Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Three years.  For three long years, James Buchanan Barnes had been obsessively on the move, fueled by his hatred and little more.  His memories, at first, had begun to trickle back to him when he visited the Smithsonian and stared at his own face reflected back to him.  A hero.  A brother.  A friend.  A good man.  All of the things that Hydra had robbed him of, corrupting him and turning him into a tool for their own devices.  He had entered the museum adrift and purposeless, confused and more than a little frightened to face his past.  He left with a purpose and a set jaw.  He was going to turn the weapon they had made him into back on them.  He would make them pay. 



For three years, The Winter Soldier buried his hurt in his anger.  And even as the memories began to flood back as his mind healed, he refused to allow himself to stop, to feel.  Not until the mission was complete.  He wasn't allowed to rest until he had put every man responsible for condition into the ground.  He drew upon those resurfacing memories:  Hydra bases,  maps, and names.  He used the talents of reconnaissance and stealth, how to acquire the materials he required and safe houses and weapon caches.  He ate only what he needed to keep going: long forgotten MREs left behind in flop houses, or food from gas stations and convenience stores: sometimes stolen and sometimes bough with cash he found in the caches.  He slept rarely, and only when exhaustion reduced his functionality.  And one by one, he began to eliminate his targets. 



He never paused for very long.  He knew he was being followed.  And as much as a part of him wanted to stop; to go back to him:  the man on the bridge... Captain America.... Steve... he didn't feel like he could let it go or face him until he had cleared the red out of his ledger.  He was ashamed of the thing he had become.  He had to reclaim that before he could look him in the eye again.  



He was almost done.  One more facility remained on his hit list.  He didn't delude himself that there probably weren't more out there, but this was the last one he could recall.  The last one that he knew had ties to the Winter Soldier project, and he knew that they had been working on some of Hydra's more experimental technology.   It also brought his mission full circle: back to the US and DC itself.  It was dangerous, returning to the city where he was a well-known person of interest, and that's why he had left this one for last.  
 


The facility was deceptively small on the outside, easily overshadowed by Hydra's more notable facilities in the area that had gone down during Project Insight.  But that didn't mean that it didn't have its share of defenses - not that it mattered.  The Winter Soldier made quick work of the security with practiced ease.  And like many of the other facilities, it was nearly over twenty minutes after he set foot in the laboratory's doors.  He had rigged the facility to blow, and was on his way out, the first of the detonations already going off deep within the bowels of the building.  He had expected that - he had plenty of time to make it out by the time the peripheral bombs would fire.... but that's when an odd shock wave caught him, lifting him off his feet.  A brilliant blue light filled his vision before everything went black...

When The Soldier awoke, he was in a general warehouse; exactly where he expected to be.  But it was empty; uncharred and seemed otherwise wholly insignificant.  There was no security save a few padlocks, and no evidence of any Hydra activity.

He was on his feet in an instant, firearm in each hand, even with his head pounding and his ears still ringing from the explosion.  Already, he was mentally chiding himself for his guard having been down for... he glanced at his watch... just a few minutes had passed?  His brow furrowed.  He had to have been moved.  And yet, there was no one around, no evidence that this warehouse had been disturbed.  His eyes tracked the layers of dust that clung to the empty interior, the layers of grime over the windows.  And the soldier couldn't deny the similarity in layout to the Hydra facility he had been in moments before.  He had studied the blueprints, and the surrounding buildings.  It didn't make sense.  



His mouth tightened to a straight line as he trotted silently to the side door, peering out through a window. He braced himself for a few moments, waiting, expecting his movement to have triggered some kind of attention, and letting the ringing in his ears subside and the pounding behind his eyes to ease. The night sky and an empty lot greeted him.  Even straining to listen with his enhanced hearing yielded no sounds other than distant traffic.  He unbolted the door and slid outside, ducking into a shadow of a disused dumpster, scanning.  Still.  Nothing.  And yet - the neighborhood was virtually identical - the same surrounding buildings, the same street signs.  He holstered his weapons and skirted around the building to where he had left the backpack that contained civvy clothes, extra food, and his other emergency supplies: everything that the Winter Soldier owned, packed up for easy transport.  But there was nothing there.  It was gone.  He swore under his breath and tore the mask off of his face, looping it over his belt.  


He wasn't used to this - being unprepared, caught off-guard.  He had had a definite plan of action after he had taken down this facility - rest, and then... finally... let Steve find him and face charges.  But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was really off.  He leapt the fence, landing deftly on his feet and ran silently for a few blocks, sticking to unlit areas as the gears in his head began to turn.  


Step one: procure new clothing.  Simple enough.  That late at night and in a bad area of DC, it was not difficult to find communities of homeless men.  A few crumpled bills was enough to bribe for a hat and a jacket. 



Step two: Steve's apartment.  The soldier didn't need rest - not yet.  Something was off, and he wasn't going to wait around to find out what. Last he checked, Steve had still at least maintained the decent apartment in Dupont Circle near downtown DC, despite the security breach three years ago.  The soldier had the sneaking suspicion that he wanted to make himself available to be found.  

A few hours later, the soldier was on the fire escape, quietly making his way down to the window he knew led into the apartment.

The window was easy enough to shimmy open, but the Soldier immediate knew something was wrong.  Nothing in the apartment was the same; different furniture, different wall colors, different accoutrements.  On the wall, where previously two Harley Davidson Motorcycle prints were framed instead housed two signed posters from Wicked and Jersey Boys.  The palette in the apartment was feminine and soft... nothing like it has been last time he had seen it.   


The soldier hesitated for only a few moments.  Wrong.  Was the intelligence he had done faulty?  No, he doubted it.  From everything he knew.... everything he remembered about Steve... he wouldn't have wanted to make it difficult to be found.  That curling feeling in his stomach that there was something truly off grew heavier.  

He made his way quickly down the fire escape, dropping the last story down to the ground instead of loudly dropping the rusted metal ladder.  


He strode through the alley, running a hand through his long, tangled hair absently as he forced himself to think.  The sun would be rising soon.  He could find a cheap motel, but then what?  He needed a direction.  Needed a lead.  If Rogers wasn't at that apartment, he'd need to figure out where.  He was just turning, planning on locating a place with internet connection that he could borrow to begin his search when he stopped dead in his tracks.  A news stand was just opening up on the corner, racks of magazines and newspapers being revealed as the older, portly man smoking a cigarette lifted up the panels.  And there, front and center of the New York Times was Steve, wearing a perfectly tailored suit and a winning smile. 


The headline read President Rogers Calls for Raise of Minimum Wage.


That squirmy feeling in the soldier's stomach solidified into a ten pound weight. "Fuck."

"Hey, you just gonna stare or you gonna buy a paper?" The vendor prodded with a gruff note of irritation. 



The soldier leveled a glare at the man until he fell back a pace.  Then, without taking his eyes off of him, pushed a dollar and some change at him and snagged the paper, taking it with him around the corner to read.  

It seemed impossible.  No, it was impossible.  And yet there it was.There was no mistaking that face.  His eyes roamed over the date, panicked at first that somehow, somehow he had lost more time.  That he had been out not for a few minutes but that Hydra agents had slipped his  notice and apprehend him, leaving him in stasis for years and a few minutes.  But no, the newspaper was dated just as he would have expected, April 17, 2017.   

So, the soldier searched the article itself for some kind of explanation.  Reading, he was able to piece together some vital information: President Steve Rogers had been elected in 2016, the youngest president in history, and here, just a few months into his first term was pushing for big reform in minimum wage.  He shook his head.  How?  There was no way Steve Rogers running for president would have escaped the soldier's notice.  He wracked his brain for some kind of explanation, but the only thing he could come up with sounded something like the pulp science fiction dimestore novels he had read as a kid more so than anything realistic.  But then... was that really so beyond the scope of the sci fi horror story that his life had become?



He dropped to a rough seated position, his back resting against the brick and mortar wall as his mind reeled.  Could this really be some... weird, alternate time line?  What in the fuck had Hydra been working on in that lab?  Maybe it was a really good thing he destroyed it when he did, but... how in the hell was he supposed to get back home?  He looked back down at the paper, his chest feeling tight as he looked at Steve's smiling face looking out at him.  It felt like a punch to the gut just how much he missed him.  How long he had been running from him... 

The soldier's training kicked in.  There was only one real recourse at the moment.  He had no contacts, no resources other than the little money and items he carried on his person.  His only connection - and a tentative and dangerous one at that - was the man in the paper with his friend's name and face.  Would he know him?  Would he believe him?  How was he even supposed to get close to him?  He was the president for God's sake.  



Resolutely, he stood up and began to move.  If anyone could get past White House security, it was the Winter Soldier.  This was precisely the sort of mission he had been trained for.  At least now he had an address.

Chapter Text

It was Steve Roger's favorite time of day; late, when the secret services had checked every window and door and given him the all clear.  Sure, they would still be around if something were to happen, but for the most part Steve was able to feel like a normal human being for a few hours.  Secure in the residence wing of the White House, Steve and his son cuddled on the couch with after dinner snacks and spent the evening watching TV.  James Rogers was laying across his father's lap while he perused some files, using his ten year old as an impromptu, wiggling, giggling desk.  Their dog, a purebred Golden Retriever named DaVinci was nearby, laying on the couch despite multiple attempts to train him not to; it's always awkward to meet heads of state with dog hair all over your clothes.

But still, it was when Steve felt the most like himself and the most content.  He had gotten into politics because he knew that's where the real influence was; he could do vastly more good as a politician with a pen than a soldier with a gun; but the water here was full of sharks and it was often he yearned for the more cut-and-dry simple life of following orders.    

Still, by the time The Late Show with Seth Myers was coming on, James had long since fallen asleep and Steve found himself needing his rest as well.  He scooped up his son, who protested that he wasn't tired even though he could barely keep his eyes open, and tucked him into bed.  DaVinci happily curled at his son's feet before Steve made his way to his own Presidential bedroom, unbuttoning his dress shirt as he did.

The Winter Soldier had done his research.  He had spent days watching, observing, using the tools of the trade secured about his person to penetrate the defenses and figure out optimal times and guard shifts. This was the utmost level of security, and these were not his enemies.  He had no desire to hurt any of the secret service - and even if his hand were to be forced, it could bring dire consequences later since he was ultimately looking for an appeal of aide.  And then, when he was finally confident and prepared, he executed his plan like a well-orchestrated dance.  Perfect timing, evading and disarming alarms, skirting cameras, and slipping notice like a ghost.

The moment President Rogers stepped into his bedroom, his years in the military signaled to him that something was amiss.  The light switch was unresponsive.  The curtains were drawn and the room was shrouded in darkness.  It was dead silent, and yet he knew that there was someone else in the room.  

 He paused as soon as he flicked the light switch and nothing happened.  His stance was immediately at the ready; all the training he had ever had coming to him instincitvely as he put his back towards the wall and his hands up.  He could cry out for help, the service was never too far away, but he wanted to assess the situation first; no need to scare his son if he could avoid it.  "Whatever you want, this isn't the way to go about it," he said, trying to keep his voice even.  "Let us talk about it, and we'll see what we can do."

That voice was unmistakable, and for a moment, the soldier was surprised at himself as his own voice caught in his throat.  Muscling past it, reigning control of this situation before Ste- the president - called for help, he spoke up.  His voice was low and ragged, disused, but carried clearly through the room.  "I am here to talk."  

"Good," he said, slowly raising his hands up higher; signaling he was unarmed.  "Let me help you," he said, his voice even and calm.  "What do you want?" 

His eyes scanned the room, looking for the figure.  "Please, I'd prefer to speak to you face to face."

The soldier studied the silhouette for a moment, his eyes already adjusted well to the darkness.  It was him.  Not just a remarkable lookalike with a coincidental name.  He wasn't sure if that made things better or worse, but it least it reinforced his decision to come here despite the risk.  

There was a brief rustle of fabric and deceptively light footsteps as he moved a few paces to manually switch on a small lamp that sat on the bedside table.  

The intruder wore heavy military grade boots and pants, utility belts with obvious bulges and even a blatantly holstered gun on one hip, knife on another.  A poorly fitted jacket left no secret that there were more weapons underneath, although none of them were in the man's hands at the moment.  Shaggy brown hair that nearly reached his shoulders obscured his face for just a moment before he turned his face from the lamp to meet the president's eyes.  And that face.... despite a few days worth of stubble and deep circles under his eyes, that face was unmistakable.  

"I need your help." His voice cracked.

Steve felt a cold sweat beading over his face as he watched the man; he was heavily armed and obviously very talented if he was able to break into the goddamned White House without detection.  He could be dead in an instant, and the thought of his son losing the only parent he had left made the president feel nauseous.

But the light hit the man's face, and Steve's jaw dropped.  He immediately dropped his battle stance and squinted his eyes - surely he was seeing things.  But no... he could never forget that face.  "Bucky?"

Relief visibly flashed across the soldier's features.  "You know me." He breathed.  The conversation, Steve's expression was so painfully familiar.  

He didn't approach and kept his gloved hands a good distance from his sides and his weapons as his brows drew together earnestly.  "How... how do you know me?"

"You... you don't know me?" he asked, sounding more hurt than he even meant to.  "You're James Buchanan Barnes, aren't you?"  He shook his head, taking a tentative step towards him.  "How... I mean, Bucky... I thought, they told me... I saw you... you were dead!"

The soldier nodded, swallowing down a knot in his throat. It did feel so good to see him again, to hear him call him 'Bucky'. "Y... yes.  I... Steve."  He stopped himself, trying to reign in some of the raw emotion from his own voice.  It had been so long, so long since he let himself just feel.  Remember.  Putting it off until he was through with his mission.  This might not be his Steve, but it was still him.  Right there.  

He didn't backpedal or try to stop him from approaching, just kept his hands away from his sides and attempting to look as non-threatening as possible while armed to the teeth.  

"I'm not supposed to be here..." He tried to begin. He had focused on planning how to get in, past security.  Not what he was going to say once he was there.

"Bucky... you're alive?"  Steve couldn't get past that part.  The emotion was raw on his face, his eyes blinking back tears and his throat swelling.  He let himself get a good look over him, taking in his haggard appearance and long hair.  "What happened to you?" he asked.  It looked as if he wanted to say more, even approach him, but his eyes lingers on his weapons.  "How did you get in here?"

He whet his lips, mind shuffling through what he could say, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Steve.  He knew how crazy his theory sounded, but he couldn't think of any other explanation.  The fact that even this Steve knew him, and obviously had some connection to him, was the only thing granting him this time.  But still, he could't lead with that.  Instead, he chose to answer his questions. 

"At precisely twenty-one hundred fifty seven hours, I was able to infiltrate the east quadrant..." He began, but then stopped himself, whet his lips and started again, pulling his mind out of mission mode. "I timed the shifts, evaded detection and cameras.  I.... I am by myself." He cut to the meat of what he knew Steve wanted to know.  "A.... a lot has happened to me.  I am alive.  But...."  a wince pulled at a mouth that used to be so expressive, "This place.... you... it's all wrong.  I know you, Steve.  I've known you since I was a kid... but this isn't you...."


"Of course we grew up together," Steve said, shaking his head in disbelief.  "You... you were hit by an IED during the convey outside of Nukhayb... we lost seven men.  I saw.. " he shook his head, the memory seared into his mind.  "I held you in my arms, Bucky, you were gone... I know you were gone... how is this possible?"

 
That just seemed to confirm his suspicions.  His wince spread to the rest of his face as he looked down at Steve's shoes.  A different time, a different place, but it seemed like even here fate had backhanded him.  Only here, he didn't survive thanks to some mad scientist's experimentation.  And yet, still childhood friends.... still brothers in arms in the war.  A lonely, nearly forgotten part of Bucky wondered if here, too, there had been more than friendship.  But... now wasn't the time for that.

He steeled his resolve and met Steve's eyes again.  He couldn't dance around this, this is why he was here.  "I know that this is going to sound insane..." He prefaced, biting his lip for a moment before continuing - an old habit, "...but for me, you weren't president... you were a war hero... hell, just a hero.  We fought together, but not in Iraq.  I fell from a train down a ravine and was assumed dead...."

"Bucky..." He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head.  "I don't understand.  I saw your body but ...but you're here.  You know me, but what other war?  What are you talking about?"

Bucky pressed his lips tightly, huffing in frustration before mirroring Steve's exasperated hand through his hair.  "I... I don't think I'm from here.  I... there was  an explosion in a laboratory... something experimental - I think it sent me here."  Bucky wasn't going to bring up just yet that he was the one who blew up the laboratory.  Or that the war was the Second World War.  

"That's crazy," Steve said, though he sounded less convinced than his words would convey.  "What do you mean you're not from here."  He shook his head, his mind racing.  Clone?  Some kind of experimental procedure?  But what was this ravine he was talking about it - it didn't add up.  Goddammit he was the president - shouldn't he know about all this top level classified stuff?

That was it.  First thing tomorrow he was asking about Area 51.

"I know." The soldier exasperated.  "I warned you it would sound crazy."  He shifted from foot to foot.  He had hardly slept since his arrival.  And before then, only as much sleep as he needed before he got on the road.  But now his nerves were beginning to fray and he was beginning to feel as ragged as he looked.  

"But... and I'm no scientist, Steve... the best I can guess is that this is..." He winced again, but this time it was self-conscious, as if he regretted the words before he said them, "some alternate world.  It makes no  sense - I know it, and yet it's the only thing that does."  He shrugged helplessly.  

"Alternate world?" he asked incredulously.  "No, that's impossible, Bucky!"  But even as he said it, here he was, looking deep into the eyes of his long lost best friend.  No explanations that might explain the situation were supposed to be real.  He paced in front of the door, hugging his arms to himself. "This is crazy, but... but you're here."

"I know, Steve-"

"Dad, who are you talking to?"

Bucky's head snapped to the door, his hand reflexively drawn to his sidearm at the hint of noise and the presence of another.  But as soon as he saw the small body and the child's voice reached his ears, he jerked his hand away, mentally chastising himself.

Steve spun around on his heels, looking at a brown haired boy who was peeking into the room.  "James!" he exclaimed, rushing over. "James, what are you doing out of bed?"

As he heard the boy's name, Bucky felt an ache in his chest.  "James...?" He echoed, eyes hooded and a ghost of a bittersweet smile on his face.  He didn't have to ask who the child's namesake was.  

He went to take a step towards the two, but stopped himself, not feeling welcome; too used to being perceived as only a threat.

"James, this is one of Dad's friends, Bucky," Steve said, keeping a hand on the boy's shoulder but walking him into the room.  "He surprised me with an impromptu visit."  Steve's eyes darted to Bucky's heavy artillery and he frowned.

"He looks like a hobo," the young man said under his breath, what he thought was just loud enough for his dad to hear.  Steve squeezed his shoulder sharply.  

"I'm not a hobo," Bucky muttered quietly in half-protest.  Although, to be honest, it might not have been too far from the truth.  He didn't have a home, and hell, the jacket he was wearing he'd bought off of one.  He probably didn't smell much better than one.  

"Bucky, this is my son, James."

Bucky nodded to James, his face relaxing to a sad half-smile.  "It is nice to meet you, James." he said honestly.  He looked so much like Steve.  Those blue eyes, the high cheekbones.  His hair was darker, but it was like looking back in time.  

He had to wonder, though... "Who is his mother...?" His eyes lifted up to Steve's in askance.  

"Why do you have so many guns?" he asked, staying close to his father.  He got an odd expression when he asked about his mother, looking up to his dad.  "She died when I just a baby," he said ahead of Steve, looking a bit frustrated that he didn't know.

Bucky's fingers twitched uncomfortably when the child that looked so much - especially in the darkened room - like little Steve, asked about his weapons.  His stomach clenched as his mind wandered to what he - the Steve of his childhood - would have thought if he saw him like this.  There was a brief whirrr-ing sound from under the soldier's sleeve until he steadied himself again.  

"It was nice to meet you, James." He repeated, uncomfortably, but pointedly not answering the question about the weapons.  

"Why don't you head back to bed, JJ.  I have a lot to talk about, and it's late."

The kid huffed and turned around on one foot, shuffling back off into the hallway.  Steve closed the door after him, locking it.  He leaned against it, facing Bucky again once it was closed.  "His mother was an agent in MI6.  She was killed in the line of duty when James was very young.  He never really knew her."

"I'm sorry..." He responded quietly, knowing that's what was supposed to be said.  The gears in his head were turning, however, and he looked up to Steve with a furrowed brow.  "I... don't suppose her name was Peggy?"  His bottom lip found its way back under his teeth.  

"Yes..." he said, tilting his head.  "You... you met her.  Bucky, you were supposed to be my best man but then you.." he took a heavy breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.  "I'm so confused.  I don't know what to think right now, Buck.  I mean, its you.  I see you.  Standing here in the flesh and blood but I know you died.  How is this possible?  This...this 'other world' you say.   Like, another dimension?"  

Bucky couldn't keep a small, soft snort in.  It would figure.  Here, too, Steve found his Peggy. .... and still lost her - he reminded himself.  His eyes wandered over Steve slowly, though, and he couldn't help but quirk half of his mouth up into a hooked smile. "I woulda been?"  It was still flattering - even if it was a different Steve, and the fact that Bucky selfishly had wished before that he could have been more than  a "best man".

He pulled himself out of it, focused.  Now wasn't the time to feel sorry for himself because of that.  "Here's what I know... last night I was ... caught near an explosion of a laboratory facility in the warehouse district.  They were working on some... weird, experimental technology from what I could see. When I came to, the building was empty, no signs of a fire or explosion.  I looked for you where you were supposed to be living, but it obviously wasn't your place.  That's when I saw you on the front page of a paper.  The date's right and all... but this..." He gestured to the room around them and shook his head, looking a little overwhelmed.  "I woulda heard about this.  Maybe I've just read too many dimestore novels, but separate dimension?  Alternate universe?  I dunno.  That's all I can come up with."

"Yeah, Bucky Barnes - my Bucky Barnes - was my best friend since I was just a punk kid.  We grew up together, enlisted together..." he shook his head, waving his hands.  It didn't matter now.  "Look, we have to do something.  I have ...a friend that might be able to help.  He's a scientist and an engineer.  He's the smartest guy I know; maybe he can help..."

Bucky lifted his chin at the mention of a scientist.  "That's great."  It was something at least.  Because he had already exhausted his one good idea.  "But it's the middle of the night... what should I do for now?"  Bucky wanted to approach Steve.  It had been so long since he'd seen him, so long since he allowed himself to want to be near him. He shrugged, palms out, still careful not to approach any closer or move his hands any nearer to his weapons.  

Steve breathed through his nose and looked around the room.  "Look, if they catch you in here, anywhere in here, armed and without security clearance you're going to get arrested and I don't think there's anything I could do.  Can you get back out the way you came?"

Bucky pressed his lips into at thin line, his eyes going distant for a moment as he went over calculations in his mind.  He had taken careful note of  the security through the nights with his reconnaissance.  "Probably.  It would be difficult.  But I could do it."  He met Steve's eyes again.

Steve reached into his pants and pulled out his wallet, taking out several bills and shoved them into Bucky's hand.  "Get yourself a room and clean yourself up.  Come back tomorrow and tell my secretary you're here to see Jeffrey Mace.  And please, leave the arsenal."  He lifted his eyebrows up seriously, like a father instructing a child.  "We'll go see Tony then.  I'll clear my schedule."

Bucky hesitated for only a moment before crossing the small distance that still separated the two of them and accepted the offer with a small smile and a decisive nod.  

He started to walk past Steve before hesitating just a moment, glancing over his shoulder, "Thank you.... it... it was really good to see you."  

And then he was gone.

