed him again, briefly this time, and reached for the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over Bucky's head. Bucky went for Steve's belt, undoing it easily with one hand while Steve unbuttoned and removed his own shirt. In less than a minute, they were gazing hungrily at each other in nothing but their underwear.

"Come on," Steve said again, grasping Bucky by the shoulders and pushing him towards the bed.

Bucky took a sharp breath when Steve gripped his left shoulder. Steve dropped his hands immediately. "Jesus, Buck, I'm sorry," he said.

Bucky shook his head. "Don't be," he said, sitting down on the bed and leaning back. "It's just, uh, sensitive. It feels good."

"Oh," Steve said, stunned. He knelt on the bed next to Bucky and pushed him back against the covers until he could straddle Bucky's hips. He ran his fingers gently over the scar joining the old flesh and the new. Bucky closed his eyes, breathing deeply, open-mouthed. "Okay?" Steve asked, to be sure.

"Yeah," Bucky said thickly, and Steve bent and replaced his fingers with his lips and tongue, kissing the scar, which was no longer red and angry-looking; it looked noticeably smaller. He moved to Bucky's shoulder, mouthing at it, tasting the soft skin, feeling the play of muscle and bone under his lips, listening as Bucky gasped again, his hips moving restlessly under Steve's. "Fuck, Steve, please," Bucky moaned.

"Anything," Steve said, "anything, Bucky; what do you want, what do you need?"

Bucky looked at Steve for a long moment, his eyes dark. "Move over," he said, shoving Steve's chest up. Steve obediently moved to his side, then lay on his back when Bucky continued to push. Bucky pulled Steve's boxers off and kissed his way down Steve's belly, holding himself up with his right arm. "Gorgeous," he murmured, and took Steve into his mouth.

They'd done this before, dozens of times in the year they'd had together, but Steve heard what Bucky said, remembered what he'd said when he came into the apartment. He remembered when Bucky had said those words before, and he touched Bucky's face gently with a shaking hand. He was too much of a coward to say what he really wanted to, so he settled for, "God, Bucky, that feels so good." He rested his hand on the back of Bucky's head, his fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, longer than it had been during the war.

Bucky lifted his head to smile at him, then went back to devoting all his attention to Steve's dick. Steve had to grit his teeth and think about slime monsters and giant weasels not to go off in about thirty seconds; he realized how much noise he was making and thought absently about Tony's insistence on soundproofing. He almost laughed, but it turned into another moan when Bucky did something especially amazing with his tongue.

He felt Bucky shift and looked down in time to see him reach for the base of Steve's dick with his right hand. The movement caused him to list to his left, and he pulled off Steve with a muttered, "Shit," as his stump landed on the bed.

Steve held out his right forearm, offering it as a brace, and Bucky hooked his stump over it, twisting to brush his lips over Steve's wrist. "Thanks," he said hoarsely, and bent to take Steve into his mouth again.

Steve had thought it was good before, but now it was like Bucky was taking it as a personal challenge to make him forget everything except the sensation of Bucky's hand, his lips, his tongue. His hips jerked up and his free hand tightened in Bucky's hair. Bucky moaned around his dick, and that was it, Steve was gone, his vision whiting out as his orgasm rolled through him.

When he opened his eyes again and saw Bucky looking back at him, his chin resting on Steve's belly, he couldn't hold it back any longer. "Bucky," he said, "My God, I missed you so much. I love you, Bucky, so much."

He put his left arm under Bucky's right and pulled gently with both arms, and Bucky moved easily up and into his embrace, resting his cheek on Steve's chest. His dick was still hard, and he was still in his boxers, but both of them seemed content at the moment to lay there, with Steve pressing kisses into Bucky's hair and Bucky idly caressing Steve's arm. Bucky hadn't said anything, but he hadn't moved away, hadn't tensed up.

"You know, there's one memory the Red Room never wiped out," Bucky said after a few minutes. His dick had softened, and although his tone was conversational, Steve could hear the emotion behind it. "They tried, but it never worked."