Chapter Text

Bucky had taken the money Steve had given him and secured a room at a hotel a brisk walk of a few miles away. He paid up front for two nights, to ensure that he had a safe drop for his gear while he was out. Had he not been given this instruction, from Steve himself, Bucky would have considered this a frivolous waste. But he understood the need to clean up and make himself presentable considering the next mission. He utilized the shower - and was surprised to feel his whole body relaxing as warm water poured over him. It wasn't the cold chemical showers from when Hydra had him, or even the rest stop bathroom sinks he sometimes took advantage of while on the road. He shaved away the week's worth of stubble and washed his hair. Years of grime that had never quite shaken free washed down the drain and Bucky felt surprisingly more human as he finally stepped out, and nearly surprised himself as he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The face that looked back at him caught him by surprised: he looked more like the face on the plaque in the Smithsonian than the haggard ghost of a man that normally peered back out of mirrors. Maybe it was Steve that brought it out of him... he turned away, wrapping himself in one of the decadently plush robes before crashing, exhausted, on the bed.



The next morning, he tucked away his various firearms and knives in a variety of locations around the room: the provided safe, between the mattresses, in the air vents, and underneath some of the heavier furniture. Locations the housekeepers wouldn't check even if they ignored the posted warning of "do not disturb". Reluctantly, he withdrew his final knife from his boot and secured it to the underside of the lid of the toilet tank. Bucky couldn't remember the last time he had gone out completely unarmed. Despite the fact he knew he was more than capable in most situations even without weaponry, he felt ill at ease. But he needed to do this. It was a part of this mission. And if he wanted to see Steve again, he had to try this.



He used most of the remainder of the money to purchase a simple outfit, selected for practicality and to blend in. Not fade into the shadows like his gear, but based on observations of the populace: a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a simple jacket. He kept his gloves, and made the executive decision to keep his boots. He knew how to move with them, he knew their weight and tread. If worse came to worse, he wanted the mobility and their added heft. If he wasn't going to keep his weapons, he at least wanted to keep his boots. 



He dropped the jacket he had bought off of the vagrant the night before in front of a scruffy man with a cup full of change along with his old undershirt before leaving the rest of his clothes back at the hotel. Then there was no more preparation required; no more excuses.

Chapter Text

Bucky adjusted the collar on his jacket for the seventh time as he made his way towards the front doors of the White House.  He felt uncomfortable, anxious, and virtually naked without his weaponry.  Out of habit, he dodged eye contact as he made his way through the queue.  

But his teeth began to grind as he saw the front of the line: uniformed guards checking identifications... and a metal detector.  He swore under his breath.  Of course.  

He dropped his change, watch, and wallet into a bin before stepping under the arch and set off the inevitable shrill alarm.  


"Sir."  The security guards immediately put up their hands and stood in front of Bucky before he could step away.  "All your pockets empty?"

One stood by Bucky expectantly, and the other grabbed the electronic wand.  "Sir?"

Bucky tensed, his jaw clenching and his heart beginning to pound harder and he had to fight back the reflex to ball his hands into fists and prepare for combat.  He had expected this, he reminded himself.  This was under control.  

He kept his left arm hanging limply by his side as he gestured to it with his right.  "It's a prosthetic."  He growled defensively.

The guards looks between each other and waved the wand over him.  On cue, the wand beeped over his left arm.  "Roll up for you sleeve?"

Bucky swallowed.  He didn't want to make a scene.  He didn't want to curb his chances to see Steve again, and he understood this was a delicate situation.  Despite having regained most of his memories, he still felt uncomfortable in social situations.  Infiltration, he could do.  It was the conventional he stumbled with.  While he wasn't lying, he didn't know how they'd react to the advanced technology.  

"I'm here to see Jeffrey Mace." He decided to try.  

The guards exchanged glances again.  "Where did you hear that name?"


Bucky looked to the line of people behind him warily and back to the guard, "Is that something you want to talk about out here?  He assured me he would clear his schedule to see me today."  He said, leveling a Winter Soldier glare at the man who challenged him.

One of the guards stalked away, mumbling into his radio while the other waved the wand over him again.  "We have to frisk you for weapons before we can see Mr. Mace."


"Fine." He responded, tersely.  His eyes were cold, but he lifted his arms to facilitate the process.  Mentally, he repeated to himself, these are not threats.  Don't draw attention to yourself.  Stay calm.  Neutral.  Not a threat.

He patted him down, first frisking along the sides, down his legs, then the outside of his arms.  His eyebrow raised feeling the hard metal under his fingers, and he pushed up the man's sleeve to reveal the impressive glinting metal of his left arm.  "Does this thing come off?" he found himself asking.

Bucky's eyes flashed with barely contained ire as his sleeve was pushed back to reveal the segmented, shiny metal.  He couldn't help but pull it back from his touch.  "It's not that kind of prosthetic." He responded defensively.

"Sir," the other guard said, coming back over.  "Come with me, please."  He grabbed Bucky behind the the arm and lead him quickly out of the crowded visitor's lobby.    

"Fine." Bucky clipped with an undisguised roll of his eyes.  He let himself be jostled and corralled out of the room, swallowing down the urge to resist.  He hoped Steve would appreciate this.  Steve... Bucky couldn't think of anything that he wouldn't do for him.  Thoughts threatened to swallow him and he took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from drowning in the memories.  He usually refused to allow himself the privilege of dwelling on Steve - not while he had been on mission.  And now, he was so close to him he could almost feel him.  Even if it wasn't quite his Steve....


A few minutes later, Bucky was being ushered by a woman in a well-tailored suit towards the interior of the White House, and into the back of a Lincoln towncar around the back of the Rose Garden.  To his surprise, President Rogers was already there, across from him in a casual suit.  

"Good morning," he said pleasantly, offering him a bottle of water.  "Sorry for the trouble at the lobby.  I... I didn't know you had a prosthetic arm." 

Bucky's face softened immediately as he looked up to see Steve across from him.  In the light of the day, in normal clothing and cleanly shaven, Bucky looked like a different person.  Despite his longer hair, the resemblance to the Bucky that President Rogers knew was unmistakable.  



Bucky felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.  He had been preparing himself for an x-ray, for questions and hassling.  The fact that he had been immediately cleared spoke silent volumes to how much Steve trusted him, even if he perhaps had no right to.  

Bucky took the bottle with a nod of his head, but was more interestedly drinking in his face.  He rubbed his hand self-consciously against his left arm and shrugged.  "I didn't tell you." He said quietly.  "Maybe I should have.  But I don't like talking about it."

"I'm sorry," he said, leaning back into his seat.  His chest was full of emotion as he looked over his friend; especially now in the new light of day he looked so much like him he could almost cry.   It was like staring at a ghost.  He sat cross-legged, his foot bouncing with anxiety.  "I'm taking us to talk to a friend of mine; a scientist.  If anybody can figure out what's going on here, its Tony Stark."

Bucky's eyes roamed to the window, but couldn't pull them away from Steve for very long.  "Stark?" He questioned, brows furrowing.  He remembered Howard.  A simultaneous flash of recognition of a daring, cocky man ... and a pang of guilt.  He took a swig of the water before setting it down and lacing his fingers together.  Tony, though... headlines flashed in his mind's eye.  Inventor.  Like his father.  Rich, a celebrity, and one of Steve's associates.  Iron Man.  

He gave a dry chuckle, "I think you know him where I'm from, too.  I've never met him, but he makes the papers a lot."  


"Mr. Stark is more into engineering, but he has a lot of connections.  He focuses on alternative fuel research, though, and I know he's been very open minded to ...theoretical sciences."  He opened a water bottle of his own, taking a long drink.  "Anyway, its the only place I could even begin to think to start."

Bucky cleared his throat with a furrowed brow "Does he still have his Iron Man suit?" He asked genuinely curious, "Flashy... red and gold... metal?"  

When he asked about the suit, Steve's eyebrows knit together.  "Metal suit?  What are you talking about?"


Bucky waved a hand dismissively, "I guess that's a no.  He's all over the news where I'm from in it."
 

Bucky hesitated for a moment before changing the subject, tapping his fingers on his knee for a moment, "Thanks for meeting with me, Steve.... President Rogers.... I..." He gave a grunt of frustration and shook his head, not knowing how to act.  Social situations were difficult enough for him sometimes, but here - he wanted to reach out, to touch him, to... to feel like he was home again.  

Steve shook his head, understanding completely.  It felt weird to be called 'President Rogers' by Bucky, but at the same time he had to keep reminding himself that this wasn't his Bucky.  


Bucky nodded, for now, avoiding calling him by a name directly.  President Rogers felt .... far too odd in his mouth.  "Thanks for helping me... I know you didn't have to do this personally... hell, you didn't have to help me at all considering... the intrusion last night... and how crazy it still probably sounds."  

"You're lucky you look so much...exactly like him.  You sound like him..." he paused and shook his head, laughing darkly to himself.  "You smell like him."  


Bucky lifted an eyebrow, studying Steve's face and trying to read between the lines.  His shoulders relaxed and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth for a moment.  "You too."   
He brushed a strand of hair from his eyes, hooking it behind an ear.  "I mean.... I am James Buchanan Barnes... Bucky... just... well... I don't think I'm the same man you knew.... I.. am sorry, Ste - President Rogers.  I wish I was.  I... miss you."  He winced, his stomach clenching at the admission.  

The emotion was getting hard to control.  He rubbed his face in his hands, trying to focus.  "I miss you, too, Bucky..."  He looked him over, still in disbelief.  "Its been... almost twelve years now, Bucky.  But it feel like it was yesterday.  I know... I know when we enlisted there was always the chance that something could happen.  But I just never thought you'd actually..." a tear slipped down his cheek and Steve wiped it away hurriedly.  "I'm sorry, I know you're not him but I still feel like I should say something.  Say... how sorry I was I couldn't save you, Bucky."

Steve's words had more of an effect on the man than he might have assumed.  Bucky's face crumpled as he pulled his eyes away from Steve's impossibly blue ones, and scrubbed at his face.  He took a shaking breath, "If... what happened here is anything like what happened to us... it wasn't your fault."

"I know that's true.  Somewhere in here," he pointed to his head, "I know that's true.  But it doesn't make it any less painful.  Of all the people I've saved in my life.... the two people I loved the most in the world I ... I couldn't do anything about it.  Peggy was out of my reach, but Bucky... you were right there.  Three feet to the left and it would have been me instead of you.  Three feet to the right and we'd both be alive.  It just doesn't seem fair sometimes.  Like none of my medals or my training or anything ever amounted to anything.  Because no matter what I couldn't save you two."

Bucky hesitated for a moment, chewing at his lip.  "You need to stop blaming yourself for things that you had no control over, Steve." He said quietly.  The more he learned about this Steve-but-not-Steve, the harder it was to distinguish him from the man that Bucky... 

He swallowed, and finally did what he'd been wanting to do since the night before.  He reached across with his right hand, and took Steve's, "You blamed yourself for what happened with me, too.  Even though I was the one who put myself into the line of fire."  He gave Steve's hand a squeeze.

Steve interlocked his fingers into Bucky's enthusiastically, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face.  It was Bucky but it wasn't, but it didn't seem to matter right now.  Steve needed to say these things; to get them off his chest.  For Bucky to hear them even if it wasn't the same Bucky.  "I can't promise that," he said honestly.  "Every day I go over it in my head  - wondering if I should have known.  If I missed anything that could have saved you.  Even though the answer is always no, I still look for it."  He shook his head, "Random seems just too cruel."    

Bucky smiled at the contact that he had been craving, even something as small as this, giving Steve's hand a light squeeze.  How long had it been since he had touched anyone with tenderness....?  "You told me last night that I was hit by an IED... it was war.  The world is cruel and random.  You can't continue to beat yourself up because you survived, Steve."

"Watch me."  He shook his head with a self-depreciating chuckle.  "I know you're right.  But it still hurts.  Between you and Peggy, that's why I went into politics. I never had a real desire to do so - it wasn't my calling or anything.  But I couldn't deny that it was where the real power lay.  The real ability to affect change.  Soldiers just follow orders, and I used to be okay with that.  But after the things I've seen..." He paused and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to keep the tears at bay, "Things need to change.  Perhaps I'm naive for thinking I can change the world, but damnit if I'm not going to try."

"If anyone can, it's you." He said honesty.  "You're a good man.  A man I followed into battle on more than one occasion.  You never stood for bullies, no matter how big they were." He said with a light chuckle.  "Maybe this really is the place you belong."  His hand lingered in Steve's, needily.  

Steve couldn't help but smile, despite the shine in his eyes from his unshed tears.  He pulled on Bucky's hand, tugging into into a hug.  He wrapped his arms around his friend and was suddenly overwhelmed.  This was Bucky.  It didn't matter what his brain was telling him; every other instinct in his body knew it was the case.  The way he felt into his arms.  His warmth.  His scent.  His cadence.  He buries his face in his neck and breathed him in, his hands clapping on his back.

Bucky fell into Steve's embrace, his breath hitching in his throat as he felt strong arms circling his shoulders and Steve's fragrance filled his nose as his face brushed against his cheek.  Slowly, self-consciously, he brought his arms up and circled Steve's chest, clinging to him.  His embrace was surprisingly strong, and his left arm hard, but despite his strength, there was a shake in his limbs with barely restrained emotion.  It felt so right.  He missed Steve so much.  He shouldn't have run from him...

"Bucky..." Steve breathed, letting logic fade away and choosing to just live in this moment.  "Bucky I've missed you so much," he whispered, his mouth just centimeters away from his ear.  "I've missed you so much..."  
The emotions were finally spilling over, and the tears were falling over his face.  He wiped them into Bucky's shoulder and held the hug, squeezing his eyes shut and praying to any God that would listen that Bucky - his Bucky - could somehow feel what he was feeling; that he knew how sorry he was and how much he missed him.

Bucky had faced seasoned soldiers, impossible security, and formidable foes.  But here in Steve's arms he began to break, cracks forming in his deliberately cultivated veneer of composure.  He hadn't been permitted weakness.  Hadn't even permitted it in himself on his own mission of revenge.  But he had been strong for so long... too long.  Hearing, feeling Steve's words in a breath against his ear - it was the last straw.  Bucky's facade crumbled and he heaved a wet sob into his shoulder as words began to tumble from his mouth.  "Steve... I've missed you, too.  I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."  

They just held each other for what seemed like hours.  Steve let him cry on his shoulder which only egged his own tears to continue to fall.  His heart was leaping; it knew nothing of whatever magic or science or psychosis had brought Bucky back to him, but it no longer mattered in this moment.  Realities apart but he still felt just as close to this man as ever.  He didn't pull away until the sobs stilled, and even then, he pulled back just far enough to look him in the eyes.  A lingering thought had been creeping on the corners of his mind, and he took a shuddering breath.  "We'll figure out what's going on.  We'll get you back."

Bucky's eyes were red, puffy and wet when he finally met Steve's, which only made the blue-grey of his eyes shine all the brighter.  He nodded, chewing on his lip to help steady himself before he trusted himself to speak without (much of) a quaver in his voice.  "Thank you."

Chapter Text

A couple hours later, the procession pulled up to Stark Tower - an impressive skyscraper in the middle of NYC.  Steve's leg hadn't stopped twitching the rest of the ride there, nervousness and a thousand questions, worries, hopes, and dreams filling his head.  He felt so human - something he hadn't felt since his presidential campaign started so many years ago.  He had been so trained to bottle down everything.  His temper, his empathy.  The loss of his wife and his best friend was what propelled him into this position, but now with Bucky right in front of him, he wondered if it was all worth it after all.

Security was heavy, but that was something Steve had gotten used to.  Tony Stark - every bit the man Bucky would have been used to from the papers less his iron suit - met him at the curb.  

"Good to see you, Mr. President," he said with a cadence that bordered on sarcastic.  "Seriously it takes something like this to get you to come visit?"

"Nice to see you, too, Tony," Steve returned, his smile indicating how generous he was for letting the disrespect slide.  He shook his hand and patted his shoulder with a genuine fondness.  "Let me introduce you to Bucky Barnes.  In a way."


Tony stepped away from Rogers to look him over.  "Sergeant Barnes," he said, extending his hand.  "It's nice to see you.  Again?"

Bucky forced a mask of composure back over his face as he followed Steve to appraise the new situation and man they had come to meet.  He hesitated a moment, his eyes strafing, scrutinizingly over Tony before he reigned in his training and put on a smile that he hoped looked appropriate for the social context and extended his right hand to take Tony's.  His handshake was just a little too firm.  "Thank you for meeting me... or... meeting me again...?"  His brows knit together uneasily.  "I take it Ste - President Rogers debriefed you on the circumstances?"  

"As much as he understands it, at least.  Sergeant Barnes, at least the Sergeant Barnes from here, was part of the platoon that pulled me out of the clutches of Al Qaeda.  And this guy," he looked to Rogers, "Well, if he says you're him, you're him.  Theoretical physics isn't exactly my strongest suit, but nothing I can't figure out in a few days.  Why don't you come in?"

Bucky couldn't help but feel himself ease a little at Stark's cavalier charm.  He was just as humble as Howard, too.  His mouth quirked up into a smile as he snorted, "Reassuring, thanks Mr. Stark."  He grinned and returned his hands to his jacket pockets and nodded, "Thanks for your time... and I am sorry, I never actually met ya personally.  Read about you, and, well, I met your father, Howard?"  He glanced to Steve before falling into step behind Tony, giving the ample security a careful eye.

"You knew my Old Man then?" he said, the doors to his Tower opening as he walked close.  Secret Service followed close behind the group, but Stark Tower had long been cleared for safe passage for the President.  

Steve followed, watching the exchange with a smile.  Bucky and Tony hadn't known each other very well; it wasn't very long after their rescue of Stark that Bucky had been killed, but somehow it still made him happy to watch two of his best friends chat it up.  After his rescue, Tony had become a huge supporter of Captain Rogers, and virtually bankrolled his entire political career.  

"That's odd... you see at least in this universe he died long before I ever met you or President Rogers."  

"I didn't know him very well," Bucky admitted, a little hesitance in his voice as his mind threatened to wander down a rabbit hole that he preferred not to explore right now with the son of a man who, at least in his world, he had assassinated.  Instead, he forced himself to stay on topic, letting his eyes wander to Steve to help ground him and keep the smile on his face. 

"He provided a lot of useful tech and support in the war... ah... Steve's and my timelines... they're kinda fucked up."  He added with a wince as they walked into the tower and Bucky's eyes roamed the building lobby.  He'd been living in "the future" for long enough that he wasn't usually caught off guard, but he also had been keeping his head down and slumming it for the pat three years.  His eyes widened as they took in the clean lines and smooth, reflective surfaces.  It really did look like a building of the future.

"Is 'fucked up' the technical term," Tony asked with a chuckle.  "But no, I'm curious.  You knew both Steve and my father, that's interesting.  Do I even exist in your world?"  He paused, almost as if he realized he probably didn't want to know, but shrugged and kept walking, leading the entourage to the elevators.  

"Yes, sir, it is." Bucky responded with a snark and a grin.  It was frankly a little amazing, even to him, how much better he felt around Steve... and after some of his emotional dam had crumbled in the car.  As he walked, his gait was less of the Winter Soldier's prowl, and more of Bucky's swagger as he gaped at the architecture.  

"But yeah, yeah you do.  Hard to miss - you're always turning up in the papers.  Press loves or hates you, hard to say."  

Tony gave a laugh as the elevator without buttons lifted them up at an impressive speed.  "Usually depends on how good of a time the reporter had, if you catch my drift, Barnes?"

"Tony," Steve warned, not liking when his friend got crass, especially when they were on 'official business.'  Not that Tony ever listened to him anyway.  

"Sorry, mother," he chided, but still gave a wink to Bucky.  "If you don't mind I'd like to poke and prod you a little bit.  For science, you know.  I guess your ultimate goal is to get back to your own universe?  Is grunge still big where you're from?"  

Bucky sure as hell didn't seem to mind Tony's lack of formality.  This was familiar, this stirred up the practiced charm that had long been dormant behind the Soldier's mask.  Memories churned: cigarette smoke and hazy dance halls, the burn of cheap liquor and muscles after hours of dancing.  Beaming girls and his gaze wandering back to the small, blonde man who clung to the walls.  

"Uh... yeah, I guess you can." Bucky said a little hesitantly as he tensed his muscles to keep himself steady on the rapidly ascending elevator.  Another flash of memory - this one accompanied by a shudder - of restraints and pain.  This isn't like that, Bucky chided himself mentally as he set his jaw and balled his fists.  "I can't say I'm very fond of doctors, though." He breathed before meeting Tony's eyes and giving him a confused look, "Grunge?"

Tony pointed to his head.  "The hair.  It was a style here, like... two decades ago.  Don't worry about it.  You pull it off.  Really.  And you're in luck, I'm not a doctor, actually.  I have two Master's Degrees from MIT, tho.  Does that count?  Oh wait, no, I have an honorary doctorate from... somewhere, I don't remember you'll have to ask Pepper."



Steve rolled his eyes as the elevator door opened, revealing an impressive laboratory.  


"Oh," Bucky smirked and ran a hand through his hair.  It would feel too strange looking just like his old self when he didn't feel like him any more.  "No, just... it didn't feel right cutting it again yet.  Long story."  


"Hey can the babysitters wait here?" Tony asked as they exited.  "No offense boys, but this is top level classified stuff here.  Worth more than this loser is paying you, I promise," he said with an accusatory finger point to Rogers.

Steve gave then a stern nod and they posted themselves on either side of the elevator door.  

Bucky stepped out of the elevator and took in the room that looked half World's Fair and half Frankenstein's Laboratory.  He hesitated, swallowing down his anxiety and clenched and unclenched his fist, yielding a mechanical whirring noise.  One step, two, and he was in, but gravitating a little closer to Steve's side and failing to completely mask the fear from his eyes.  

"So... uh... what do you need?"

"Well, everything you'll give me," Tony said, motioning to a metal examination tray that looked eerily familiar.  "If you don't mind taking off your shirt and taking a seat?"

Bucky's heart began to pound harder in his chest, and he froze in his tracks.  He swallowed hard as his eyes fixed on the tray of tools.  

"Can you put those things away.... for a moment...?" He forced out, turning towards Steve and focusing on him instead of the equipment.  

Tony looked confused, but did as he was asked.  

Only when the nightmarish tools were tucked out of sight, Bucky tugged off his gloves and then shrugged out of his jacket, revealing the astoundingly sophisticated metal arm.  His anxiety and sharper than normal movements caused the plates to slide around as he tensed with an audible whirring.  Bucky's eyes darted between Steve and Tony, self-consciously.

Steve came over to him with a concerned look on his face, but his jaw dropped open as he saw the sophisticated prosthetic.  "Oh my God.." he marveled, reaching out to touch it but stopping to look to Bucky for permission.

"Is it Christmas?" Tony exclaimed, not bothering with Steve's politeness.  "This is fascinating, what is it made out of?  Titanium-aluminum alloy?"  He ran his fingers over it, feeling in the grooves.  "Do you have tactile sensation?"   

Bucky's expression became more guarded again with the sudden attention, his posture drawing in on himself as if he were trying to take up less room.  At least the tools had been put away, but then Tony was suddenly on him, poking and prodding at the arm.  He frowned, but resisted the urge to pull away.  He gave Steve a small nod, surprised (and a little relieved) to see wonder in his expression rather than fear or disgust.  


"I don't know what it's made of..." He said quietly to Tony.  "They never told me.  But I can detect pressure... recognize shapes, basic textures, and extreme temperatures."  

"Jarvis," Tony said, seemingly to no-one.  "Scan this, right now."

"Yes, sir," a disembodied voice answered, and a flash of lasers seemed to come out of nowhere, shining over his arm and flashing.  

Bucky fell back a step as the laser show washed over his arm, flinching and preparing himself for pain, and surprised when he couldn't feel anything.  His eyes roamed the ceiling, looking for a source of the voice or the lasers.  "Fuck," He whispered under his breath, caught off guard and his heart stll hammering in his chest.  

Steve put a hand on Bucky's human shoulder and gave it a squeeze.  "You okay?" he asked softly, while Tony was already looking over something on a tablet.  

"Amazing.  This is better than Ti6Al4V, but way lighter.  It must have more oxygen and aluminum..."

"Bucky, this is incredible.  I had no idea you even had a prosthetic until this morning.  It's so life-like.."

He ignored Tony's jargon and turned his head quickly to Steve as he touched his other shoulder, an anchor than he needed. "Yeah.  I'm fine." He breathed, not precisely looking  fine.  He was a little pale, his eyes wide.  

Steady.  He focused on Steve's blue eyes, and those perfect lashes and made himself listen to what he was saying.  He shook his head, "It's not life-like." He said with a sneer on his lip.  "It looks like a machine. It makes me look like a machine."  

"You don't look like a machine," Steve said, holding Bucky's gaze and keeping him focused while Tony hovered around like an excited hummingbird on speed.  "You look like a survivor.  It's incredible.  You know how many of my men went home missing arms and legs.  And that's if they got to go home at all.  We've come a long way in prosthetics over the last few years but nothing this advanced.  They would love to have something like this...something they could use to touch their wives again with."  He gave his shoulder another squeeze.  "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to discount your apprehensions."

Tony's readings showed that the hardware was more than just external; a network of fibers and support systems, circuits and other complicated and intricate machinery went under the skin and anchored through his muscles and into the bones of his clavicle, scapula and even some ribs and vertebrae.  All of it was beyond cutting-edge in both material and design, but would have required extensive, invasive surgery to implant, especially networked so close to arteries and vital organs like Bucky's heart.

Bucky maintained his focus on Steve and his breathing began to even out again, finally nodding. "It would have been different if they had given me a choice..." Bucky said, tightening his lips, weighing his words before he spoke, "...If this was designed to touch a loved one instead of being used as a weapon."  

To emphasize his point, Bucky roughly removed his t-shirt, revealing the extensive scarring where the metal met flesh.  

"This is... incredible."  

Steve broke his gaze from Bucky for just long enough to throw a warning glare at his scientist friend.  Tact wasn't exactly his strong suit.

Turning back to Bucky, "What do you mean?"  He couldn't help but look at the scars with a wince.  He reached out to hesitantly touch the connection of metal and skin, fascinated by how the metal seemed to integrate directly into his body; this was no prosthetic at all.  He licked his lips in concentration, glancing up at Bucky's eyes every few seconds to make sure he wasn't overstepping his bounds.

Bucky was clearly tense, more than a little uncomfortable at being on display and the center of attention.  He had to keep reminding himself that these were allies... friends, not Hydra scientists.  These men weren't going to hurt him.  And one of these men was Steve.  A hesitant frown tugged at his mouth, but he didn't pull back from his contact.  If anything, the gentle touch from the man he trusted more than anything else in this world or any other rooted him, and was helping to keep Bucky from spiraling down into a flashback or panic attack. 

He sighed, "After I fell, I was recovered by Hydra.  They're the ones that did this to me.  They used me."  The words came out strained.  How could words encapsulate what he went through, all they had done to him?  Not sure if he was making the gesture to reassure Steve or himself, Bucky gingerly placed his flesh and blood hand on top of Steve's, giving it a small squeeze.  

Steve blinked in confusion.  "Hydra?"

"Yeah..." Bucky said hesitantly with a furrowed brow.  Could he really not have heard of them?  He was the president.  He'd been to war.  Or, was it possible Hydra had never formed here?  Bucky canted his head, "They grew out of a rogue science division within the Nazi regime, but spread from there, infiltrating several government organizations."  

Steve and Tony exchanged glances.  "Rogue Nazi scientists built this thing?" Tony asked, pulling out a small screwdriver.  "How old is this thing?  This kind of technology is fifteen years away.  At best."

Bucky's attention moved to Tony, watching him carefully, but he kept his real hand over Steve's.  At least the atmosphere seemed to be transitioning from a freak show to information sharing.  "I don't know who originally built it... but yeah, I assume them or someone they were working with.    I... think it was ... the mid or late forties... when they originally installed it, but they upgraded it a number of times over the years."  Bucky searched his memories - they were fuzzy when it came to dates, and the number of times he spent strapped into restraints while scientists tinkered with his arm, replacing large pieces of it or fine-tuning the circuitry, blended together.  

"The forties?" Steve gaped, squeezing Bucky's hand back.  "So, the war you keep referring to...was World War II?"  He shook his head in disbelief.


Bucky nodded hesitantly to Steve.  "Yeah... I know that's just another cherry on top of this already hard-to-swallow sundae.  That's why I didn't wanna bring it up.  I figured that probably didn't happen here since you mentioned Iraq."   

"If the Nazis had this kind of technology, we would have been screwed," Tony pitched in.  "Do you mind...?" he motioned to an almost indistinguishable control entrance panel tucked under one of the segments on his shoulder, indicating the screwdriver in his hand.  "Uh, well, I guess that goes to say... did we win, where you came from?  You don't seem to have a German accent, so hopefully that's a good sign."

"Yeah, we won, thank God." He turned back to Tony.  "Hydra pulled away from the Nazis part way through the war and went on to become their own thing.  Steve 'n me and the rest of our battalion focused our efforts fighting them."  He hesitated for a moment, eying the screwdriver before finally nodding.  At least he wasn't being strapped in.  "Yeah... it's been a few years since anyone's taken a look at it.  I don't know if you'd even know where to start with diagnostics, I sure as hell don't."  

Tony looked like a kid in a candy store as he began to fiddle with the panels on his arm.  He pulled out an array of highly specialized tools, and it was only a few minutes before he had his shoulder arm panel opened, exposing an astounding network of gears, circuit boards, cables, and even tissue.  Tony actually made a sound, somewhere between a moan and excited yelp, looking like he was about to cry from joy.

Steve pressed his lips together and picked up on the tension in his friend.  He tried to distract him by keeping him talking, trying to keep Bucky looking into his eyes and not at the poking and prodding Tony was about to do.

"That sounds horrifying," he admitted.  "So Hydra did this to you?  Why?  If you were just a prisoner of war...why be so generous?"  His stomach was knotting inside him, afraid of where this was going.  

It didn't hurt, but that didn't mean Bucky didn't flinch.  He moved his hand away from Steve's to grab his own metal wrist, steadying himself.  The last thing he wanted to do was reflexively backhand Tony when he was trying to help him.  "Just... take it easy in there, okay?  Don't break anything - I can't fix it."  He said between gritted teeth.

But yet, it was Steve's question that made Bucky's stomach drop.  He knew it was coming, but that didn't make it any easier to talk about.  He took a deep breath, and made himself meet Steve's blue eyes.  "They had experimented on me once before.  My unit had been captured earlier in the war and you came in and busted my sorry ass out of there.  I didn't know what they had done then, but it's how I survived my fall later, and why they were so keen to get me back.  They were trying to recreate... an enhancement that had been done to you.  Something that had already gone wrong when their leader, Schmidt, tried an earlier version of the serum.  Apparently I was the only one that had... shown initial results.  When they got me back, they finished the job."  He whet his lips; here was the hard part.  "They broke me.  Brainwashed me.  Used me for decades, putting me into some kind of cryo sleep between missions.  Three years ago you found me and snapped me out of it.  But I've been on my own since then, trying to track down the remnants of their facilities and destroy them."  

Both Tony and Steve were dead silent.  Even Tony stopped his ministrations inside his arm panel to watch and listen to Bucky's story.  Neither of them should have believed it, and neither of them would have if Bucky Barnes, who had been dead for over ten years, wasn't sitting right there in Tony's laboratory with a futuristic, fully functional metal arm and being studied.  

There was an uncomfortable silence as Steve tried to think of what to say.  The expression on his face was naked anguish - he wanted to rush over and hug his friend; but he also had a thousand questions running through his mind.

Tony wasn't good with silence.  He touched a live conductor to one of the circuit boards in the arm, trying to get back to what he was doing - but it caused a flash of sparks and a jolt of electricity (not exactly pain, but certainly not a pleasant feeling) directly into the back of Bucky's spine.  

"FUCK!" Bucky's back arched and his wrist broke free of his grasp.  Tony was luckily close enough to Bucky to not catch the full rotation of the spasm and get clocked by the full force, but the back of his arm still caught him.  And even in the motion that was more haphazard involuntary reflex than a calculated attack, there was enough force to send Tony back into the closest wall of the laboratory.  

"Shit!" Bucky spun, eyes wide and frozen, caught between going to help and start pouring apologies, and turning and running because he wasn't fit to be around normal human company.  

"Tony!"  Steve immediately ran to him, crumpled on the floor nearly halfway across the room.  He gave a quick glance back at Bucky before dropping to his knees behind his fallen friend.  There was a cut on his brow above his left eye, and already a patch of reddish bruising beginning to form across his face.  

For a moment, Steve's heart seized up in his chest.  But then Tony's eyes fluttered open and he began to laugh - a full bellied, bordering on hysterical laugh.  "You punched me back like... like... twelve feet..." Tony tried to stagger to his feet, leaning on Steve for support.  "That's incredible, from a fully immobile position... that kind of power.. it's magnificent.."


Tension slowly - very slowly - began to drain from Bucky as he shook his head, bewildered at the man's reaction.  Thank God he hadn't been hurt worse, though.  "Not the word I'd use," He muttered as he tentatively, hands up in a display of peace, walked towards the two of them.  "I... I'm so sorry.  I should have warned you," He chided himself, flinching, "They used to restrain me, but that didn't always stop me from fighting back.  I thought I'd be okay, but I... I'm not always Okay..." He swallowed.  "God, I'm a mess...." Maybe he should just go.  He couldn't - he just couldn't deal with it if somehow he wound up hurting Steve.  

"Bucky, I had no idea," Steve said seriously, leaving Tony once he was steady on his feet and going back over to him.  "Look, we don't have to mess with the arm, its irrelevant.  We just need to figure out how to get you back to your...place."  

"Hey hey hey, don't be so hasty!" Tony quickly interjected.  "I can take a hit!  I'm not anywhere close to being done with that thing."

"Steve's right... The arm is operational.  I don't see how tinkering with it is going to do anything to help the matter at hand." Bucky frowned, clutching at the arm.  


But then, he shook his head, took a breath, closed his eyes and tried to recenter himself.  When he opened them again, he looked a little better.  "Look... I just really don't want to hurt either of you.  Hydra... they fucked me up.  I'm jumpy - they never used anesthetics or anything on me - and I have... I have a lot of bad memories.  I know... I know I probably owe you for your help, Mr. Stark... and if Steve trusts you, then I trust you.  I'm way out of my league here."

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.  "Fine, look, I'll make some calls.  Let me take some blood just in case and see who I can shake out.  I don't exactly have Stephen Hawking on my speed dial."



He tapped the butt of his screwdriver against his chin. "Pepper might."  He waved his hands.  "Never mind, I'll see what I can do.  But its going to take a while, regardless.  Stay in touch."  Tony came over, hands up in a 'don't shoot' pose, and motioned to Bucky's open panel.

Steve stuck like glue to Bucky's side, keeping him focused.  "I'm so sorry all that happened to you, Bucky..." he said honestly, taking a hold of his hand again.  "I've seen men come back from war really...really messed up.  And POWs..." he shook his head, a mix of sympathy and anger towards Bucky's other-dimensional  captors.  He helped keep Bucky still, pressing gently against his human shoulder, while Tony closed the panel and took a few samples of his blood from his human arm.

Bucky eased up after Tony resealed the panel on his shoulder, and had no problems with a simple blood draw, especially with Steve right there by his side and the reassuring contact.


"Thank you for your help, Mr. Stark." Bucky managed to even add a small smile when he finished his work.  "Sorry again about my reaction.... and your face..." He winced, but he got the distinct feeling Tony probably thought it was worth it for the digital scan and brief physical examination he got... and would take a second hit given the opportunity it it meant being able to dig around in his arm some more.  

"And, thank you, Steve..." He added quietly, still not quite sure how he was supposed to react to the man that was at the same time his oldest friend and a stranger.  He wanted his arms around him, but this was the President... and he had no clue what their relationship might have been like here, how to begin to ask, or even if he should.  He was barely suitable for conversation as it was.    

Steve nodded to Bucky before turning back to Tony and shaking his hand.  "You have my private number, please, if there are any strings I can pull, let me know."



"Hey I'm just glad you didn't call me asking for tech support again," Tony said, eyes already back down into his tablet, trying to calibrate a 3D image of the arm scan.  "I hope maybe one day Tin Soldier here will let me take another peek under the hood before we zap him back to the Space Nazis or whatever.  To be honest it sounds like fun - I wouldn't mind checking him out if this is standard issue there," he said.  He shot Bucky a million dollar smile and offered his hand out to him.

Bucky grinned, grasping Tony's hand with his right one, and giving it a just-a-little-too-hard squeeze.  "Nah, sorry to burst your bubble.  The arm's pretty special even where I'm from.  Though from what I've read, you've got some pretty damn impressive tech of your own.  Find a way to get me home and maybe I'll have some more stories for ya."   Bucky added a wink.     

He tugged his shirt and jacket back on, sliding his metal hand back into the glove before returning his hands to his pants pockets.  "Guess I'll be seein' ya."

"I'll hold you to that," Tony said with a point to the solider.  Then he was back, already buried in his work, leaving Steve and Bucky to let themselves out.  

The secret servicemen were still at their post by the elevator and Steve gently led Bucky out, staying close to him.  "So, lunch?" he asked his friend, putting his arm around his shoulder and pushing him close to him in a half-hug, trying to shake out some of the tension. 

Chapter Text

One of the perks of being the President of the United States is that any restaurant becomes a drive through with enough advanced planning.  Though not always exactly easy, Steve had become quite adept at eating in the back of his limousine and he was eager to get back to DC with Bucky.  So after the trip to Stark Tower, Steve got his driver to make a few calls and less than an hour later, they were at Clinton Street Baking Co, having stacks of pancakes delivered into the back of the fancy car.  

The smell alone, as the boxes were brought into the back of the limo, caused the breath to catch in Bucky's chest and his stomach to growl.  That smell: It was home.  It was a family gathering around the table - his little siblings with shining eyes.  It was the morning after payday in a dingy Brooklyn apartment with a small-framed blonde man who was nursing a black eye.  

"I don't know about you," Steve said, "But my Bucky's favorite were pancakes.  These are some of the best in New York... it was his favorite place."


Bucky couldn't remember the last time he had had a good, hot meal.  It was unimportant, impractical on the road.  Before that, Hydra provided the nutrition his body required - nothing more, nothing less.  Tasteless MRE packets while on mission, and sometimes even intravenous supplementation.  Hell, before that was the war.  

"God, Steve..." Bucky breathed, reaching for one of the stacks with a bit of the light back in his eyes.  "That smells amazing. And I fucking love pancakes."  His face fell into a familiar laughing smile as he shook his head in amazement.  "God, it's been years."  

"Years since you've had pancakes?" Steve asked with a sad smile.  "Well, I might have gone overboard... " There were four take-out boxes of hot, fluffy stacks along with a thermos of warm maple syrup, several pints of fruit compote, and a can of whipped cream at their disposal, along with all the needed utensils to make them as easy to eat as one could imagine in a moving vehicle.  

"Well, knock yourself out," Steve said, slathering on the syrup on his own stack.  "I'm going to have to spend like four hours in the gym later to make up for this, but I can't help it.  Sometimes, you just need comfort food."


Maybe Bucky had died in the explosion, because this sure as hell felt like heaven.  Here, with Steve, and more pancakes than he could probably finish even with his crazy metabolism.  He might have believed it, if for a moment he thought he deserved heaven.  

"Yeah," He admitted sheepishly, not adding that any real hot meal was was what he had meant, "And I think I could probably eat whatever you can't finish, Rogers."  He hadn't wanted to admit just how hungry he was.

He almost didn't know where to start.  Almost.  Like a kid, he opened up one of the boxes and breathed in the decadent scent before pouring syrup over it, ladling on the fruit... and an (un)healthy dollop of whipped cream.  

As if he were starving, or felt like the food was going to be torn away from him, he dug in, stuffing his mouth with the first bite.  "Hnnnnnnn...." He murmured around the full mouth.  It was even better than he remembered.  Homemade... fresh fruit, real whipped cream...

"Sir, the Vice President is on the line," said a voice on the comm.  

"Of course," Steve said, his cheeks bulging around his last mouthful.  "Put him on."

With an electric whir, a conference screen slid down across from them, coming to life.  "Good afternoon, Alex," Rogers said cheerfully, holding up his own fork of pancakes.

"Pancakes for dinner, Steven?"  

Before Bucky had even looked up at the screen, that voice resonated deep in the dark inner workings of his mind; causing his back to straighten and his heart to seize up in his chest.  When his eyes raised to the man on the screen, the face burned into his retinas.

It was Alexander Pierce.

"What can I say, they're the best in New York.  Alex, this is an old friend of mine..." Steve looked to Bucky and a flash of panic lit behind his eyes.  "Uhm, you remember me speaking of my old friend Sergeant Barnes?  This is his brother."  He paused, pursing his lips.  "Sebastian."

Steve flashed Bucky a quick 'I'm so sorry' look, before plastering a smile on his face and looking back at the screen.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Barnes," the older man said, though there was no real warmth to it.  "Steven, I was just concerned.  Its not like you to cancel meetings."

The change in Bucky's attitude was immediate and unequivocal.  One moment, he had been probably the most relaxed he had been since before Hydra.  Willing to accept that Stark tinkering around in his arm was well worth a stack of honest-to-God Pancakes with Steve.  

But that voice... that voice.  His head snapped up and the last face he ever wanted to see was suddenly before his eyes; he shrunk back into the seat of the car as if Pierce had slapped him instead of greeted him.  "...sir..." he whispered, almost dutifully, when he was addressed.  

How many times since his escape had Bucky envisioned closing his metal fist over Pierce's throat?  Or perhaps backhanding him like his handler had done to him when he was disobedient - but hard enough to crack the man's skull.  He had had no issue tearing through Hydra scientists and soldiers without a moment's regret.  And yet, decades of conditioning and twisted Stockholm bonding to that person was not something that could just be shrugged off and discarded.  Bucky dropped his eyes, his frame rigid, the pancakes sitting forgotten in his lap as he hung his head like a scolded child.  

Steve looked over at Bucky concerned, putting his fork down and trying to catch his gaze.  He frowned, but for now he would handle Pierce.  "Stark needed to see me," he said as casually as he could, back to the old gentleman on the screen.  "And please, the world isn't going to stop on its axis because I missed one security debriefing.  I'm sure they'll catch me up when I get back to DC.  I'm en route as we speak."

He looked back to Bucky, his brows knit.  "Oh one more thing..." he said back to the monitor.  "Mr. Barnes is going to my guest in DC for a few days.  We have a lot of catching up to do."

Pierce frowned, his eyes going back to the man who looked wholly unwelcoming.  Not Steve's general type of friend.  "Do you really think now is the best time for social company, Steven?" he asked sternly, like a father to his teenage son.

"How can I say no to that face?" Steve tried to joke, gently kicking at Bucky with his foot and encouraging him to smile.

Bucky's head snapped back up sharply with the combination of contact and Pierce's voice.  But it didn't come with a smile - just a fear-striken look at Pierce as he uncomfortably whet his lips.  All of his recovery, all of the independence he had gained back seemed to ball back up into the pit of his stomach, despite Bucky inwardly screaming at himself to snap out of it.  He hated himself for how seeing this man still made him feel.  

"I trust you, Steven," the man said, though he looked rather unimpressed, especially with how Bucky was acting.  "Call me when you get back into town."  The gentleman's eyes went back to Bucky, and seemed to peer directly into this soul.  "Nice to meet you, Mr. Barnes.  Have a nice ride."

With that, the monitor switched off and retreated back into a storage unit in the upper console.  Steve turned to Bucky with a concerned look.  "What's wrong, Buck?"

Only when the line was disconnected and the screen retreated did Bucky feel like he could breathe again.  With a shaking breath, he leaned back into the leather seat, but the haunted look remained in his eyes.  "That... That was Alexander Pierce..." He intoned almost mechanically.  

He swallowed, shaking his head, "You... you can't trust him."

Steve's eyes narrowed with concern.  "What?"  He looked over Bucky, reaching over to put a hand on his knee, trying to calm him down.  "You know him?"  He shook his head, "No, Alex is a great man.  He's former Secretary of Defense, he's one of the best men in the country for foreign relations."

Usually he could just brush this off, like it was just some crazy rambling, but the fact that Bucky didn't trust Pierce sat very unwell with him.

Bucky sat quietly for an uncomfortably long stretch of time.  He didn't pull away from Steve's touch, but he didn't look him in the eye, either.  He tried to fight past the way that Pierce always made him feel and, apparently, still made him feel.  Like a child, like he had to fucking impress him.  Finally, Bucky forced himself to turn and look at Steve, and seeing his face - the honest concern written plainly over it, helped Bucky find his words.  

"He was a well-respected man where I was from, too.  Secretary on the World Security Council.  But he was also a leader of Hydra... and he was my handler."  Bucky's voice was small, and even verbalizing this series of facts felt like a betrayal.

Steve licked his lips, concerned.  There was no Hydra or World Security Council here.  "No..." he said, his brow knit.  "I mean, not this Alexander Pierce.  He's a great man, he's not a Nazi!  He once turned down a Nobel Peace Prize.  He said 'Peace isn't a reward, its a responsibility.'"  He squeezed his knee.  "I don't know what happened to him in your world, but here, I trust him completely."



But still, it didn't sit right.  Steve trusted Bucky implicitly, but... how he could judge this man by the actions of his self in another world?  But at the same time... Bucky was still Bucky, at his core.  "What do you mean... handler?" he asked hesitantly.  

Bucky's eyes darted away and he swallowed.  His shoulders stayed folded in on themselves when he spoke, "He was always there... when they woke me up.  He gave me my orders."  Bucky's jaw set, "He made the decisions - he told me who my targets were, and told the doctors when I needed to be wiped."

The color was draining from Steve's face as he listened.  "Wiped?"

Bucky nodded, "They wouldn't let me remember: who I was, past missions, names...  When I started to, they'd put me in a machine. It hurt... it.... it sent electricity into my brain..."  He took a breath, trying to keep his words steady, "Sometimes, they'd use it as a punishment if something went wrong... or if I ever questioned orders or refused to answer a direct question."   

"I..." Steve was shocked, the pain evident on his face.  "I'm so sorry, Bucky.  That's... " he shook his head, "God, the more I hear about what happened to you, Buck, the angrier I am.  I wish I could do something.  You're so strong, Bucky... so strong.."

Bucky shook his head, his lips pressed tight.  "I'm not tryin to upset you, Steve..." He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, "And... for your sake I hope I'm wrong.  I only ever saw one side of the guy... but he must've been a real weasel to get to where he was in my world."  

Reluctantly, but his appetite ruined, he slid aside his box of pancakes and leaned against Steve's shoulder.  "I just... I never want to go back to that.  The way he made me feel..." He shuddered, "The things he made me do..."