Steve kissed the top of his head and moved his hand in slow circles on Bucky's back. "What was it?" he asked quietly. No matter what Bucky said, Steve would listen and try to understand.

"For a long time I couldn't make any sense of it," Bucky answered. "I was crowded onto this cot with a man, laying on top of him, really, and I was happy. I didn't always understand what that meant, being happy, but I understood that I was warm, that I felt safe, and I wished I could feel like that again, even if I didn't know the man's name. Even when I didn't know my own name, I still remembered the man's voice saying I was beautiful, and I remembered being warm and safe."

"I'm sorry," Steve said helplessly, his eyes burning. "Bucky, I'm so sorry; I'd give anything--"

"You still don't get it, dumbass," Bucky interrupted, his voice tender. He lifted his head and met Steve's eyes. "There's nothing you could have done, Steve. I fell, and they got me, and none of that was your fault. But loving you, being loved by you, that's what saved me."

"As soon as I knew you were alive, I knew I'd do whatever it took to find you," Steve said hesitantly. Because it wasn't enough. It could never be enough.

"Believe me when I say I'm glad you did," Bucky said. "And I'm glad you never gave up, even when I tried everything I could think of to make you. But that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Steve asked.

Bucky shifted again until he was lying at Steve's side; Steve turned with him until they were facing each other. "Idunn--that's Thor's cousin; she was in charge of fixing my arm in Asgard--she said, and Solomon agrees with her, that if I hadn't held on so tightly to that memory of you, if I'd let that go, there wouldn't have been any of me left," Bucky said, his hand resting on Steve's hip. "The Red Room would have had the perfect, soulless monster they wanted. Everything that made me who I was, who I am, would have been gone for good. It wouldn't have mattered if you'd found the Soldier a year earlier, or fifty years earlier, because he would have killed you. He would have done everything they asked without hesitation, and they never would have had to put him on ice, because there wouldn't have been anything left but him."

Steve couldn't help frowning a little at that. Bucky responded with a miniscule head-shake and a smile. "Loving you saved me from what they tried to do," he said, "and you loving me saved me once you found me again. I'm not gonna fight that, Steve. Not any more."

There was only one response Steve could possibly make to that. He smiled at Bucky, feeling completely overrun with happiness, and kissed him. Bucky kissed him back hungrily, and Steve shoved his shorts down and thrust against him, both of them getting hard again. He reached behind him to paw open the drawer to the bedside table, finding the lube by feel and putting it in Bucky's hand.

"What exactly do you want me to do with this, Rogers?" Bucky asked. He was panting a little, his lips red, his skin flushed.

"I want you to fuck me into next Tuesday," Steve answered, grinning.

Bucky shut his eyes and clenched his jaw for a second. "Fuck, Steve," he groaned. "I'll probably come the second I get inside you."

"I don't have a problem with that," Steve promised.

It took some maneuvering to find a position that worked with Bucky's arm and still let them see each other's faces, something they both wanted. They ended up in a reversal of what they'd done in Steve's room in England, Steve slowly lowering himself onto Bucky, Steve's arm underneath his stump, holding him steady.

Then Steve started to move, and Bucky muffled inarticulate noises on Steve's shoulder, his hand stroking Steve's dick, the rhythm uneven and uncoordinated, but none of it mattered. It was perfect. Steve came right after Bucky shuddered and cried out, and the two of them collapsed on the bed with Bucky still inside him.

***
Eventually they recovered enough energy to get in the shower together and clean up. "A guy could get used to living like this," Bucky said when they were back in bed. He was resting his head on Steve's chest again, and Steve looked down at his neck, his shoulders, his back, the way the sheet lay in soft folds over the lower half of his body.

"You should get used to it," Steve said, twisting to kiss his temple. "Because if you think you're going back to that guest suite to do anything other than pack, you're even stupider than you used to be. From now on, this is your home. Our home. Got it?"

"You're still a bossy son of a bitch," Bucky answered, lifting his head and grinning at Steve. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," Steve said, and kissed him again before telling JARVIS to hit the lights.

END