Steve chewed on his bottom lip, and pulled Bucky close to him when he leaned against his shoulder.  "Hey..." he said, his voice calming.  "Bucky, I'm not going to let anything happen to you.  Not from Pierce or anybody else."  He smoothed his hair down over his head and tucked it behind his ears, out of his face.  "Look, he has no power over you here.  You're free from all that, Bucky, a survivor.  Just remember...this isn't the same guy."

Bucky heaved a reluctant breath, trying to push his demons back down.  He'd fought too long, too hard to have them scrabbling at him now.  It wasn't fucking fair.  Now when he was trying to find a bit of fucking happiness.  Guess he didn't deserve it.  And as much as he loathed it, after just the glimpse of Pierce, alive, he knew it wasn't true that he didn't have any power over him.  "Yeah..." He grunted, "Yeah, okay, Steve."  There wasn't a lot of optimism in his voice.  

Steve frowned, knowing he was turned off and humoring him.  "Hey, your pancakes are getting cold," he tried, pulling the box back over.  "Come on, Buck.  I'm so sorry for what he did to you, but I can't punish this man for something your Pierce did to you.  No matter how horrible it was."

He had no idea.  

"I'm not asking you to." Bucky finally said, wiping his right hand across his face.  "Just... do me a favor, and keep your eyes open.  You were always too trusting.  Sometimes when you're seeing the best in people, you're ignoring the worst."  

Chapter Text

A few hours passed in relative silence.  Bucky had withdrawn into himself, picking slowly at the pancakes more out of a need to keep up his energy reserves than any actual enthusiasm.  However, he maintained at least a basic level of physical contact with Steve - his right shoulder resting against Steve's left: a silent reassurance.  He alternated between gazing out the window at the passing cityscapes and over towards Steve, who had become engrossed with something that was probably important on his phone.  He didn't mind the quiet.  Tension bled out, and eventually, with a full stomach and the familiar presence and even smell of Steve Rogers, Bucky had begun to relax.  

Steve had been spending hours googling everything from theories on alternate realities to trying to dig up anything that might have been suspicious about Alexander Pierce.  Finally, boredom and frustration (at lack of finding anything with substance) finally won out and Steve put his phone away.  He looked over to his left and Bucky seemed much more relaxed now at least.  He moved his hand to his knee and patted it.  "How you holding up, buddy?" he asked.


Bucky looked up quickly, startled out of his reverie by the sudden break in the silence, but his face switched into an old, practiced smile - the same one he'd round on dames when there was something serious going on that they didn't need to know about.  

"Hey, 'm doing alright."  He responded, sliding the now-empty, sticky styrofoam box further aside.  "I didn't want ta keep ya from your work... figured you're probably a busy man."

Steve shrugged, "I'm allowed to take a break," he said, leaning back and shifting in his seat, getting anxious from the long car ride.  A few more moments passed, and Steve's mind went wandering.  "So," he started, "What am I like in your world, Bucky?"

This time, the smile that found its way to Bucky's face was more genuine, nostalgic.  "Damn, Rogers, where do I even start with that..?" he mused, stretching and repositioning himself, but never moving his thigh from where it brushed against Steve's.

"You were always so earnest.  Idealistic.  Even when you were ninety-five pounds soaking wet, you wouldn't stand for a bully.  You hated being on the sidelines or feeling weak.  It was a fuckin' shame you were so sick growing up... Some cold winters in Brooklyn hit you hard.  After your ma passed, it was just you 'n me..."  He trailed off, fingers interlacing.  "I was so scared sometimes that one winter you wouldn't make it through.  But you were a fighter."  He said with a half-smile and a chuckle.  

"Wow," he said, quietly, but didn't pull away from the contact.  "I was pretty sick as a kid here, too.  But, you said this was during WWII?  Before?  I guess things have changed.  I was born almost ten weeks premature, so it was touch and go for a while.  But I grew up, joined the army as soon as I was out of school."

  He smiled and looked back at his friend.  "Sounds like you really saved my life back then, Buck." He retreated back into his head, coming back with "Do you think we have some kind of connection?" he asked.  "I mean, all other things considered; we were best of friends both here and there.  Through friendship, through war... it can't just be coincidence, can it?"


"Maybe so..." Bucky conceded, the smile soft on his lips.  "Everything always just seemed... better... right when we were together.  Be it back in Brooklyn or on the battlefield, we looked out for each other.  You were a punk..." He chuckled, "But you inspired me." 



He took a breath, not even realizing he had been holding it, "You were born early where I'm from, too.  Took its toll on you until you managed to stubborn yourself into enlistment after getting turned down five times.  It was that earnestness, that wanting to fight the good fight for the right reasons that caught the attention of some scientist working for the SSR: Erskine.  You were chosen for an experimental procedure that turned you into... well..." His eyes went to the president's build.  It was no pre-serum state; he stood taller, straighter.  And there was muscle to his form, but it was leaner.  "... they called you their super soldier.  And the description's pretty apt.  You went from five-foot-four and less than a hundred pounds to six-two and built like a tank.  Then you were the one looking out for me."

Steve's eyes went wide.  "You're kidding?"  He looked down at himself; frowning.  He tried so hard to keep himself in shape, but he wondered how much bigger he was where Bucky came from.  "I was small when I was really young.  Not quite that small after puberty hit, but we enlisted together and I got really into physical fitness.  It's been important to me ever since.  I hated how I felt when I was younger; so out of control.  I guess it became kind of a crutch for me."  

"Guess they have better medicine now than they did back in the twenties and thirties, though." Bucky mused, "I'm glad."  

Steve flexed his biceps and nudged Bucky with his elbow.  "How do I compare?"



Bucky chuckled, and the corner of his mouth pulled up as if it had been yanked on by a fishhook.  He didn't budge as Steve nudged him.  "Do you really want me to answer that?" There was a twinkle in his eyes that hadn't been there since his arrival.

"Yes, answer," he teased. "It's okay, I can take it.  Be honest!"


"You're not bad.  But you're no Captain America." He smiled, "If I remember right - though my memory can be a bit spotty - you weighed in at two-forty during the war.  And ... you went blow for blow with me before you were able to pull me out of the conditioning..."  

"'Captain America'?"  He laughed.  "That's what they call me?  Really?  Sounds like some cheesy comic book."  

He relaxed his muscles.  "Challenge accepted," he added with a wink.  "I guess I have a new fitness goal."

"Yeah, well, you didn't pick it.  And they did make comics about ya.  You were a tool for the propaganda machine before you were a real war hero.  You were a symbol when people really needed something good. But Christ, Steve, I shouldn't have said anything.  You don't need to change anything."

"Jesus, that sounds so crazy to me.  All this during WWII? So, like, is this the future for you?"


"Well, when you say it all out loud, yeah it kinda does." Bucky grinned, "And yeah, technically.  I mean, I've been up and about the past few years, but I haven't really had much chance to play the tourist and really catch up."  That wasn't entirely true.  He had chosen not to - to focus on hunting down the remnants of Hydra instead of going back to Steve.  Fuck, he shouldn't have run...

"Then how am I still around if we were buddies before the war?" he asked, shifting himself a bit to be able to look more directly at him.


This time, Bucky didn't shy from his look.  He pursued his lips, chewing on the words and how to best phrase them before speaking up, "From what I read, a few days after I fell, you went on a mission to try to stop a plane carrying bombs from reaching the US.  Your solution, once you got control of it, was to crash the plane into the arctic."  He hesitated, a frown on his face.  Bucky'd never had the opportunity to confront Steve on how stupid that was.  But he did have to wonder if his decision might have been colored at all by the timing. "Anyway... you were frozen in the ice... and in 2011, SHIELD found you.  They thawed you out, and miracles o miracles, you were still alive."

"SHIELD?"  He shook his head, it didn't matter.  "Wait... I was frozen in ice for over seventy years?"  He flopped back into his seat, shaking his head.  "If you weren't Bucky Barnes, I'd call bullshit."  As if this whole thing wasn't already surreal enough; it was quickly becoming overwhelming.

Bucky snorted, "Yeah, you're telling me.  Our lives have been some kind of roller coaster of crazy since the war started... guess it was pretty dumb of me to hope that they'd ever go back to any kinda normal now."  

"Says who?" he asks seriously, leaning in a bit.  "If your Steve is anything like me, he's going crazy looking for you.  You said you were running from him, and I know you've been through a lot but.." he paused, looking at him seriously, "There's probably nothing more he wants in the world but to be there for you, Buck.  I can't fathom it.." he's suddenly near tears, to his surprise, and he wipes his face with the palm of his hand, calming him.  "If there was any hope - and I mean any hope that my Bucky was still out there.  Somewhere.  Somehow."  He shook his head, his expression full of raw emotion.  "I would do anything to get to him."

Bucky shrugged, biting his bottom lip and looking away.  But Steve could see the moisture in his eyes.  "I didn't think I could face you after everything... not yet.  I couldn't just... stop and pretend to be OK when I was... I was so angry.  So hurt.  I thought if I dealt with Hydra first... then I could come back in out of the cold.  You were looking for me..." He snorted, "You were relentless."  He hesitated...  "I shouldn'tve run from you.  God, seeing you now... I didn't allow myself dwell on it before,  I was scared I wouldn't be able to keep going.  Because you're right.  It was probably hurting you worse, and I missed you so much - I didn't even know how bad I needed to see you again... to be back with you."

Steve put his hand on Bucky's shoulder, squeezing it.  "You wouldn't have to pretend to be okay, Bucky.  If your Steve if anything like me, it wouldn't matter.  I want to help you.  I'm sure he does, too."  He pulled him into a hug, "I'm serious.  Please promise me as soon as we get you back, you'll come see me.  Him.  Whatever."

Bucky froze at first, but slowly began to uncoil, his own arms wrapping - clinging - to Steve.  He was right.  Bucky knew he was right.  "I promise," He murmured, muffled into Steve's shoulder.  But he didn't want to let go yet.  Instead, he held him just a little tighter, his arms frighteningly strong and immobile, but not squeezing to the point of pain.  "I was just... I'm not the same man any more... I don't know if I can be the person he's looking for."

"Don't say that," Steve said, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes.  "You will always be Bucky Barnes.  Even I can see that, and you're not even from this same damn reality."  He gave a dry laugh.  "Bucky, I would want to find you, whoever you are. "


Bucky chuckled softly, but Steve could tell that the words found their mark.  He hardly knew how to take such a resonant compliment like that.  Before he knew what he was doing, he raised his right hand to cup Steve's cheek.  "Thanks, Steve... you are... you are so much like him.  I'm sorry about... about me here... damn..." He huffed, tripping over his words.

Steve just shined his smile back at his friend, treasuring every moment he had.  "I miss him - you - so much.  But, somehow, I don't know.  Its comforting to know that you're still out there, somewhere.  I know its not the same, but I hope... I pray we figure out a way to get you home.  I would feel so much better knowing that out there, somewhere, we're together again. Best friends, as it always should be."

 Steve wiped at his eyes, a few tears slipping over his cheeks.  "Damnit," he laughed, trying to cover for the emotion.  "Sorry I didn't mean to get all sappy on you. I just miss you so fucking much."


"Dammit, Steve, you're going to get me goin', too." Bucky snorted, deflecting, and wiped at his face as well.  There was a small part of Bucky that was starting to hesitate about leaving at all.

He gave him a brief squeeze with the metal arm, and whet his lips, moving his jaw to try to get the words to shake loose.  "Steve... uh... here.... were you and I ever...?"  He gestured vaguely.  

Steve's brows knit, not wanting to misunderstand what he was asking.  He sat back just a bit, patting his shoulder.  "Were we ever..?" he looked at his expression and took a breath.  "... lovers?" he ventured, hoping he wasn't making a fool of himself.  

Bucky studied Steve's face, really hoping he didn't overstep a boundary here.  "...yeah..." He shouldn't have asked, he already began to chide himself.  He was the God damned president.  He had been married...  Bucky's brow furrowed and he scratched the back of his neck, the silence - while brief - seeming to last forever.

Steve cleared his throat, looking embarrassed.  "Uhm, no."  It was adorable; how this strong man pushing forty looked just like Bucky's bumbling Steve.  Flustered and shy from the simplest question.  "You - he - whatever... told me, eventually, that you were gay.  It wasn't easy, though, back in those days.  Don't Ask, Don't Tell was still in effect and, well... it was really hard for him.  He was my best friend my whole goddamn life I just...never knew."

"It wasn't easy back then, either." Bucky said softly, pulling back just a bit, trying to pretend like he was casually reclining with his arms behind his head when really he wasn't sure if contact was appropriate any more.  "We could've been arrested if people found out."  He winced, he hadn't meant to tip his hand... But it was too late to go back now.  Maybe he had wanted to get it out.  He hadn't spoken about this to anyone since then... "We stopped when I shipped out, though... we didn't know what was going to happen, and... it got complicated."  

Steve swallowed, listening, a blush creeping over the bridge of his nose.  "So, were were lovers in your world?"  He exhaled a shuddering breath, hand going to the back of his neck.  This was certainly a conversation he never imagined himself having.  "I don't know, I guess that kind of makes sense.  I think..." he blushed harder, what he was saying was some heavy secret he never told anyone, "I think I had it pretty bad for you - for Bucky - my Bucky - when we were kids.  I kept it to myself, though.  I liked girls just fine, too, and your dad was really scary about that kind of thing."  He gave a chuckle, trying to laugh out the tension.  "I had no idea he was gay, and then I went into the service, and well..it just didn't seem important anymore.  Wasn't too long after that I met Peggy."


Bucky leaned forward again with a sad smile.  "We were pretty dense for a while, too.  Took us longer than it probably should have to actually figure out we liked each other.  I saw how you looked at girls, and even if you couldn't figure out how to talk to them, I knew you liked them.  And... well, I was too scared that someone might find out how I really felt.  I knew how to pretend, and I made a point to go out with a lot of dames.  Especially because after your ma passed, you moved in with me and we lived together for about six years until the war.  You were small, an artist, and people were already talkin' shit about you.  I didn't want to give them any more cannon fodder if people suspected me on top of it what with living together and all.  But maybe because of living so close to each other... things eventually gave way.  It was real cold one night, and I didn't want you to get sick again.  It wasn't the first time we'd shared a bed to keep you warm, but... it was the first time that I kissed ya..."

"Hunh..." Steve said, a smile spreading over his face.  He couldn't deny it sounded pretty romantic.  "I guess one thing led to another?"  It was strange, but not wholly unpleasant, to talk about this.  "It's too bad things were so different back then.  I mean, things aren't perfect here, but they're getting better at least.  And hell, I'm actually trying my damnedest to do what I can, too."

"Yeah, you could say that," Bucky smiled.  "We were young, stupid, and horny.  We were lucky that we managed to keep as much of a lid on things as we did and keep up appearances.  Honestly, I don't know how much longer we would'a been able to keep things up even if the war hadn't come along.  Guys my age were already starting to settle down, and it was awkward still trying to go out dancin' with the girls when I just wanted to stay home with you.  Well, I really wanted to go out dancin' with you, but you had two left feet for one, and for two... yeah, just no.  No way would that have been okay back then."  It felt really good to talk about this.  


"Things were different after the war started, though.  I'd broken things off before I went to basic.  I didn't know what would happen to me, and I didn't want you waiting around for me, gettin' yourself into worse trouble... and... well... we'd all heard the stories about what happens out there when you're alone and scared... By the time you found me, you'd already met Peggy." He shook his head and shrugged.  "Not that we ever had much in the way of privacy out there anyway.  But it was rough, and it never seemed like the right time to talk about it.  And I was scared that after you changed that you didn't see me like that anymore."  Bucky was surprised how once he had started talking, the words just came pouring out.    

"I'm sure it wasn't that simple," Steve said, listening intently.  "I'm sure I missed you terribly."  He was quiet for a moment.  "If I loved Peggy half as much as I loved mine, though... I'm sorry, Bucky.  I guess it just wasn't meant to be back then."  He frowned, risking a glance over to him.  "That was probably hard for you."  He shook his head, "Hell, I sure hope my Bucky didn't feel that way about me ... because Peggy and I.." he waved his hand, it didn't matter anyway.

Bucky shrugged.  He sure hoped so.  He knew there were a lot of things going on during the war, and Bucky felt selfish feeling as hung up as he did on whether or not Steve still cared for him the same way.  But before, and arguably even more importantly than being lovers, they were best friends, and Bucky would never have willingly done anything to ruin that.  "She was a real special gal." Bucky said quietly.  "And she was one o' the only ones that seemed to see just how special YOU were even before the serum."  Bucky looked over to Steve with a lifted brow, "How did it go down here?"

Steve took a deep breath.  "She was working on a joint venture with the US Army.  She was part of MI6 special services, a real secret agent gal," he said with a nostalgic smile.  "While I didn't seem to be as sick as your Steve was, I wasn't exactly the epitome of fitness, I barely passed the requirements to even enlist, and that was only with intensive training.  But I did have a few experimental performance enhancers I volunteered for.  Nothing as drastic as what your Steve seemed to go through, but the Crown was just as interested as we were on that kind of thing."  He paused, looking down over himself.  "Nothing was ever conclusive on that front, but Peggy and I really hit it off.  We dated, even through it was always long-distance.  Wasn't too long after that I was deployed to Iraq.  Proposed the night I shipped out."  

Bucky was leaning forward, listening to Steve with his elbows on his knees.  It always made him a little uncomfortable, seeing him and Peggy, hearing him talk about her.  Seeing him in the bar that night when Peggy strolled in in her red dress and stole the moment he was hoping to rekindle... it was then that he realized that he wasn't the only other person in Steve's universe any more.  But he couldn't get in the way of seeing him happy, either.  "Were you happy?"  Bucky asked quietly, "You mentioned last night... she was killed in action?  How long did you get?"


"Yeah, I was happy for a while," he said with a sad smile.  "I mean, it was never roses, I suppose.  You were killed before we have the chance to tie to knot officially.  That was hard, Bucky, I wanted you there so bad."  He was getting emotional again, and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.  "We got married as soon as we could, even through I was still on active duty.  She got pregnant shortly after, and James was born.  She took a leave of absence from active duty to raise him, but..."

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.  "It didn't matter.  Someone, somehow found her cover.  She was assassinated, right  there in her home.  James was only four months old," he couldn't stop the emotional onslaught and his voice caught in a sob as he covered his mouth with his hands, trying to choke it back.


"Jesus..." Bucky whispered, "I'm so sorry... I had no idea it was that rough..."  It seemed no matter where Steve was, hardship managed to sink its claws into him.  "Did you ever find out who did it...?"  He hesitated for a moment before carefully wrapping his right arm around Steve's shoulders and  pulling him in close.

Steve crumpled into his arms, burying his face in his shoulder.  "An assassin whose codename is Crossbones," he mumbled into him.  "But he's never been caught.  He probably never will."  He pulled away a few moments later, wiping his face.  "I'm sorry," he said, frowning.  "I'm not usually this emotional about it anymore." 

He look a deep, calming breath.  "Needless to say, I left the service at that point to look after James.  But Tony pushed me to get involved in politics after that; he knew how much I wanted change...and he convinced me that was where the real influence was."

Bucky quietly held Steve, his hand absently running through his short, blonde hair as he listened, his jaw set as he heard that the man who had caused Steve this much pain had gone unpunished.  Bucky had never been Peggy's number one fan, but he knew how much even his Steve had cared for her.  And no one deserved that.  His stomach churned.  Not that he could talk.  How many families had he broken apart while under the commands of Hydra?  Still, Bucky's metal hand made a fist when he thought about someone - still out there - that had hurt Steve this badly.  He wanted to do something.  Wanted to fix it.  

"Don't apologize." Bucky said hoarsely, "I wish I knew who the fucker was.  But intel was never my job.  If you couldn't track him down..." He shook his head resentfully.  

"You don't have to get involved with my problems, Bucky," Steve said resolutely.  "You're not... that person anymore.  You're not a vigilante."  His expression had grown serious.   "Please, we should keep the the focus on getting you home."

"That's exactly what I am." Bucky frowned.  "I've been tracking down the remnants of Hydra.  I may not have some organization like SHIELD or the CIA or whatever backing me, but I've had enough of people pulling my strings and pointing me at the wrong people."  He sighed, relenting.    "I just... if there was some good I could do here for you, Steve, I would in a heartbeat."

"I appreciate it, Bucky, I really do.  But I don't want any more blood on your hands on my account." He leaned back in his seat, thinking.  "Is Peggy still around, in your world?"   



"Peggy... yeah... I had to check in on her.  She's an old woman now.  After everyone thought you died, she went on to form SHIELD, married, had kids..."

Steve couldn't help but frown, but he knew it was for the best.  "I hope she had as good of a life as she deserved there," he said, picking at his nails and looking at his bare ring finger.  He had worn her wedding ring for years, but Tony finally convinced him to remove it when he started his Presidential campaign; he said it would appeal to the woman demographic.  And regardless, as much as it pained him to know it, he was ready to move on.  He was lonely, and he missed having someone to share his life with; to raise James with.  "Have times changed as much there as they have here," he finally asked, looking back up Bucky.  "As far as... gay relationships go?"

"I... I'm not completely sure.  Even though I've been around the past few years, I've been trying to avoid most contact with civilians.  I always told myself there would be plenty of time for re-integration after my mission was complete.  But I read headlines, and couldn't help but notice that talk of marriage equality and gay rights sometimes made the news.  It... gave me hope.  But I didn't want to allow myself to stop and rest until I was done with what I was doing.  I was scared if I did, I wouldn't be able to keep going."

Steve nodded, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.  "Are you going to try again?" he asked, his eyes coming up to meet his.  "With your Steve?"

Bucky stopped mid-swallow, looking at Steve like a deer caught in the headlights.  He couldn't pretend like he hadn't thought about it on nights when he was alone and sleep just wouldn't come.  "I... I really want to.  I just don't know if he..."  could even like me like this?  If he even still feels the same way after the serum?  "... if he would be interested in that."

"I know its not fair of me to say for sure... I know we're not the same people.  But still, I can't help but think..." Steve a motion between the two of them, "that there's some kind of connection.  You're too much like him.  My Bucky.  Not exactly, not in the experiences or anything, but in the soul.  I can see it." He gave him a smile, and there was no denying the pure affection in his eyes.  "If your Steve loves you as much as I loved mine, then he's just as lonely and missing you as much as I miss him."


"I hope you're right." Bucky murmured but couldn't pull his eyes away from Steve's.  And they were Steve's- the same blue that rivaled the sky with the impossible lashes.  The same soul.  

His mouth started to run before he could reign in the words, "And what would you do... if he... your Bucky were here right now...?"

Steve tried to swallow the lump in his throat.  "Maybe..." the words were getting stuck, and he learned forward a bit, clearing his throat, "Talk about ... things.  Admit I was stupid and young and confused once upon a time, but..  tell him how much he means to me.  How much I loved him as a young man and that maybe I should have been more brave to say so."

Bucky smiled softly, "You were the bravest man I ever knew, Steve.  Just... sometimes a little dense when it came to people."  

Steve shrugged.  He was true, and there was no point denying it.



"Maybe it's time I took a page from that book," Bucky said, steeling himself as he reached up and gently wrapped his right hand around the back of Steve's head and coaxed him in towards his lips.  

Steve exhaled, his breath catching.  As Bucky's lips came closer, his eyes fluttered closed and he let his lips brush Bucky's.  He had never actually kissed a man before; though he had spent many of his high school years questioning his sexuality, even settling on his identify as being most likely bisexual, he had never had the opportunity to explore.  He was a late bloomer; fumbling around anyone he liked.  He was hung up Bucky who had a severely homophobic father, and no knowledge that he was in the closet the whole time.  Once he joined the army and DADT was a real concern, he just kind of put it away.  Soon after he met Peggy and fell in love, so it never seemed to matter all that much.


Bucky would have almost put money on Steve pulling away, but he knew that he'd regret it if he didn't at least try when he saw this opening.  But he didn't pull away.  He leaned into it.  Those blue eyes slid closed and Bucky found himself closing away the world as well and just feeling.  

And Bucky's lips pressed against Steve's felt just so perfect.  Not as soft or plump as those of a girl, but welcoming and warm and hungry for more.  His hands came up to rest on Bucky's arms, holding him gently.

The pressure of Steve's lips were achingly familiar - that hesitance but neediness that brought back their first kiss in a wave of memory.  Bucky held it for a moment before parting his lips and bringing his tongue up to whet them, brushing it against Steve's as he did.  His fingers dug into his hair as he allowed his whole torso to roll with the motion, encouraging and goading Steve.  

Steve melted into the kiss, his jaw relaxing to allow Bucky access to his mouth.  He welcomed Bucky coming closer, his hands sliding down his arms and coming to rest on his hips as Bucky held his face lovingly.  He hummed into his mouth, a pleasant, affectionate sound as his hands grasped him, as if he was afraid he would run away if he let go.


Bucky's mouth was hot as his tongue worked its way past Steve's lips and he swallowed his hums hungrily.  The wide, luxurious limousine seats allowed more movement than most cars did, so Bucky rotated, arching his back and pulled in closer as he fully faced Steve.  He gingerly brought his artificial arm up to wrap around Steve's waist as he kept his human hand against the back of his head, fingertips working into his scalp.  

Steve held the kiss until he had to break for air, turning his lips away just enough to take a heavy breath, holding Bucky close.  He wedged open his eyes, looking deep into Bucky's and letting a smile pull over his mouth.  He bumped his nose with his own affectionately, before putting his lips on his again.  He shifted in the seat of the limousine, pulling Bucky over him as he sank further down into the seat.

Discretion was quickly melting away as Bucky pressed back hungrily, intensifying the kiss as he swung one of his legs up over Steve's lap and straddled him.  Bucky was deceptively heavy, but he kept some of his weight on his knees as he rolled his hips and pulled Steve closer, encircling him with his arms.

A moan slipped into Bucky's mouth as Steve straddled his lap, and his body was already responding to his touches.  His body heat was rising, and his noises became more insistent and confident.  His hands slid from his waist to around his back, coming up to tangle into Bucky's long hair.  He ground himself up against him, loving the feel of his strong body against him; he nibbled gently on Bucky's bottom lip, completely enamored by his beautiful mouth.  Everything was new and different than the kisses he had shared with his wife and girlfriends.  Bucky was strong, with a different, musky intoxicating scent.  The feel of his five o'clock shadow against his face excited him ways he didn't even know he could feel.  If there was any hesitation about his sexuality, the uncertainly was whisked away in an instant; men and women may feel different but Steve knew that if he held him in his heart, then everything about them was sexy and exciting.     

Bucky finally returned the moan, deep and throatily, as he felt Steve press needily against him.  Steve could feel Bucky's desire - hard and hot as he pressed back encouragingly.  He gave his hips a slow roll and then a quick drive, demonstrating a controlled athleticism and restrained strength.  His red lips curled into a grin as Steve nibbled on them and he jerked his head against his grip on his hair, forcing Steve to give it a tug.  How long had it been since he had truly lost himself in a wonderful moment of desire?  How long since he trusted himself and his partner?  A part of Bucky had wondered if he would ever be able to share a simple intimacy again with it  being tainted from his time at Hydra.  But all of those questions were answered when he was with Steve.  It was always so simple with Steve despite how complicated it might be outside their doors.  

In the heat of their make out session, however, the two men got so lost in their kisses, moans, and embrace that neither of them seemed to notice the limousine had reached its destination.  Somewhere in the deep reaches of Steve's mind, he had assumed the car was rolling to a stop for normal traffic routine, but then the door was yanked open.  

Before he fully realized what was happening, the head of Steven Roger's Secret Service had his gun out of his pointed directly at the man who was, for all intents and purposes, straddling and struggling with his charge.  But as the two men jerked up at the commotion, the tussled hair and swollen lips gave it away fairly obviously.

Bucky immediately sprung into a defensive crouch, feet poised on the seat and his left arm snapped up, prepared to shield Steve in case of a threat.  

"Sir?" he stuttered out, quickly lowering his weapon.

Steve's blood ran cold, full on his back now and looking at him upside down, the flush on his face turning even brighter red from arousal mixed now with a healthy dose of embarrassment.  "Coulson!"



It took less than a moment for Bucky to realize that this was no threat; not a physical one at least.  Cautiously, silently, but with his face flushed read, he withdrew back into a more conventional seated position like a gun whose safety had been flipped back on.  He swallowed, lips still tingling from the kissing and biting, and his erection regrettably undeterred.  Sharply, his eyes darted between Steve and the unfamiliar agent, fully realizing just how bad of a miscalculation he had just made.  Even if times had changed, Steve was the president, and he just hoped that whoever this was understood discretion.  

Steve sat up, catching his breath and quickly trying to readjust his clothing.  "Agent Coulson, this is a friend of mine, Sebastian Barnes," he stuttered out, his voice shaky.  "Uh, sorry, I didn't know we were back in DC so soon," he admitted, seeing the Rose Garden from outside the door. 

Thankfully, Coulson was crowding the door to the limousine so any other onlookers wouldn't have a good look inside. And Coulson knew exactly what he was doing, leaning against the frame of the car as to block the view.  "Nice to meet you, Mr. Barnes," he said, his expression hard to read behind his black sunglasses, but his voice was even and oddly soothing regardless.  

"Uh, Sebastian, this is Agent Coulson.  He's the head of my security detail.  He's good at sneaking around."



"Very sneaky, sir," he replied, a bit of a smile in his voice.  "Give me a few minutes to clear the area, then you're free to go inside."     

Chapter Text

The asset's blood runs cold.  He's kneeling, sniper rifle in his hand, and his vision is focused; absolutely condensed into the tunnel vision he knows all too well from having stared down the lens of a scope for hours waiting for the kill.  He knows that the target will be emerging from the front doors of the building at any moment.  He can't remember who, or how long he's been waiting here, and yet he KNOWS that he is at the cusp of the mission.

He's watching through the scope, and yet it feels more like watching the target through a monitor: he has just as little control over what he is seeing. It's wrong.  He doesn't want to do this.  He screams at himself to stop.  To put down the gun.  To turn around.  But no matter how much he screams, commanding his body to move, the image through the scope stays stock still, and his body remained silent, frozen in concentration; the mask a suffocating gag.  He's not in control. 



Fingers run through his hair, a mockery of a loving caress before gripping it tightly, and he can feel the presence behind him.  A low, chillingly familiar voice and hot breath whispers in his ear, "Did you really think you could ever escape me?"  The grip tightens in his hair, and another hand manifests around his trigger finger, as a small, blonde figure appears within his sights.  

Bucky's finger tenses, trying to resist pulling the trigger as a sad smile crosses the small man's face, and he looks right at him.  No.  No No No.  Not him.  He struggles, but he feels Pierce's hand applying pressure to his trigger finger, "You do what I tell you to do.  You kill who I tell you to kill.  Nothing belongs to you.  You belong to me."



The crosshairs are perfectly poised over Steve's head.  The shot rings loudly in his ears...

Bucky's voice finally tears free of the strangling silence, ripping from his throat in an anguished scream.  But Pierce was gone, and he was alone in a darkened room, on the floor beside an innocuous hotel bed in a tangle of blankets.  Only then did reality crash around him and his mind caught up with the present.  It was a dream, and fading fast.  Another nightmare.  His weaponized metabolism wasn't the only thing that kept the soldier from grabbing sleep in more than just a few hours at a time.  Invariably, the nightmares would come and try to drag him back to the horror that his life had been.  Even having won his freedom, he would never completely escape.  A part of Bucky had hoped that maybe after finishing his mission, destroying everyone who had worked on the Winter Soldier project, he'd truly be free.  But the rationale part of his mind knew now more than ever that he could never truly erase his past.  The good or the bad.


He dug his metal fingers through his hair, the cold of the hardware against his scalp helping ground him and bring him back to his senses.  He glanced to the clock perched on the nightstand, the glow of the red numbers boasting that it was early, but not too early to start the day: just past 0400 hours.  He picked himself off of the floor and headed into the bathroom to shower and clean up.


Unfortunately, Steve had had pressing matters to attend to after their return to DC the evening before, and even for the president, finagling last-minute clearance to stay at the White House had been out of the question.  Bucky hated to leave after the reunion, and a part of him had worried that it might have been an excuse after things had grown heated in the car... and their interruption and discovery by the Secret Service.  Not that Bucky could blame him if that were the case.  And even if not, he would have had to return to the hotel to collect his personal items and at least move them to a more secure location.  He couldn't risk leaving firearms behind for anyone to find.  



It had been stupid, anyway, Bucky mentally scolded himself as he lathered the hotel shampoo through his hair.  What was he hoping to do?  Confuse himself?  Get his hopes up that he might actually get some kind of happy ending that he didn't deserve?  Make some connection with a man who was in such a prominent position that he might as well still be living in the 40s for the potential backlash?  Even IF times were changing, he could potentially endanger Steve's political career if not his life if the wrong person were to find out.  Not to mention that he couldn't stay here.  Right?  



Bucky spat toothpaste out into the sink with a sneer at the face in the mirror.  He had gone seventy years not being allowed to want.  He would have thought he would have had better fucking impulse control now.  Maybe he was making up for lost time, he thought with a derisive snort.  



Bucky's mission - no, he mentally corrected himself - his agenda for the day was uncomfortably simple.  Gather up the arsenal he had secreted about the room and find a better location for it somewhere in the city.  His training had taught him how to recognize a good secure drop location.  He had plenty of time before he would be returning to the White House to meet Steve as they had arranged for yesterday when they parted ways.  But... that was it.  Nothing else.  He was waiting, uselessly, until they heard word back from Tony with any news regarding getting him back home.  With Hydra, when there was no purpose for him, he was kept on ice.  And on his own, Bucky had never stopped working towards his mission of extinguishing the last of their facilities.  Bucky felt uncomfortable in his own skin when he was just expected to be.  

Chapter Text

Bucky sat on a plush leather couch in the White House's Treaty Room. He was waiting, antsy with his leg bobbing, wearing the same clothes he had worn the day before and his hair tied up into a half-bun.   Today, however, he had been ushered through security without a fuss and brought here to wait for an audience with the president.   

After a few minutes, the door opened, but it wasn't President Rogers who came through.  Wearing jeans and a Superman t-shirt that came to his knees, his iPhone clutched in his hands, James Rogers padded into the room.  Bucky looked up, lips pursed in surprise.  For Bucky, it was like looking backwards into time; though his hair was darker and his eyes a slightly different shape, and less of a crookedness to his walk, the boy looked remarkably like his father did at his age.  He had Steve's lips and impossibly high cheekbones, as well as a look of set determination in his eyes.  

"Hi.  Dad says he'll be in inna minute," he said to Bucky, sitting on the couch across from him.  His attention immediately went to his phone, playing some kind of a game before his eyes lifted and looked him over from his vantage.  "You don't look like a hobo anymore," he said.

He couldn't help but quirk a fond smile at the kid; more than just looking hauntingly like the skinny kid he grew up with, he also had some lip on him.  "Yeah, well, guess I'm not undercover any more." He smirked, "Or are you trying to go for the hobo look now?" He nodded to the kid's oversized shirt.  

"It's Dad's," he said defensively, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping the roomy shirt around his legs, giving him the illusion that he was peeking out from a bag.  "Do you have any of your guns?" he asked, looking a bit hopeful.

Bucky surprised himself by feeling a little like a jackass for criticizing him.  Sure, he and Steve hadn't held back on picking on each other back in the day, but this kid didn't know him like Steve had.  "Sorry, kid, not today.  For some reason it makes security a little jumpy."

He looked disappointed, finishing up whatever game he was playing on his phone to give Bucky his undivided attention.  "Dad said I should ask you to take me to Coney Island today."    

Bucky blinked, caught completely off guard by that.  Sure, he used to be good with kids - he had had three younger siblings.  And then there was Steve who he had looked after like a brother.  But that felt like another life.  Bucky shifted in his seat, eyeing the kid suspiciously.  Steve was the world's shittiest liar, but this wasn't Steve.  Then again, Steve had always seemed to have more faith in Bucky than even Bucky did - but he had accidentally bounced Stark off a wall yesterday... though, granted, Stark was poking around in his arm.  

"Did he now...?" Bucky scrutinized James skeptically.

James nodded.  "He said that you and him used to go all the time and that maybe you would like to go with me."

Bucky's skepticism softened as his heart ached at the memories that splashed over him, "Yeah... yeah we went a time or two..." Maybe more here than there - Coney Island could be an expensive splurge - but it was amazing how similar this Bucky and Steve were to his experiences.  

"Don't worry, Agent Coulson will be there," came another voice.  Steve was standing in the doorway, smiling.  "Sorry, Bucky, I'm not trying to turn you into a babysitter but I have a pretty important briefing with the Veep today."

He nodded towards his son.  "I haven't been able to take him since I've been inaugurated, I thought it may be a way to keep your mind off...things."

Bucky looked up as Steve walked into the room, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment ... and needling suspicion at the mention of the VP.  "Yeah... of course." He murmured.  Steve probably didn't really know what to do with him at this point.  He was busy, and until they heard back from Tony, it wasn't like there was a lot they could actively do.  Granted, he was right: there were certainly an awful lot of things threatening to mire him down.  And with James here, he couldn't even really bring up the situation in the car the day before.  Maybe that's why he had come out first to begin with.  

He stood up, keeping his hands in the pockets of his jacket.  "You really think that would be OK... even with the secret service around?"  He whet his lips.  Honestly, sinking in to him, the idea didn't sound terrible... almost nice... but Bucky had been firmly rooted in the idea that he didn't deserve nice things.  That he wasn't going to fuck it up somehow.

"Phil is almost as protective of James as I am," Steve joked, reaching over and squeezing Bucky's human shoulder.  He gave him a leveled look in the eyes, and the touch lasted just a hair longer than he would usually consider normal.  There was an undoubted kind of affection to it, and a smile rested on Steve lips that seemed to speak volumes.  "No pressure, but you look like you could use a day of fun."  He pulled his hand off his shoulder and nodded to him. "I trust you," he said, a bit quieter.  No need to give James a reason to be wary.

Bucky nodded seriously - and whether or not Steve intended it - he read the warning through the smile about Phil's protectiveness.  The squeeze on his shoulder, however, and that look, it managed to summon a smile through Bucky's self-doubt.  Only Steve could slice through Bucky's anxiety like that and shine optimism so fucking brightly that it managed to even light something in him.  

"It has been a really, really long time since I've been to Coney Island," Bucky relented, casting a look back at the kid.  And almost as long since he'd actually had what could have constituted fun for fun's sake.  God, James was so much like him.  And a protectiveness flared itself in Bucky's chest.  He heaved an overdramatic smile and looked back to Steve with a half-cocked smile.  "Sure, what the hell."

"Great.  Don't let James eat too much funnel cake," he said with a playful wink, before looking back over to his son.  "Come here, JJ," he said opening his arms.

James rushed over to him threw his arms around him and patted him on the back.  "You listen to Bucky and Phil, okay?" he said, trying to put on a stern face.

James nodded dutifully.  

"Okay, good."  He kissed in on the top of his head and then turned back to Bucky.  "Phil will meet you at the chopper in about ten minutes.  I'm sorry I don't have more time with you.  Tony is still trying to crack the code, but he seems to have indicated he found something.  He told me what, but it was ... complicated.  I trust he'll let us know when he has something more concrete."     

"I get it." Bucky nodded.  He was lucky he had had as much alone time with him as he had gotten.  "And hey, maybe we can catch up this evening or tomorrow or something,"  He said, his hands finding their way back to his pockets, trying not to sound too hopeful.  "That's great that Tony has a lead."  Was it great?  Bucky wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.  

It didn't matter.  Bucky rounded a smile at James, "Alright, kid, you heard your dad.  What I say goes, and you're gonna have a good time, got it?"

James rolled his eyes dramatically, but there was still a smile on his face.  "Yes, sir, Mr. Bucky," he said before running out of the room to get ready.

"Here," Steve said, pushing some cash into Bucky's hand.  "I'll see you tonight.  Have enough fun for the two of us, yes?"  

Bucky pocketed the cash with a nod.  "Tonight." He confirmed, the smile actually sticking around on his face.  "And someone's gotta.  Don't work too hard, Rogers."    

"No promises," he said.  Making sure his son was out of the room, Steve leaned forward and planted a quick, chaste kiss on his lips, before heading out of the treaty room.  
Bucky was left frozen for a good minute, surprised that even after having had the chance to sleep on it, Steve didn't seem to regret fooling around the day before.  Bucky would have sworn that Steve would have wanted to go back to pretending, sweeping the indiscretion under the rug.  God knew that he had every excuse given his position and Bucky's own... complicated issues.  But no.  And Steve's optimism seemed infectious.  He turned and headed out, looking forward to the afternoon with a whistle on his lips for the first time in nearly a century.  

James and Phil were waiting by the helicopter when Bucky made his way down.  The little boy was still wearing his oversized shirt, but was now adorned with a big backpack and sunglasses, looking eager to get going.  Phil was waiting outside, looking as stereotypical as he could; black suit, black sunglasses, and a white earpiece in his ear.  "Nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes," he said with a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Sorry to keep you two waiting." Bucky grinned.  "And you, too... Phil, was it?" He said with a snark, deliberately using his first name overly casually.  Even Coulson's knowing smile wasn't going to damper Bucky's rare mood.  He felt almost normal right now.  Social interactions, an easy smile and a confident swagger to his gait drenched up from a long-buried grave.  Like he could almost mentally reach out and feel the man he used to be.  Almost.  

Coulson just returned his smile politely, opening the door for Bucky and James to crawl in.  He took the seat up front, with the pilot.  

As Bucky and James were en route to a day of sweets and roller coasters, President Steve Rogers was stuck in cabinet meeting, reading through a homeland security proposal that was several hundred pages long.  He had been through it before, and had marked it up with endless highlights, tabs, and paperclips - but it seemed every time he re-read it, he found something else about the Project that infuriated him.  At this point, he'd have been happy to throw the whole damn proposal in the fireplace; but sadly that wasn't how politics worked.

He ran his fingers through his hair, looking up at the room full of primarily old white men, all looking at him with that condescending look they always had.  During his campaign, Steve had learned pretty quickly that many of the established regime in Washington thought he was just some young upstart jock; someone way out of his league and far too naive to actually handle the office.  Perhaps they were right, but the American people seemed to love him, and that's who he cared about.  

"The support is coming from both sides of the aisle, Mr. President," Alexander Pierce said before Steve even had the chance to speak.  He called Steve 'Mr. President' only when he was being purposely patronizing.  

"I don't care," he said with a sigh.  "You can push this through, but as soon as it comes past my desk, I'm vetoing it."

A few of the men exchanged glances, but left the speaking up to the VP.  "Recent polling shows great support," he continued, "ignoring public opinion so flagrantly this early in your term, well..." he gave him a look.  "No one here wants to see you as a one-term President."

"I don't care about that," he said, exasperated.  "If the American people really understood the the possible implications of something like this..."  

The National Security Advisor, Jasper Sitwell, leaned forward, "Our job is the keep the American people safe.  If you keep our hands tied, then we can't do our job."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do," Steve said, the irritation in his voice evident.  "It's bad enough we've been collecting petabytes of personal information without their knowledge, but now you honestly expect me to authorize the use of that data to detain American citizens?"  He pounded his index finger on the file for effect.  "Not gonna happen."

"Behavior-predictive algorithms have become extremely accurate over the past couple of years," Sitwell insisted.  "Research shows that if we had run Project Insight on Abyad Sahli before he boarded Flight 562 then we may have been able detect the bomb before it went off on that plane.  That would have been 132 American lives saved because of one not-so-random search at JFK."

"It doesn't matter.  The punishment comes after the crime, not before."

Alexander Pierce spoke up this time.  "He was coordinating with sixteen other citizens - American citizens - Steven.  We're lucky he dropped the ball, because if they were able to pull off their plan you'd have another 9/11 under your belt."

Steve leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling.  "I understand that," he said evenly.  "But it doesn't change the fact that I'm not going to unleash Big Brother on the population on the off chance of catching a terrorist.  We can amp up security at airports, brush up on passport counterfeiting operations..."

"Those are band-aids at best!" Sitwell argued.  "We all know it.  Hell, if we increase airport security again the American people are going to riot anyway!"

Steve looked at his watch in irritation.  They had been going back and forth on this proposal for hours now.  "Nothing you guys can say is going to make this happen. I will not sign my name to Project Insight.  I'm sorry, but that's my final decision, and I'm not going to argue it any longer." He stood up, straightening his jacket and headed towards the door.  

Pierce exchanged glances with the other men in the room, and Sitwell threw his pen across the conference table in disgust as they all stood; common courtesy for the President.  Right before he reached the door, Pierce walked over to him, pulling him aside.  

"Steven," he said, keeping his voice low.  "There are ways to push this through without you.  Think of the lives you could be saving instead of burying this into subcommittees for months.  It would be revolutionary."

"I'm sorry, Alex," Steve said, pinching the bridge of his nose.  "But there's no way I'm going to support this.  You do what you have to do.  I understand if you think this is what's right and you're fighting for it - and I appreciate that.  But I have to do what I think is right, too.  I can't sleep at night knowing I signed my name to that proposal."  

Pierce just nodded solemnly as Steve left the room.  He looked back to the cabinet with a look of resignation.  

"He's a damn trench monkey who read too many Superman comics as a kid," Sitwell growled bitterly.  "He has no business being in the White House.  If he didn't look so much like damned Channing Tatum he wouldn't even be here."

"He's not a bad guy," Pierce said, pulling his glasses off his face and tucking them into his breast pocket.  "He's just too optimistic.  We see the world as it is, not as we wish it was.  He'll understand one day."  He gave Sitwell a supportive pat on the shoulder.  

"Well that was a waste of four hours," Senator Stern bemoaned, looking at the clock on his phone.  "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get lunch."

***



The rhythmic thrumming of the helicopter had drowned out most opportunities for conversation along the way to New York, and James seemed engrossed, buried in whatever game he was playing on his phone - not that Bucky minded.  He was used to spending time alone with his thoughts, and taking in the scenery by air between DC and New York was surprisingly relaxing.  The trip went by surprisingly quickly, and as they flew in closer to prepare for landing, Bucky's breath caught in his chest as he found himself descending into Brooklyn.  Despite the changes the borough had gone through over the years, it was still unmistakable, and between the familiar neighborhoods and James sitting across from him looking hauntingly like little Steve, Bucky felt like he was stepping back in time.

Marine One Foxtrot set down on a swath of concrete painted with a bright yellow H, and before the blades had even completely finished whirring, a group of men were exiting a waiting car and preparing to assist the passengers.

Bucky undid his seatbelt and flashed a grin to James, "Ready, kid?  You're going to keep that thing put away while we're at the Island, you know that, right?"

"Fiiiiine," he whined, turning off the phone and slipping it into his backpack.  

Agent Coulson departed the helicopter, nodding to Bucky.  Like a dutiful secret serviceman, he would follow along but not interfere.  Steve had told him to keep a close eye on Mr. Barnes, especially if things got stressful.

James grasped Bucky's hand out of instinct, as he was always told to do in public.  He at his left and therefore his hands grasped onto the gloved left hand, but even through the leather he could tell something was off.  He looked up at Bucky with a confused expression.

Bucky had begun to guide James towards the waiting limo, another man dressed in a sharp black suit already holding the door open.   Feelings more than memories stirred - escorting his little siblings to school, their faces looking up at him, a protective and proud feeling... He was stirred from his reverie when he felt the pressure sensor on his hand and looked down into James's curious confusion, "It's a prosthetic" He said half-apologetically.  "Do you know what that is?"  

"No," he said crawling into the limo.  His big blue eyes stayed on him, looking at his arm warily.  Coulson followed, listening silently and took his place by the driver.

Bucky slid in after him, making sure the kid buckled up first before deciding to indulge him a little.  "It's kinda like a swell robot arm."  Hell, when he ten, he probably would have thought so.  He loved the pulp science fiction stories about aliens and robots.  

"You have a robot arm??" he asked, his eyes getting big and looking expectantly at his sleeve.  

Coulson took off his sunglasses and positioned the rear-view window and watched from his position in the front of the car, also interested in hearing about this so-called 'robot arm.'  

Bucky should have guessed that was coming next.  He hesitated a moment, eyes flicking to the movement of the rear-view mirror before returning to James.  How could he not humor those adorable, round baby blues?  He was all too familiar with the same damn look from Steve and he could never say no to him, either.  

With a bemused sigh and shake of his head, Bucky tugged off the glove and rolled back the sleeve of the jacket a little to reveal the shining metal appendage.  "Yeah, kid."

"Whoa!"  He immediately reached out and touched it, running his fingers along the little grooves and divots.  "That's awesome!  What happened to your arm?  Is it gone?!"  He was fascinated by the metal appendage, looking like something out of a cartoon.  "Can it do anything cool?  Like does transform into a gun or a sword or anything?"

Phil was watching intently, a mix of skepticism and interest on his face.  "Yes, I'd be interested to know that, Mr. Barnes."

"Yeah, the arm's gone.  I lost it during the war."  James's reaction was a little refreshing - seeing his innocent enthusiasm over something that had caused him and others a lot of pain.  Gave him a measure of perspective.  He eased up, but  saved a particular scowl for Coulson's reflection, prickling at the scrutiny.  If the kid wasn't here, and if this man wasn't responsible for Steve's safety, he would have had some particularly choice words for him . 

"But naw, not really.  It can do the things my arm used to do - though I can't feel things as well with it, and it's a little more durable. But it doesn't turn into anything.   You read too many comic books." He added, looking back towards Coulson with a smirk.  It was a half-truth.  It didn't need to do any of those things to be a weapon.  Coulson REALLY didn't need to know that.

"That seems like a thoroughly wasted opportunity," he lamented with a surprisingly confident sounding vocabulary - something he obviously overheard his father or another adult say.  He curled his hands into a fist and knocked against the metal of his hand.  "Did it hurt, when you lost your arm?"


The metal rapped with an audible clang.  Bucky couldn't help but smile with a snort at the language, "Yeah, it hurt.  A lot.  But that was a long time ago now.  It doesn't hurt any more."  He flexed his hand before squeezing it into a tight fist, enough that it caused the reinforcement plates to shift along his forearm and make a mechanical buzz. "Though it's still pretty keen, huh?"

The look in his eyes was unmistakable.  "It's so awesome," he said, putting both hands on it and running his hands up his arm a bit, feeling the whir and shift of the plates.  "So cool, I want one," he whined.  

"Trust me, no you don't." Bucky responded as he gave James's shoulder a small squeeze with his other hand.  "For one, it's hell going anywhere with a metal detector." He turned and gave Coulson a wink before slipping the glove back on and pulling his sleeve back down.  

The car pulled up to the front gates of the the part, and the driver opened the door for them, Coulson tailing him closely.


Bucky deftly exited the car, and the breath caught in his throat as he took in the boardwalk.  It had been so long, and yet so much of it was still recognizable.  More than the facades - of which there was a lot of new things - there was the smell of sea air and cotton candy and fair food.  The shouts of kids screaming with excitement and the distant rattle and roar of the rides - clacks and clangs from the roller coaster and pea-shooters.  

He stood there dumbly, lost in long-buried memories and emotions.

"Let's go!" James insisted, grabbing a hold of Bucky's hand again and launching him towards the entrance.

"Sure thing, Stevie." Bucky responded automatically - his mind decades away.  

By the end of the day, Bucky was thankful for his enhanced stamina.  Keeping up with a ten-year-old at an amusement park was nothing short of superhuman.  

It felt like they had squeezed in just about everything in the time they were there: bumper cars, skee-ball, the ferris wheel and carousel.  More games than he could count, stuffed themselves on fair food, and James had even been (barely) tall enough to ride the Cyclone.  

And Bucky hadn't felt more like his old self since before the war.  More than once he lapsed back, a small event triggering a memory he didn't even know he had forgotten.  And James was probably going to sock him if he called him Stevie one more time.  But by some kind of crazy miracle, Bucky could actually claim that he had fun.  

James was asleep by the time he was fastened back into the helicopter, a miniature mountain of stuffed animals won from various games piled up beside him.  

"You're a natural," Coulson said from his place next to the pilot, that ghost of a smile on his lips.  

Bucky snorted with a bewildered shake of his head.  "Who'dve thought, huh?"  He was still amazed that something hadn't  gone wrong - that kind of luck never seemed to be in the cards for James Buchanan Barnes.  Though he was just as surprised by Coulson's apparent stamp of approval.  

He situated himself in his own seat and prepared for the trip back to the White House, finding himself looking forward to seeing Steve again.  

Chapter Text

An hour and a half later, the helicopter touched down outside of the White House, though to Bucky it felt as if hardly any time had passed at all.  The constant whirring of the blades was enough to drown out other noises even with his keen hearing and settle into a peaceful muzziness where he could reflect on the day.  He allowed the feelings and tastes and smells (the scents of hot dogs and cotton candy still clung to his and James's clothing) to wash over him and ride with him.  But more than anything, he cherished the memories: memories that would never be taken away from him again, and new ones to interlace with the old.  

"Looks like you two had a great day," Steve said as he met them inside.  

James was barely able to keep his eyes open as he walked hand-in-hand with Mr. Bucky.  "Look what I won," he said, his enthusiasm seeping through his exhaustion.  He disengaged from Bucky to show his father his favorite of the stuffed animals Bucky had won for him at the milk bottles.

"Good job," Steve told him with a smile.  His eyes darted up to Bucky for a moment, his eyes full of gratitude.  "But it's way past your bedtime.  Why don't you go get ready for bed and you can tell me all about it in the morning."  

James pecked his father on the cheek and shuffled off towards his quarters.  

"Why don't you follow him and make sure he brushes his teeth, Coulson?"  

"Yes, sir."



"Oh, and Coulson?"



"Yes, sir?"

"I'll be fine for the rest of the evening."  Steve leveled a significant gaze on the older man.

Coulson was quiet for a minute, no expression change except for a small lift of his eyebrows.  His eyes darted over to Bucky for just a moment.  "Roger that, sir," he finally said with a touch of reluctance, before heading off to follow James.

Bucky watched Coulson leave the room, hands in his pockets, keeping quiet and stationary until the door slid closed.  "Thanks for the suggestion," Bucky said with only a little hesitantly once they were alone.  "I... can barely remember the last time I had a normal day." He ventured forward a few steps, "He's a good kid." He added.  

"I hope you didn't feel too much like a baby-sitter," he admitted, pulling his jacket off his shoulders.  He looked tired and haggard; especially for Steve Rogers.  "I really needed to give him some time.  He's been such a trooper since Inauguration.  It's hard for him; hard to make friends.  And he doesn't even have his ma around to help keep me sane," he added with a small smile.

"Naw, it's okay.  I grew up with three younger siblings.  I don't think I realized how much I missed it - it's kind of refreshing, seeing things through the eyes of a kid.  The untarnished enthusiasm."  



Bucky paused.  "What about you, though, Steve?  I'm guessing no one is takin' you out for a day free of stress."  He cocked his head, closing the distance between them.  "The Steve I knew... he always worried more about the people around him and not wanting to let 'em know just how hard things could be on him.  How was your day?"

"If I wanted a stress-free life I wouldn't have run for the presidency,"  he said with a scoff.  "But no, today wasn't one of the better days.  Simultaneously boring and incredibly terrifying..." he waved his hands.  "I'm sorry, I can't go into any details.  But the term 'the weight of the world' has never seemed more appropriate."


"Yeah yeah," Bucky snorted. Still, it bugged him that there probably wasn't anyone looking out for Steve.  Not the way he really needed.  "Anyway... sorry to hear that."  He hesitated for a moment, "Do you want me out of your hair?  I know we talked about getting back together this evening, but if you have work on your plate..."

"Actually," he said, reaching out and taking his hand, leaning in close.  "I was kind of hoping you'd stay over."  He pulled back, just enough to look directly into his eyes, knowing what he meant.  Steve wasn't in the mood to be coy, and he knew he might regret it later, but spending the night alone was the last thing he wanted.

Bucky's brows lifted, but he didn't pull away.  The brief kiss that morning had played over in Bucky's head throughout the day as he tried to decipher what it meant.  The answer seemed obvious, especially after the fooling around they had been doing in the car the day before.  Bucky just had had a hard time believing it.  But then maybe his luck was changing, and Steve might have been awkward around women back in the day, but he was never a coward.  

And with Steve... with Steve... Steve was always Bucky's weakness.  No matter if he was 95 pounds or 240.  Or now, apparently something in between.  Bucky wanted nothing more than to spend all the time he could with him... Without even thinking, his right hand slipped from its pocket and moved to cradle the back of his head.  "Don't think Phil will flip his shit?" he grinned, teasingly.

"I'm not worried about Phil," he said honestly.  "He knows when he's been dismissed."  He closed the distance between them, letting his lips brush against his own for just a moment.  "This way..." he purred, pulling back and walking towards the residence wing of the White House, peeking over his shoulder to make sure Bucky was following.  

Bucky didn't have to be asked twice.  His lips still tingled from the brush with Steve's and his tongue played over them as he followed after Steve taking on the air of a predator on the prowl. His steps were silent in their heavy boots, and there was a hungry gleam in his eyes as he enjoyed the viewpoint of Steve's backside in the well-fitted slacks.  

Steve led the way back to his bedroom - a truly impressive suite.  He closed the door quietly after Bucky stepped in, taking a breath.  He had been thinking about this all day, wanting the distraction, the human contact.  Project Insight was weighing heavily on his mind, and the arrival of Bucky and their kiss in the limo the day before had done nothing but accentuate how lonely he had been.

He hadn't felt a real connection, romantically, with another person since the death of his wife.  That wasn't to say there hadn't been a few regrettable indiscretions in the ten years since her departure; but between political campaigns and raising a child on his own, having a relationship wasn't in the cards for him.  He could barely look into the eyes of another woman without seeing Peggy's staring back at him - she would either remind him too much of his wife or he would find himself thinking she wasn't enough like her.  

But then Bucky had slammed back into his life; bringing a whole host of long-buried emotions with him.  The logical side of his brain knew this wasn't the same Bucky he knew; that Bucky had died in his arms so many years ago.  But everything else about him - he could feel it in soul.  This was Bucky.  Not the same Bucky, maybe, but nonetheless.  He had his eyes, his lips, his smile, his smell - even the cadence in his voice.  

Steve had long buried the feelings he had felt for his Bucky back in high school; but having his best friend back form the dead and in his arms was the happiest he had felt in a very long time.  And when he had found out that they have been lovers in whatever alternate reality that he hailed from - it was such a odd feeling.  Nostalgia and the excitement of something new, an unspoken promise of hope.

"I'm sorry if I'm being presumptuous," he said softly, a characteristic blush bleeding over his face.

Despite the lavish accommodations, Bucky's eyes never left Steve's.  "Naw... not at all."  God he missed Steve.  Through the war, being so close yet so far.  And since then, not allowing himself, not feeling like he deserved being back in his presence.  As if all the bad he had done would just tarnish Steve's good.  

Now... Bucky saw it for what it was.  He was punishing himself.  

"I've really missed you, Steve." Bucky said with a soft husk to his voice.  

"I've missed you, too."  He reached out and took Bucky's hands in his, pulling him closer.  "This isn't like me," he admitted, his breath hot on his ear as he leaned in.  "I know ... we haven't known each other very long, but..." he sighed, and pulled back enough to look him in the eyes again, "But at the same time, I feel like we've known each other our whole lives."

The hairs stood up along the back of Bucky's neck as Steve's breath fell on his ear.  He whet his lips, breathing in the familiar essence of Steve.  He closed his eyes , bringing his right hand up to tangle in his short, blond hair.  His smell, his presence, his voice... it was all Steve.  "We have." He answered, and it was only half-pretending.  He placed a kiss near his ear, and then another, a hair further along his jawline, starting a trail to his mouth.

Steve exhaled as Bucky put his lips on him, his breath shuddering.  He arched his neck, giving Bucky easier access to his throat.  There was a purr on his lips already, and he pressed his entire body against's Bucky's, feeling the hard muscles under his clothes.  His hands tentatively rested on the outside of his shoulders, then ran down his arms. "I've never..." he whispered, suddenly faced with the reality of where they both knew this was heading.

Bucky's kisses were growing increasingly needy as he moved over Steve's throat, working in a hungry nibble, and then back up to his mouth.  He held Steve tighter, and moaned through his kisses as he felt the solid, warm contact of Steve's whole body against his chest, his thighs... and his waking groin.  He hesitated, just for a moment, his mouth a breath away from Steve's, "You still want this...right?  Never known you to back down from a fight..." he chuckled.  

"Never," he said back with a grin and an impish glean in his eye.  He pressed his hips squarely against Bucky's and captured his mouth with his.  He let the kiss linger; deep and passionate.  When they finally broke for breath, his hands slipped down the the back of his jeans.  "Did your Steve ever ask you to teach him how to dance?  Because I did.... I was a horrible dancer.  But Bucky was one fine teacher."


Bucky's mouth quirked up as he rolled his hips a little against his hands, and then forward against his pelvis.  "Yeah actually.  You had two left feet, and my dance moves are probably a little different than the Bucky you knew... unless they still do the Lindy Hop here... but I managed to some how teach you a thing or two."  

"I'm a very good student," he purred.  His hands slid to Bucky's front, over his chest and under his jacket, sliding it over his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground.  He leaned forward and began to kiss along his collarbone and neck as his hands found the hem of his shirt, looking up to Bucky for permission.  

"Looks like I'm going to have to teach you a few new moves," Bucky smirked before his words gave way to a moan.  He didn't hesitate for a moment before nodding and lifting his arms, encouraging Steve to proceed.  

Steve pulled the shirt up over his head, letting his eyes settle on Bucky's chest.  Bucky was always handsome and in shape, but this Bucky was even bigger; his baggy clothes and jacket hiding just how well muscled and shaped his chest was.  He was surprised by how much of a positive reaction his body had upon seeing it, and his eyes were quickly dilating with desire.  He glanced up to lock eyes with him for just a moment, giving him an appreciative smile, before leaning forward and letting his lips explore the ridges of his chest, while his hands brushed over the washboard stomach.  

Bucky's chest and abdominals clenched and quivered as Steve touched them, the muscles rock-hard and radiating heat.  Bucky's right hand found its way back to grasp Steve's hair, guiding and encouraging him to continue.  His left hand, meanwhile, began to deftly work the buttons open on Steve's shirt - the bionic arm working through the precise movements with mechanical precision.  

As soon as his buttons were undone, Steve pulled back and eagerly pulled it off his body, throwing it aside onto the bed.  He kicked off his shoes and began to move backwards towards the bed, letting his finger's hook into the belt loops of Bucky's jeans, pulling him back with him.  When the back of his legs hit the mattress he let himself sit, putting his head in the perfect position to kiss along the ridges of his stomach, and his hands start to fumble with his fly.


Bucky's body ached with need, his growing erection outlined obviously in his jeans.  "Stevie, baby," He crooned, mind once again flashing back decades to the last time he had felt Steve's hands on him like this.  With a tongue sticking playfully out from between his lips, Bucky ran cold, metal fingers lightly over Steve's exposed back.  

Steve let out a breathy yelp at the cold finger, straightening up his back and letting out a nervous chuckle.  "Too fast?" he asked.

"Oh God no~!" Bucky breathed, jerking the hand back self-consciously and replacing it with his other one.  Looking down at him, flushed, his pupils dilated - he wanted to jump him and fuck him into the mattress until he was seeing stars...  but not as badly as he wanted to make this right.  Bucky hadn't been with Steve since before the war, and this Steve had never been with a man.  "Please... don't stop, baby doll..."

Steve nodded, happy to keep going.  His tongue dipped into his navel as he got the buttons and zipper undone on his jeans and began to tug at the denim, slipping his pants down off his hips.  He took a deep breath, pausing for a just a moment to hook his thumbs in the elastic waist of his briefs before pulling them down as well, putting him head to head with his erection, bouncing in front of him after freeing itself from his underwear.  He let out a breath, trying to shake off his nervousness.  He had never been with another man before, and admittedly being so close to another man, naked and fully aroused, was a tad bit intimidating.  

He allowed Bucky to kick off his shoes and step out of his pants, then tentatively reached up and grasped him by the base, leaning forward and giving him a test nuzzle, his blue eyes glancing up to lock with his as his tongue came out for an exploratory lick.  

Bucky's cock responded with a twitch as Bucky bit at his bottom lip with an encouraging nod and small thrust of his hips.  He pressed his fingertips against Steve's back, massaging and working up to his scalp.  Bucky was already starting to dribble precome, but he didn't want to rush Steve. It was exhilarating - watching him learning how to do this - just a tad shy, and a tad more awkward, but he could see the desire in his blue eyes.

Steve's face was flush, but he continued on, his tongue lathing over the head of his member.  He tongued the slit, letting the saltiness of his precome rest on his tongue.  It wasn't as bad as he had mentally prepared himself for: a bit heady but not wholly unpleasant.  He explored further, wrapping his lips around his whole head and giving him a suck, letting his cheeks hollow out around him while his tongue pressed on his underside.  Glancing up quickly to measure Bucky's approval, he let his lips slide further down, his fingers spreading out and grasping at his lover's hips while he started to bob his head.

"You are a fast learner.." Bucky gasped out.  He kept his hand on Steve's head, but was happy to let Steve make his own discoveries first - not rush him.  The little expressions he made as he tasted the brunette for the first time, the weight and girth of him in his mouth: it was making Bucky almost painfully hard.  And with just how long it had been for him, he knew he wasn't going to last very long this first go-round.  

Steve hummed, the expressions and sounds Bucky was making seemed to indicate that whatever he was doing was the right thing.  He took his time, being extra careful about his teeth and completely unfamiliar with what he was doing, but after several minutes he had a good rhythm down.  He couldn't take too much of Bucky's large cock in his mouth, but he let his hands and long, slender fingers reach anywhere his lips couldn't.  Every now and then he pulled back and lathed his tongue up and down the complete length of his shaft before putting his lips around the head again and continued his bobbing rhythm.      


Bucky bit down on his lip, trying to hold himself back as long as he could - waves of pleasure washing over him.  It was both familiar and different as Steve fell into a rhythm - it was him, but learning all over again how to take Bucky into his mouth, what he could do, what he liked.  But finally, Bucky's fingers tightened in Steve's hair and his breath caught in his throat as he eked out a warning, "Ohgod, Stevie... I'm gonna... I'm gonna-"

Steve wasn't quite sure if he could handle a full load into his mouth, so at Bucky's warning he pulled back, slowly with a long suck around his head, then brought his hands up to jerk him while he placed kisses and licks around his head, between rubbing his thumb over the tip.  He looked up to Bucky wantonly, opening his mouth and tonguing the underside of his head as an invitation, his hands sliding fast over his shaft; slick from his oral ministrations just moments before.

And then suddenly Bucky was tearing through that wall, spilling over into pure pleasure as his balls tightened and he came in a gush of moans, spilling streams of spunk.  It had been sooo fucking long, it was almost overpowering as Bucky's legs nearly buckled and his mind was lost to pure pleasure.  Finally, the crash of the orgasm faded into waves of tingles as his whole body went into hyper-sensitivity mode.  

Steve caught a decent amount of Bucky on his tongue, the rest roping over his face and chest.  He swallowed what landed in his mouth, not particularly caring for the taste but the erotism of it all made it bearable.  He looked up at Bucky with heavy-lidded affection.

A gasp, two, as Bucky leaned forward, resting his arm over Steve's shoulders before planting grateful kisses on his forehead, "You were so..." around his jawline, "Fucking ..."  and back towards his mouth, "good at that!"

Steve knew Bucky could taste himself on Steve's lips as he kissed back; self-conscious at first, but deepening the kiss as Bucky didn't seem to mind; after all this wasn't as new to him as it was for Steve.  He scooted back on the bed, pulling Bucky with him, settling down with the brunet hovering over him.  He fumbled for his shirt, using it to hastily wipe his face before pulling Bucky into another kiss, lifting his hips so Bucky could feel himself under his slacks.

Bucky murmured as he felt Steve's need press against him, and he ground his hips back against him in an encouraging response.  Just the thin trouser material separated them, and Bucky was already growing aroused again at the idea that he and he alone had gotten Steve so hard.  Another credit to his enhanced stamina that Bucky had never considered before: he had next to no refractory period.  

He supported himself on his mechanical hand as his other hand trailed down Steve's side, finally hooking a thumb in his waist band and following it around to the front.  He lifted his hips enough to get his hand in and cup Steve, rubbing him a little through the cloth.  "I'm going to make you feel so good, baby." Bucky husked into his ear.

Steve moaned in response, having grown rock hard while pleasuring Bucky.  It had been so very long since someone had touched him there, and he pressed his hips into his hands.  The sound of Bucky's voice in his ear was just as arousing as his touch.  He trusted Bucky implicitly at this point, him having spent the day with his son and getting regular progress reports from Coulson on their activities.  Needless to say, he passed the test - if he could trust Bucky with his son then there was nothing he could to do to his body that would be a deal breaker.  This was the man who had been 'his' lover in another life, and he probably knew more about what turned him on than he did.

Bucky's hand continued to knead gently at Steve over the clothing, teasing him further, and Bucky's whisperings in his ear became nibbles and licks.  Only after he could feel the throbs through his clothing did he undo the fly of the pants.  He unzipped him enough to reach inside and give him a squeeze before tugging Steve's pants and briefs down over his hips.

Bucky was driving Steve crazy with all his teasing touches.  He released a shuddering breath of relief when Bucky finally unzipped him.  Steve hurriedly kicked his pants away, falling back to the bed completely nude.

"Buck those beautiful hips for me again," He urged between kisses on his ear.  

Steve was happy to oblige, lifting his hips off the bed and feeling his erection rub against Bucky's own cock, already well on its way to being fully erect again.  He gasped, feeling Bucky's hot skin against his most sensitive places.  

Bucky's hand wrapped around the two of them, squeezing them against each other as he began to slowly rub up and down their shafts.  Bucky's cock was still slick, and he worked his hand around them, twisting at the wrist to spread it over Steve's as well.  Within just a couple of strokes, Bucky had hardened again to full attention and was adding in small thrusts between the strokes.  He wanted Steve's body to be begging for it before he moved on.  

Bucky sealed his lips over Steve's mouth, drinking in his gasps, savoring his needy whines, and murmured back his wordless response into his mouth.

Steve hips quickly found a rhythm in time with Bucky's, his skin beginning to gloss over with a fine sheen of sweat as his body temperature kept rising.  His hands ran up his lover's sides, feeling each flex of his muscles and dipping into each curve and angle.  "Feels so good," he murmured hungrily into his mouth, his hand coming up to tangle in his dark hair.    

"Just wait" Bucky breathed back as he slid his hand back down towards the base of their shafts, giving it one more squeeze  -a promise of more.  Then, keeping his grip, he maneuvered his pinkie to press lightly against Steve's pucker before starting to make small circles with it.  

He threw his head back with a groan, his cock twitching as Bucky touched him.  He licked his lips, his breath coming in hot pants as his hands grasped at Bucky's muscular arms.  As his fingers played with him, he let his own right hand began to slide over the cool metal of his left; fingers running over the grooves.

Slick with their own juices, Bucky's finger started to move more quickly, pressing just a little harder against Steve.  Then, with another insistent press of his hips, sandwiching their cocks together, Bucky slid his hand down, letting his index finger take over, giving more attention to Steve's slowly loosening hole.  "I remember you really liked it when you let me lead," Bucky exhaled into Steve, "What do you think, Mr. President?" He smiled into their kisses.

"God Bless...." he choked out, his hands clutching and flexing.  "God, I want you, Bucky..." he moaned, his hips continuing to buck against him, silently begging for more.

In one fluid movement, Bucky arched his back and slid down, breaking the heavy kissing and bringing his lips to Steve's navel.  He kept circling with his finger as he placed a kiss into Steve's abdomen, then ran his tongue down the length of Steve's shaft.  He gave one sucking kiss - pulling the skin of his scrotum into his mouth before finally he swapped his hand with his lips.  Steve could feel Bucky's hot breath underneath, "Just a little more rehearsal before the ball, Baby Doll."  The tip of his tongue flicked out, licking a small circle over the area his finger had been moving.  

"Oh, fuck..." he gasped, his eyes rolling back into his head as Bucky began to eat him out.  His hips jerked like some kind of horny teenager as he lifted his legs to grant him better access, grasping his knees to hold them up.  "Jesus, Bucky..."     

As Bucky's tongue worked into him, moistening the sensitive walls just inside, he brought his right hand back up to Steve's shaft, making sure to keep Steve hard and aching for it, encouraging him to loosen up.  His own cock hung hard and heavy between his thighs, a constant reminder of just how badly he wanted to take Steve... but the wait was intoxicating, and he wanted this to be just right... wanted to make sure Steve was completely ready for him and needing it as badly as he did.

Steve had to let go of one of his legs to bite down on his fist to keep from crying out.  He knew he had his privacy tonight, but he didn't want James or Coulson to be...alarmed.  His head rolled side to side as Bucky worked him over.  "I'm not going to make it much longer," he moaned, his other hand coming down to grasp at the bedsheets.  "Bucky..fuck..."

Bucky's tongue lathed from side to side and then in tight circles before he began to press in as deep as his tongue allowed.  Then, he spread his tongue wide as he pulled it back out.  Once, twice, feeling Steve twitch and convulse around him.  Steve was on the cusp - and he could feel him throbbing hard in his hand to confirm his warning.  Perfect.  Bucky released him, letting his cock fall heavily onto his abdomen before it was too late.  Slowly, he withdrew his tongue once more and lifted his head, his mouth falling open into a proud smile as he saw just how wrecked Steve's expression was.  Saw how open and quivering he was.  "You have anything... ah... condom?  Slick?" Bucky asked, wiping at his mouth, wishing he had thought to do so earlier.  But he could tell Steve was past the point of no return - a few moments delay, he hoped, would only make the anticipation sweeter.  


"Oh fuck," Steve said, his chest rising and falling as he gasped for air.  A splotchy red flush was spread over his skin from his face and over his chest.  One of his arms was draped over his eyes and he just lay there for a moment, letting the world coalesce around him enough to put two rational thoughts together.

"Yeah, uhm, somewhere..." he reluctantly swung his legs off the bed, his cock throbbing on the verge of pain.  "One sec..." he rushed off to the bathroom, and Bucky could hear the sound of several cabinets being opened and closed as things were shuffled around.

"Sorry," he said, coming back over, looking rather pleased with himself.  "Needless to say, I don't, uhm, need these that often.  But I checked, they aren't expired or anything," he said as he passed Bucky a bottle of KY and a foil wrapped condom.    

"It's fine," he answered, wasted no time tearing open the little packet and working the sleeve on over his aching dick.  

He squirted a dollop of the viscous jelly into his palm, stroking it over his wrapped shaft before leaning back in to where Steve had lain back down.  Kissing up and down his shaft enough to make sure he kept the exquisite tension, he brought his still-slick hand up and tenderly rubbed some of the KY over his still-mostly-open hole.  "Just let me know, baby," He whispered, breath hot on his cock, "You still ready for me?" He asked after about a minute of trying to reclaim lost ground.  

"Please," he whispered breathily, squirming under his touch.  He was bucking into his fingers, hissing between his teeth each time one of Bucky's fingers slipped inside him, driving him wild.  He hadn't lost much momentum at all, save for his virgin tight asshole that needed just a bit of encouraging.  But he was already relaxing into Bucky's hand, opening up for him as he jutted his hips.   


"Well, since ya said please," Bucky smiled, planting one final kiss right on Steve's purpling tip before he drew himself back up.  His motions were deliberate, muscles flexing and arm whirring as he crawled back up over Steve, poised right above him, yet not touching him - all of his weight in his arms.  His eyes gleamed predatorily as he licked his lips and surveyed Steve's lithe, tightly muscled build - more like a swimmer than a body builder, but no matter how Steve looked, he was always Bucky's type.  

 "All right, baby, here we go."  Bucky didn't think he could hold off any longer if he tried.  He guided his own cock into Steve, the tip stretching him open even further so that the tissue burned just a little.

"Bucky ~ " Steve gasped out, then hissed a bit through his teeth.  "Ah..."  It was intense, for sure, but after a moment he took a few good breaths his body began to relax around him.  Sweat beaded on his forehead as his eyes darted down between them, then straight up to look at Bucky.  He gave a little nod, indicating he was ready for more.

"You're doing so good..." Bucky gasped as he felt Steve relax and allow him to push a little further in.  He went slow, sliding evenly, knowing and savoring that he was the first one to go inside this world's Steve.  He needed to break ground before he could really get into things, but watching Steve's expressions of surprised-at-how-much-he-was-enjoying-this was exhilarating.

"Oh my Gooooooood....." he moaned out in a long, guttural, nearly incoherent way.   His eyes would shut, then flutter open when Bucky quit moving, loving to see the look in his eyes - the way he was so carefully watching Steve to make sure he wasn't rushing.  His body was rapidly getting used to having Bucky inside him, but it was still incredibly intense.  Kind of weird, a bit painful... but still somehow so erotic it made him want to just surrender everything he had.  

Bucky was big, bigger than he had been last time he was with Steve - but then, this Steve was larger, too, and in better shape than his pre-war counterpart.  "You're so tight," He praised with a throaty voice.  And he felt so damn good.  

When Bucky's cock brushed against his prostrate, Steve'e hips jerked involuntarily, causing him to go deeper suddenly and Steve almost lost it right then and there.  "OH ffffuuck, Bucky!"

"Ahyes - there ya are!" Bucky crooned as he backed out just enough to brush up against it again, driving the spot again.  Seeing Steve fall open, murmuring and whimpering and his words tangling up in themselves was almost enough to do him in, all the same.  There was such a  physicality to his movements - each roll of his torso, each thrust of his hips was perfectly controlled.  He could do exactly what he wanted to with his own body - and that fact alone gave Bucky a triumphant rush.  No one else was telling him what to do - he had full control of himself, of the situation, and how much pleasure he was bringing Steve.  

Steve was quickly losing coherency.  His arms fell off of his body and landed above his head and his knees went slack, spreading out to either side of Bucky as he continued to thrust into him.  He was seeing stars each time his pounded into him, his words slurring into a constant string of half formed moans and gasps.  

"Mmm, Bucky, omigahd, bUck yes... fuck fuck, jesus, Bucky, love you miss you yes please, buckeeeee"

Bucky dipped his torso lower, muscles flexing as he brushed it against Steve's - hot sweaty skin rubbing against his own smooth, hard torso.  

"Buckyahmcoming...." he gasped out, his hands suddenly clamping onto Bucky's back, causing his short nails to scrape over his skin.

"Come for me, Stevie baby!" Bucky goaded, biting his lip hard.  The slight discomfort of Steve's raking nails only served to make his pleasure that much more acute.  He was so close himself, and watching Steve lose himself in the pleasure was like catnip to him.  

He could feel Steve  throbbing beneath him and he arched his back dipping back down once more, nearly sliding his cock out - only to press smoothly but powerfully forward in a full body thrust, dragging his abdomen along Steve's erection as he drove his own deep into Steve, brushing into his prostate again.

Steve tumbled over the edge, his eyes rolling up into his head as his hips jerks ragged and uncontrolled.  His body tensed and shuddered, his cock spurting ropes of cum between to the two of them, hot and sticky between their stomachs as Steve bit hard on the flesh of his own arm to keep from screaming.    

And that was it, the quivering convulsions sent Bucky crashing after him, gasping out in a strangled and barely-stifled moan, as he came for the second time.  This time, it was like riding cresting waves, more intimate, buried deep in Steve.  It wasn't the mind-blanking release of years stacked upon years of repression like earlier - he experienced it fully, breathing and riding through it until his body finally relaxed, his muscles going loose, and letting himself fall across Steve's chest.  He was a heavy weight, no longer supporting himself on his arms, but Steve could feel each breath that he pulled into his lungs, each heartbeat.   

Steve hadn't fully come back down to earth, but his lips sought Bucky's immediately, needing to feel him; taste him.  As his consciousness slowly came back to him, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders and clung to him, wanting every inch of his body in contact.  "Bucky...bucky..." he breathed, his lips trailing down his face as his arms slid over his back affectionately.  "Bucky that was amazing...god, Bucky... I love you...I've always loved you, I've missed you so much..." his cries were rapidly falling into sobs, his head burying itself into the crook of his neck.

Bucky took Steve into his own arms, rolling with him so that they lay side by side, cradling him and squeezing him tightly - not wanting to lose him yet again. "God, Steve... you're a marvel." his voice was choked as he heard and felt Steve unraveling, "I... I love you, too.  I've loved you just about all my life.  I was so scared ta lose you so many times... I don't want to lose you again."  The last part was barely a whisper.  Something forbidden.  He couldn't stay... right?  Or could he?  What if there was no way back - there was no machine here.... 

He shut the thoughts away, forcing himself back into the present.  Steve was here now - in his arms.  "Can I stay...?" He asked gently, stroking Steve's sweat-soaked hair.

"Of course you can," he breathed onto his skin, not making any moves to let him go.  "Please, stay forever if you want." 

Chapter Text

It was still dark out when Steve's phone began to ring, and it took several minutes before Steve could even pull himself out of his slumber to notice.  He wanted to ignore it so bad, but only a small handful of people had his personal number, so if his phone was ringing then something was up.  

The memories of last night floated back to him as he tried to roll over, but then realized his limbs were tangled with Bucky's, spooning him from behind.  He gave a lazy smile, kissing his neck gently as an apology as he wedged his arm out form under his head and then moved to grab his insistent phone, letting out an involuntary gasp and some long-underused muscles protested against the sudden movement.  

The sudden noise and movement woke Bucky from what had been the soundest, nightmare-less sleep he had had in years. He tensed only briefly when Steve shifted around him, but his awareness flooded back to him almost instantaneously, and his body relaxed only a moment later as he gained his bearings.  A wide smile pulled its way across his face and he nudged Steve, "Can't get a good night's sleep without something threatenin' the safety of the free world, huh?" He teased.

"Apparently not," he answered, his voice thick and husky from just waking up.  He squeezed his hand quickly before reaching over and fumbling with his phone, the fog lifting out of his head rather quickly when he saw it was Tony on the other line.  "Hello, Tony?" his voice was already rife with apprehension.  

"Good Morning, America!" Tony's voice was annoyingly chipper for the ungodly hour.  It was obvious he hadn't slept, but also that that sure as hell wasn't slowing him down.  Tony was probably more coffee than man.  "I figured it was late enough to ring up El Presidente.  You were up right?  Doesn't matter, guess you are now.  I've been studying the samples, and let me tell you, it's fascinating.  I could fuel research for the next decade with just some of the contents of that blood sample."  

Bucky didn't move from his position on the bed, but a frown tugged at his mouth as he eavesdropped, having no trouble clearly hearing the other voice through the phone.

Steve just blinked, still trying to shake off his slumber.  He sat up in his bed, leaning against the headboard.  "How long have you been awake, Tony?"

"Pssh, I don't know, doesn't matter. I can sleep later.  I may not have forever to study these samples, and that's kind of why I'm calling.  And not sleeping.  But yes - I've made some progress.  Wasn't easy, but then again, if it was you wouldn't have needed to contact me.  It took me long enough - not just because cellular biology is not my field - I can work past that - but because it's not like you brought me samples without variables to begin with.  Having to differentiate between everything going on in that man's blood samples - figure out what's supposed to be there, what's not... God Steve - do you even understand - some of the hormone levels are off the charts, the DNA has been altered, metabolic rates are jacked up - there are anomalies throughout the cellular structure.  But I don't think any of that is even what we were looking for-"

Steve rubbed his face, the scientific jargon hard to enough to follow without also being newly roused and without caffeine.  "Okay, so what are we looking for?" he asked, trying not to sound as irritable as he felt.   

"That's what I was just going to say!" Tony huffed, sounding a little irritated that Steve didn't think that his discoveries were as amazing as he did.  "Anyway - that's the thing - if you take Barnes' story for fact, it wasn't just his organic tissue that traveled, it was the arm, too - inorganic, you see?  So I was able to compare the scan of the compound analysis to the blood sample to look for similarities and that's when I was able to isolate the common factor - there's a low level but complete molecular permeation of an unknown radioactive material.  Every blood cell and every molecule of the metal in that arm - is carrying the signature."

Steve cast a glance over to Bucky, hating that he was having trouble following Tony's technobabble.  "Okay, so both his blood and arm have this...'signature' on them.  That means that me some kind of a residual ...something...from his, uh... reality?"

Bucky shrugged helplessly, laying on his stomach and watching Steve with his chin on his arms, only catching about one word in three of the jargon himself.

"Not unless his entire world is radioactively charged. Which - huh - I hadn't thought about that - but you told me he was caught in some kind of explosion?  That would do it.  Maybe.  Don't worry, though - it doesn't seem to be causing any kind of tissue degradation - amazingly - and all the tests I've done are showing that it isn't contaminating other materials it's been in contact with.  Anyway: the relevance!  If this is a product of what sent him here - and it's radioactive - it has a half life!"  Tony exclaimed, as if this were some kind of obvious answer.

The silence on the other end of the line seemed to indicate otherwise. 


"Don't you understand?" Tony exasperated, "It has a half-life, so that means it's decaying at a predictable rate.  It's argh - layman's terms, layman's terms.  It's like a biochemical countdown. I can extrapolate precisely how long it's going to take for the energy signature to leave his system entirely."

Steve was feeling more awake now, his eyes casting over to Bucky.  Even in the midst of all this, he found his breath hitching just looking at him.  Sunlight was finally starting to trickle into the room, and Bucky was laying beside him, his metal arm glinting in the light and his body exposed to the room - naked and only covered form the waist down by the tangle of blankets.  "But what happens when the energy system leaves his system?" he asked hesitantly.  


For once, Tony's voice hesitated, "I... I can't predict that.  It's weird, though, it's not decaying into another element, it's just entirely leaving the sample.  But I can't know for certain until it happens to my sample.  I mean, I can compare the levels between when I took the reading from the arm, and the active blood samples I have and give you an accurate timeframe.  It's going to be...." There was a moment's pause, "...forty nine hours, thirty seven minutes, and... 12 seconds.  Until all of the traces are gone.  But then?  I can make some guesses... but they wouldn't be much more than that."

"Well, would they be educated guesses?"

"All of my guesses are educated guesses." Tony sniffed.  "Well, nothing, for one.  But barring that, he could either return to the depths from whence he came.  Or, well, be transported somewhere else entirely.  Explode?  We really have no way of knowing."

"Explode?" Steve was very awake now, back stiffening straight as a board.

Bucky eyes darkened as he frowned and shifted to a sitting position.  Great.  Just fucking great.  His stomach squirmed as suddenly he felt robbed of any kind of choice in the matter of what was going to happen to him.  And on top of that, he didn't even know what was going to happen.  He grunted audibly.  Fuck his life.          

"That would probably be the ... least likely of the possibilities, but we're dealing with wholly unknown molecular properties here."  

"How unlikely?" Bucky finally piped up.

"Is the Terminator there with you?!" Tony's incredulous voice asked.  "It's four-thirty in the..." His question trailed off into a baffled laugh as he put two and two together.  

Steve rolled his eyes and gave an audible sigh.  "You said forty nine hours?"  He frowned and looked back over to Bucky, feeling his chest tighten up.  

Bucky's frown deepened as his right hand strayed to grab Steve's free hand, clutching it tightly.  

"...yeah.  Forty nine hours, and about thirty five minutes now.." Tony rebuked, surprise still in his voice.  "Never would have guessed, Rogers." he added.  

"It's stars and stripes, Tony, equality for all and all that" he said, having a  hard time keeping the grin out of his voice.  A blush was creeping over his face, but Tony was one of his closest friends and even if Steve had decided to go public with his relationship with Bucky (or 'Sebastian' or whatever), Tony would have been one of the first people he told anyway.  "Look, I really appreciate you letting me know, and I appreciate all the work you've done.  If I can ever repay you, just say the word."

"Yeah yeah," Tony said dismissively, deliberately not allowing sentiment creep into his voice, "According to my records, I still owe you, anyway.  Besides, the way I see it, you've done me a favor here more than the other way around.  Between the schematics on the arm and the unusual-to-say-the-least properties of the blood samples, Christmas came really early this year." 

There was a pause, "Seriously, though, let me know if you need anything else.  I'll keep going on my end, but I don't know if I'm going to be able to get any more data on the radioactive properties until time's up."

Steve interlaced his fingers with Bucky's.  "In theory, Tony... could you stop it?"

There was a draw of breath on the other line and some murmuring, "That's a Nobel Prize question, Steve.  Some of the best minds in the business have already looked into it - but no one's ever been able to figure out a way to stop radioactive decay.  If they could, they would've been able to nullify the dangerous properties of nuclear waste.  It's impervious to chemical and temperature changes.  Even I would probably need a hell of a lot longer than two days to tackle a problem like that."

The sadness in the silence was palatable.  "Right," Steve finally said, sounding disappointed but not surprised.  "Thanks, Tony.  Keep in touch."

He tapped his phone off and set it back on the bedside table, looking over to Bucky.

Bucky sighed, running his free hand through his bed-mussed hair and returned Steve's look with a hesitant frown.  He didn't know what he had been expecting, but not some kind of damn timer.  Gun to his head, he didn't know what he would have chosen had be been given the choice of staying or going back, but to have it taken from his hands completely was infuriating.  "I'm sorry," He said lamely, squeezing Steve's hand.

Steve shifted in the bed, snuggling up close to Bucky and enjoying being able to put his arms around him.  He peppered a few kisses down his neck and shoulders.  "I didn't want it to end so soon," he confessed with a hot breath against his skin.

Bucky shook his head against Steve's, shivering a little at the delicate touches, "Me neither," He confessed.  "I mean... like he said... we don't know what's gonna happen... we just don't have a fucking choice when or if it does."  He frowned.  Deep in his gut, he didn't want to turn his back on this.  Leave Steve alone.  But no matter what he would have chosen, he was going to be leaving Steve alone - this one... or the one back home.  It wasn't fucking fair.

"It was selfish of me to think I could keep you," he said, burying his face into the crook of his neck, one of his favorite places where Bucky's soft neck dipped and curved into the impressive hardness of his traps and delts.  "I know you're probably eager to go home, find your real Steve," he confessed, latching onto the idea that that is what would happen - he didn't want to consider the other possibilities.    

Bucky's words failed for a few minutes as he cradled Steve in his arms.  Even if this wasn't the Steve he had grown up with, he was still Steve.  Nothing was going to convince him otherwise.  "You are real." He finally said, "You're him.  He's you.  Different versions, but I know you're him.  I don't know how, but I can just feel it." His voice was heavy and hoarse, but Bucky's mouth was so close to Steve's ear.  

"Just promise me, when you get back to your world that you find me.  Make things right," he looked up into his eyes, his blue eyes steeled and serious.  "Or even if you end up somewhere else, find me.  I don't know how to explain it... but I never feel the same as when I'm with you.  Losing you is like losing..." he stopped as his eyes dropped down to the metal arm on his left side, "...a part of me."

Dammit, why'd Steve have to turn those eyes on him.  Bucky's chest clenched and his lips tightened, but he couldn't keep his eyes from starting to moisten.  Steve had always been his center - his anchor.  He felt so adrift and lost without him.  He was right - when he wasn't around Steve, he was never quite himself.  Never whole.  "I promise, Steve," He said seriously.  "If I go.  If not, then you are going to have a hard time getting rid of me."  He tried to joke, but the smile fell flat. "Please, though, if I do... don't go another ten years without letting yourself move on.  You deserve better than that.  So does James."

Steve had to rub his face with his hand to keep from crying himself, especially bring James into the conversation felt like a punch to the gut.  He knew he was right.  "I promise," he said, taking a deep breath.  He looked out the window of his bedroom, knowing morning was coming faster than he would have liked.  Unfortunately the world didn't stop just because Steve wanted it to.  "I should get up, see what I can do about personal time.  I want to spend as much of those forty nine hours with you as I can.  Just in case."   

"I'd like that." Bucky forced a smile and slid out of bed before Steve turned him into an emotional mess, too.  He stooped down and began collecting his strewn articles of clothing.  "I should probably use at least some of that time for a shower, though," Bucky smirked as he turned back to Steve with an arm full of clothes.  

"Mind company?" he asked, already finding his body reacting to watching Bucky shuffle naked around the room.  He slipped out the bed as well, prowling over to him and planting a quick kiss on his lips before heading towards the shower, leering over his shoulder to make sure Bucky was following.

It was quite a while later when Steve and Bucky made their way out of the bathroom, towels wrapped around their hips, and still unable to fully keep their hands off each other.  Steve was reaching to take his towel off and snap Bucky with it when his eyes caught sight of someone in the room, standing by the door.

"Coulson!

Bucky couldn't help but flash the secret serviceman a smug grin as he walked out of the bathroom.  There was no shame in his expression or the way he prowled across the room.  

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, motioning to a suit that was laid out on the  now made bed.  "Your chief of staff asked me to check on you."  He let his eyes dart over to Bucky for a moment, his expression neutral, but Bucky noticed his eyes lingering momentarily on his intricate metal arm and the series of scars that attached it to his shoulder joint.

Steve was blushing from head to toe.  "Ah, right,"  He shot Bucky an apologetic look.  

"I'll be waiting outside," Coulson said with a nod, and slipped out.

"I'm so sorry about that," Steve said, reaching for his suit.

Bucky shook his head with a shrug, "It doesn't bother me.  You don't have to apologize for my sake.  Sides... something tells me he already had figured things out.  He ain't going to give you hell about this though, is he?  If he's head of your security you trust him, right?"



Bucky's eyes went from Steve's crisp suit to the pile of clothes that still smelled vaguely of Coney Island.

"I trust him with my life, literally.  He'll be fine," he said with a calming breath, knowing Bucky was right.  He caught Bucky's eyeline and motioned towards his closet.  "Uhm, I don't think I have anything that would fit, but if you wanna dig around in my dressing room and see if you can find something, help yourself."

Bucky nodded, "Good."  He paused for a moment before giving his ass a quick squeeze through the towel, "Then you've got nothing to worry about."  He winked and headed towards the closet.  As he disappeared through the door, his voice carried back out to him, "Christ, Steve, there's more clothes in here than at a tailor's."  

"Perks of the job, I guess," he admitted as he pulled on his suit.  The press didn't like seeing the President in the same suit more than once, which he thought was silly considering they all basically looked the same to him.  He was adjusting his tie in front of the full length mirror when Bucky emerged.  

He had done the best he could with what was available, but the blue button-up collared shirt and dark slacks were still obviously at least a size or two too small on Bucky's muscular frame.  He'd left the top couple buttons undone on the shirt and the combat boots he wore looked out of place, but at least helped disguise the fact that the pants were on the short side.  He looked down at himself dubiously with a shake of his head, "I feel like I'm going to burst these seams if I move wrong."  

Steve gave him a appreciative look from the mirror.  "Well, at least you'd look good doing it," he said.  "I'll get a driver to take you anywhere you need to go.  Maybe we can meet up for lunch?  That should give me a few hours to try and clear my schedule."

Bucky shrugged, "Ah, sure..." Bucky had no idea what he was going to do to kill time. Maybe get some clean clothes that fit. "I mean, I don't mind hanging around, but I get it if I need to be scarce for a while till you're in the clear."  He fished out his left glove from the pile of clothes and slipped it on over his exposed metal hand.    

"The Service gets anxious with loiterers," he said with an apologetic smile, and slipped a credit card out of his wallet.  "Take care of yourself, get whatever you need, and I'll see you this afternoon."  He walked over, kissing him affectionately on the lips, letting it linger.

Steve and Bucky made their way downstairs, towards the Rose Garden where their cars would be waiting.  Coulson followed silently behind, talking calmly into his ear piece, coordinating the transportation arrangements.

The stepped outside into the early morning sun, and for Bucky, the next few seconds could have been years.  Something was off from the moment they stepped out, and somewhere deep in his brain, warning triggers went off.  Everything was going in slow motion, but the hairs on the back of Bucky's neck were standing on end when he heard the distant pop, barely audible over the normal  hum of daily activity.

Then, before any human could have reacted, a soft thudding sound reached his ears.  The feel of hot blood splashed against his face. Beside him, Steve body jerked; the smell of blood and gunpowder filling the air between them as the black suited men all around him began to shout.

The President had been shot.

Chapter Text

Time seemed to slow down for Bucky as finely honed instincts activated, calculating the trajectory that the shot had taken and reacting impossibly quickly.  His body was already in motion when the bullet hit.  Before Steve's knees even began to buckle, the Soldier interposed himself between the president and the point of origin.  In less than the space of a heartbeat after the dull thud, Steve was still wavering on his feet and a second and third shot rang out.  This time, however, Bucky was in control of the situation.  His metal arm snapped up.  Two loud CLANGs rang out as the sleeve of the blue shirt was ripped open and the slugs deflected harmlessly off of the cyberarm.  

Then, time seemed to catch up as the air first went dead silent, and then coalesced into chaos and shouts.  President Rogers fell heavily onto the lawn behind him as the secret service swarmed him, shouting commands into earpieces.  But no more shots fired.  Only then did the Soldier allow himself to turn, stomach clenched, to access the president- Steve's - condition.  He knew he needed to pursue the attacker before it was too late - but he couldn't - not yet.  Not before he knew if Steve were alive or... he couldn't finish that thought.

A stain of red was blossoming over his shirt from his left shoulder.  It had missed his heart by inches.  Potentially life-threatening, but not a kill-shot   But the Soldier knew that the second and third shots would have finished the job, hitting the mark.  But now Steve was down; he was covered by the secret service who were still scrambling to control the situation.  There was nothing he could do here.  He could allow himself to feel later.  Now, he had to move.  

The soldier's eyes were steel as they scoured across the lawn - to the other side of Lafayette Square.  The shooter wasn't visible - not even with his acute vision.  The sniper must have taken the shots from some distance.  But there never was a better assassin than The Winter Soldier - he saw the shots.  He knew where they had to have come from.  He was already in motion.

Without so much as a word to the servicemen he set off at a dead run across the lawn.  

As much as he hated Hydra for what they had used him for, no one could deny that The Winter Soldier was the perfect weapon.  He ran impossibly fast, crossing the South Lawn in moments.  He cleared the fences without slowing down.  Already, he was counting the moments in his head.  How long it would take to break down a sniper rifle of the caliber it would have required to make a shot from that distance and angle.  The time the shooter would need to exit a building from the story he must have been on.  What he was going to do to the sniper when he had his hands on him.

Morning traffic was crowding the streets and the Soldier didn't think twice before jumping on top of a sedan as it crossed rather than waiting for an opening.  Heavy combat boots landed audibly on the roof - but a moment later he was vaulting off of it, landing hard but not slowing down for a fraction of a second as his feet hit pavement.  There was one building in the right spot, with the right elevation and angle to have taken the shot.  He could envision the spot he would have set up - the roof of the building.  There was a parapet that would have provided the perfect cover and stabilization for the rifle.

As he moved, he scanned the facade - assessing egress points and possible getaway vehicles - and of course looking for suspicious figures exiting the building.  The sniper wouldn't abandon the weapon - one that could manage the shot he took could be a six figure piece of equipment.  And it wouldn't be small, even folded up.

A man exited the target building, dressed in black jeans and a black turtleneck.  The Soldier could easily see the lines in his contour, indicating he was armed - heavily.  A pistol in his belt holster, a heavy-duty knife strapped to his shin under his pants.  And, he was carrying a black bag, most likely carrying the murder weapon.  He was slipping on sunglasses as he stepped outside, deliberately keeping his movements nonchalant.  

Target locked.  There was no question in the Soldier's mind that this was the man he was after.  He had the focus and insight that had been trained into him as the Winter Soldier to allow him to immediately assess a scene, but unlike his days as the Asset, something else boiled through his veins now: rage.  

He didn't slow down for an instant; quite the opposite: he drove forward at a breakneck sprint straight for the shooter.  Stealth was not an option here; neither was incapacitation from a distance: he was unarmed.  His best tactic here was to intercept before the target had much chance to react.  

By the time the man even noticed someone was coming for him, it was too late.  He was reaching for his gun when the Soldier slammed into him, falling backwards back into the building, breaking the door in the fall.  The man was strong and fast, struggling against his assailant with highly trained efficiency; yet he was no match for the supersoldier.  

His gun clattered to the ground as they fell, and he brought his knee sharply into Bucky's kidney.

Bucky let out a grunt - but it was more out of anger than pain.  The blow to his kidney barely phased him.  His heart was racing in his chest and he breathed through gritted teeth.  He wanted to grab him by the throat, crush his windpipe with his metal arm.  But Bucky knew that an assassin was rarely the one orchestrating a hit.  He needed him alive.

That didn't mean he couldn't hurt him for what he did, though.

"You bastard!"  he screamed as he pressed the man's shoulder hard into the floor with his left hand and drove a fist into the side of his face, sending his sunglasses scattering across the floor.

The man's long face cracked under the punch, blood and saliva splattering on the floor.  He gritted his teeth and whipped his head back to glare into the eyes of his attacker.  He finally got a good look and his eyes went wide.  He had seen this man deflect the bullets with his own arm somehow, and now he was already here.  "What the hell are you?" he growled.

Bucky was reeling back for a second blow when his arm hung in the air and his eyes narrowed in recognition.  "Rumlow," he seethed, his metal grip tightening on the man's shoulder.  Several thoughts flashed through his rapidly-firing mind.  He wanted to tear him apart.  The things this man had done - stood by, supported... In his terror tour against Hydra - he hadn't been able to find Rumlow.  This wasn't that Rumlow, but he sure looked a hell of a lot like him and it would feel really fucking good to drive that smug bastard's face through the tile floor.  But this version of him had just shot Steve.  If Rumlow had executed the hit, Bucky knew, he knew in his gut that somehow this Pierce had had to have something to do with it.  And as much as he wanted to tear revenge out of his hide, he needed proof that the real threat was still at large.  

He leaned forward, knees digging into the man's chest as his right fist tightened again, "I'm the Winter Soldier."  

"Who the fuck is the Winter Soldier?!  How do you know my name?!  Who sent you?" he gasped between sharp breaths of pain.  "Fucking dammit," he said, a bitter resignation.  Despite everything, Rumlow had to smile and shake his head.  "Pierce sent you here to kill me.  That smug lying bastard!"

Bucky was almost relieved to hear him have no clue who he was - he didn't exist here.  No poor bastard had that mantle.  He heard the confirmation he needed.  He just... really wished he had some kid of recording device.  

He grit his teeth, eyes flashing in indecision.  He could finish it here.  Kill Rumlow, and then go after Pierce.  Do what he never had the opportunity to do back home.  But if he did, not only would no one believe his justification, but if anyone else were connected to this who could still see the plan through after Bucky's timer ran out, it could be disastrous.  

Bucky had spent the last three years tearing his revenge out of the remaining Hydra cells.  But he had only started to move on when he had found Steve again.  If he wanted to solve this - help fix things here - assuming Steve were even still alive - he needed to at least try to bring this rotten bastard back alive.  Besides, if he killed Pierce without proof... he wouldn't be able to see Steve again before his time was up.  If it went bad anyway, or if Steve was.... if Steve wasn't okay, he could still go after Pierce.

"I don't work for Pierce." his voice was pure hatred.  Not anymore  Never again.  He drove his fist, hard, into his jaw.  Rumlow's head snapped to the side, and his body went limp.  

Bucky was shaking as he stood up, dragging Rumlow up with him.  It would be so easy, still, to finish it now.  So easy.  

Instead, he stripped him of his weapons, reflexively tucking a knife into his boot and the gun into the waistband of his pants.  Only now did he notice that most of the buttons had popped open on his borrowed shirt, and several seams had given way on the slacks. He ignored them along with the shouts, screams and cell phone snaps of the crowd that was now seeping back into his awareness.  He snagged the black bag that doubtlessly contained the sniper riffle and started walking.

His boots crunched over the shattered glass as he carried Rumlow's prone body over his left shoulder and he walked with purpose back towards the White House.   
He didn't make it very far before he was surrounded by Secret Service and police men, all running towards him, screaming at him to freeze and aiming their guns at him.  "Stay where you are!" they ordered, leveling their weapons.  

Coulson pushed through the crowd of policemen, his own glock in his hands, but didn't aim it at Bucky.  He looked about as frazzled as he had ever seen the man, but he still radiating a cool confidence that Bucky found comforting.

"About time." Bucky muttered as he stopped in his tracks, but made no move to drop Rumlow or his confiscated weapons.  His posture was wary, but nonthreatening.  HIs eyes went immediately to Coulson.  He didn't say anything in front of the squad of policemen, but his eyes darted from the unconscious form on his shoulder to the serviceman.  

Coulson held up his hands to the policeman, indicating not to fire.  "Mr. Barnes," he said in his characteristic calm state.  "Do we need to take this man into custody?" he asked pointedly looking at the gentleman slung over his shoulder.

"That's why I took him down." Bucky responded as he worked his jaw.  He slung him, a little harder than necessary, onto the ground in front of him, followed by the black shoulder bag.  "This is your shooter.  And that's probably his weapon."  His eyes held Coulson's.  He wanted to go with them. He wanted to see Steve.  He wanted to make sure that these guys didn't fuck this up - that they got what they needed out of Rumlow.  That they held Pierce accountable.  He just had no idea how in the hell he could get any of that done.  Dealing with the law was always something he had specifically avoided in the past.  

"Take him," Coulson said with a nod, and a sea of of Serviceman flooded over.  Coulson holstered his gun and took Bucky by the arm, guiding him away.

"Get me in the room with him and I can get him to talk." He ventured.  He really wanted to ask about Steve.  But not here.  There were too many people around - even if Coulson knew, he wouldn't be able to tell him.  And even if he could, if the news was bad, Bucky didn't think there was anything that would stop him from killing Rumlow then and there.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Barnes."  Coulson could feel the eyes on them and he motioned over to another senior agent.  "I'm taking this man in for a statement," you handle the shooter, try to get an ID on him."

Bucky read through the lines, and nodded curtly.  "Try Brock Rumlow." He gritted.  Then, to hopefully cover his ass a little bit, he added, "After I caught up with him, he was a little loose-lipped."
 He was twitchy with the aftermath of the adrenaline flooding through his system, his metal fingers tapping against his leg, but he needed to talk to Coulson privately, and that's exactly where they were headed.  

"Give me this," Coulson hissed at Barnes, taking the smaller sidearm out of Bucky's waistband as he shoved Barnes into the back of a black towncar, fully aware there were lots of eyes on him, before slipping into the front driver's seat and turning on the small flashing lights in the dash indicating he was part of law enforcement.  The entire greater DC area of nothing but a sea of reporters and panicked civilians at this point, and going anywhere was going to be slow-going.

"Talk to me, Mr. Barnes," Coulson commanded.

"First, tell me - is... is he alive?" Bucky leaned forward, swallowing tightly. "...please." he added, unable to keep a note of desperation from his voice.

"Last I heard, yes.  He's in surgery now.  We're heading there now."  He looked at Barnes in the rear-view mirror, not that he could tell behind his dark shades.  "Thanks to you."

Bucky let himself breathe, leaning back against the seat.  Not out of the woods, but at least there was a chance.  

He chewed at his lip for a moment, weighing his options.  Steve trusted Coulson, but he didn't know how far Pierce's influence spread.  Still, even based on his actions, the secret serviceman seemed genuine.  And the whole point of this plan of action was to get this on the level to root out the corruption and make sure Steve was safe - especially if he was on some kind of fucked up timer.  

"Pierce is behind this," He insisted with no pretense.  "The shooter - Rumlow - he thought he had sent me to put him down to keep things quiet."  

If Coulson was surprised, he sure didn't let it show.  "That's a serious accusation, Mr. Barnes," he warned.  "Have anything to back that up?"

"Other than the shooter's words?" Bucky gritted his teeth, eyes darkening.  Yeah, he had more to go on, but Coulson was unlikely to believe it.  

"I doubt he'll be so 'loose lipped' when he's in custody," he said with a frown.  Traffic was slow, and he pulled out his phone, looking at something on his screen. "Brock Rumlow was US Special Forces, jumped ship to go into into the private sector as a mercenary.  Looks like he was killed outside of Fallujah in 2002."

His his darted back to Bucky behind his shades, "At least, officially."

Bucky grunted. "Yeah.  I might know a thing or two about that."  His fingers drummed on the armrest on the door as he clenched and unclenched his jaw.  "Look, let me help.  Somehow. I can try to get him to talk.  I... I don't know.  There were people around with cameras, maybe someone caught something.  It might not have been a direct confession, but he assumed Pierce sent me.  I know - know - he's behind this.  He's a fucking two-faced sadist bastard."  He clenched his metal fist and pounded it into the seat beside him.

"Mr. Barnes, I'm going to be level with you.  I don't know your full story, but the President trusts you, so I trust you.  But I have a feeling I will have no way to get you security clearance to talk to Rumlow.  At least and not be able to use anything you find out in court.  Am I right?"

A scowl burrowed onto Bucky's face as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to find a balance between his Soldier frame of mind and Bucky Barnes.  He was furious, and wanted to make sure that the threat to Steve was eliminated, but the whole reason that he had left Rumlow alive was to let them do this legitimately to make sure all the insidious tentacles that might be involved were rooted out.  Putting a fist through Rumlow's face or a bullet into Pierce wouldn't necessarily fix that.  But if he could get close to Steve again... see him...

"Look... you want my advice, don't let Pierce know you have Rumlow - if it's not already too late. Maybe let him think Steve - President Rogers didn't make it until your guys can get information out of Rumlow."  God, he hoped that would be a lie.  Bucky willed the car to move faster, but as anxious as he was, as much as he wanted to see him, there wasn't much he could do to help the doctors. "What else do you want to know from me?"

"We'll see what we can do," Coulson said, and as far as Bucky could tell, it sounded genuine.  "So here's the $60,000 question - why?"

"Why?" Bucky repeated dumbly for a moment before huffing and screwing up his face.  Because he was a double-crossing Hydra leader in an alternate universe didn't seem like it would cut it.  Not that he had ever been given reasons of motivation even there.  He was their fucking weapon, a thing.  They had gone out of their way to make sure he didn't even retain what little information he had.  "I don't know.  I don't know what's goin' on here.  I just know that he's a fucking power-hungry, manipulative bastard."

Coulson didn't react to that, though he seemed to be getting increasingly frustrated with the traffic - even when his lights on, it was taking longer than he was happy with to get to the hospital.  When they finally arrived, Coulson skidded into the drop off corridor and grabbed Bucky by his arm, holding onto him tightly.  "Stay close to me," he ordered seriously, and strode into the hospital, his badge at the ready.

The hospital was a panicked mess, people running in and out and news helicopters and press people swarming the lobby, trying to get information.  Flustered nurses and hospital security were trying desperately to hold the line, and the unfortunate civilians who were there for unrelated ailments were being assessed and relocated if their condition wasn't critical.  

"Agent Coulson."

They were spotted by the Servicemen already at the hospital and were escorted to the surgery bay.  Coulson kept a hold of Bucky's elbow and no one seemed to question Coulson since he seemed to look cool and collected and completely in control of the situation.  

"He's in surgery now, it looks the bullet punctured his left lung and they're worried about nicking the major arteries, that's all we know right now," one of the nameless men in black told them as they made their way into the surgery bay, behind the observation window.

Steve was laid out on the table, several doctors and triage nurses buzzing around him like flies, their scrubs splattered with blood and their expressions unreadable behind their masks.  

 
A strangled whimper escaped Bucky's throat as he pressed up against the glass for a better look.  His stomach lurched.  God, there was so much blood, and his normally ruddy complexion looked so pale.  The machines crowding around him with esoteric read-outs, saline drips and clustered doctors sent Bucky's heart racing as flashbacks of Hydra facilities threatened to overwhelm him.  He fell back a few paces, covering his mouth, shoulders shaking and eyes squeezed shut as he forced himself to try to focus.  

He pressed his back against a wall, and focused on his breathing before allowing himself to open his eyes and look again.  The room wasn't spinning any more, but his nerves weren't much better.  He felt so fucking helpless.  

"C'mon, Steve..." He heard himself murmur.  He was a fighter.  How many times had he been by his bed after a particularly brutal beating... or when pneumonia had settled into his chest?  How many close calls had there been back in the day?  How many times did Steve seem to be the one to fucking reassure him that he was going to be all right?  But even now, over half a century later, Bucky still found himself starting to pace restlessly back and forth along the viewing window, eyes occasionally sweeping around the room to make sure that there was no further threat.  

"Who the hell is this guy?" a woman with short brown hair asked, glaring daggers at Bucky, dressed in black military fatigues and a gun holster on her hip.  She must have still been some kind of security or secret service, she had a white earpiece in her ear and a lean, strong build.

"He's fine," Coulson said.  "He took down the shooter, and he's a personal friend of President Rogers."  His eyes were visible now, at some point having removed his black shades, and his eyes gave away the haggard and scared emotions he was pushing back behind his steeled façade.  "I want this room sealed, though.  No one in or out."

"Any luck getting a hold of the VP?  We have to prepare for a worst-case scenario," a thin, severe looking woman with cat-eyed glasses and long, straight brunette hair asked.  

"He's already on his way to Camp David, Madam Secretary" Coulson answered.  "He's out of the line of fire.  For now."  He gave a look over to Bucky, mentally willing him to keep his mouth shut.     

Bucky's jaw clenched and he flashed Coulson a look, but he kept his mouth shut about Pierce.  Instead, he found himself sizing up and assessing the agents in the room, calculating grey eyes sweeping over them one by one.  He didn't balk eye contact, meeting glares with a challenging, defiant look.  None of them were familiar, and that was probably a really good thing.  All of them were on edge.  

"And James?  Is he secure?" Coulson asked the shorter-haired woman.  

Bucky's head snapped up quickly at the mention of James, worry flaring anew.

"Yes," she answered, a frown pulling at her mouth.  "He's in route to a secret secured location."

"Good," Coulson breathed, looking visibly relieved.  

Bucky hadn't realized he'd stopped moving until relief flooded over him as well after hearing that the kid was safe.  He nodded, running a hand through his hair and returned to pacing.

After every pass, he returned to the window, watching over Steve until it hurt too much, and then went back to stalking around the room with the demeanor of a hardened soldier.  He wouldn't let himself rest, bother with his torn clothing, or even sit down until he knew something. 

Chapter Text

Consciousness slowly drifted back to Steve, his eyes blinking open to the steady electronic beeping of an EKG and the stinging smell of harsh hospital chemicals.  It was a primal, utterly distinctive smell; having spent so much of his youth in and out of hospitals like this one.  

He was staring up at the bland drop ceiling, his mind foggy and body feeling like it was made of lead.  He tried to gather his thoughts; he was heading out the White House when he was...shot.  He hadn't even heard the bullet, just remembered being pushed back like he was hit by a truck as it felt like his chest exploded.  There was a lot of movement afterwards - Bucky and Coulson and at least half a dozen Serviceman trying to interpose themselves between the bullets and himself.  

Bucky...

He tried to sit up, moving his hands a bit to try and get someone's attention.

"Steve!" Bucky breathed, leaning forward immediately as he caught the hint of movement.   It was thanks again to Coulson that Bucky had been allowed to stay, and been granted access to his hospital room.  He had been poised diligently by his bedside since he had finally made it through surgery.   Time had faded into a meaningless concept as he watched him for any sign of consciousness, but not daring to interrupt his sleep.  

"Don't sit up," He chastised, a bit of nervous laughter shaking its way loose from the ball of stress he had become.  "You're all right.  You're gonna be all right, but don't push it."  

Steve breathed a sigh of relief; Bucky was okay.  "Hey Bucky," he choked out around a mouth that felt as dry as cotton.  "Can you raise the bed?"



"Glad to see you awake, sir."



Steve's gaze travelled over to Agent Coulson who was standing next to Bucky, unable to hide a smile seeing him awake.  "You gave us quite a scare."



Steve blinked a half-apology, his injury the last thing he wanted to talk about.  It made him feel small and helpless.  "Where's James?"



"He's secure, Mr. President," Coulson answered.  "We'll get him here as soon as we can now that you're awake."



Steve nodded, then his eyes darted back to Bucky, scanning over his ripped shirt.  "How long...?" he asked, worry flashing in his eyes.


"The doctors did a good job patching you up," He started, answering a question that he hadn't been asked, "But you're still under close watch post-surgery and all."  He hesitated for a moment before finally conceding, "It's been about twenty five hours."  

Steve winced, the sting of 25 hours lost with Bucky hurt far more than the dull, throbbing pain from his shoulder.  He had been shot before in the army, and he knew that as long as he had a steady drip of morphine that the physical wound would hurt more later, but it would heal.  He was already worrying how he was going to cope with losing Bucky all over again.  "Did they get the shooter?" he asked, almost as an afterthought. 


The fact that he wanted to kill him stung more than the bullet.

"We have someone in custody," Coulson said.  "We're questioning him now."  There was a darkness in Coulson's eyes that seemed out of place, however, when Steve asked about the shooter, a sadness that Bucky could almost feel from beside him.  He was hiding something.

"Motive?"



"We're working on that, sir."


Bucky's eyes strayed back to Coulson, narrowing suspiciously.  "Anything more since what you last told me..?"  He'd seen the man check his phone more than a few times since they had been confined within Steve's ICU.  Being here with Steve, helping guard him, was more important than just about anything else, and had kept his focus while he was unconscious.  Now that he was awake and asking as well, Bucky was itching for answers as well.  

Bucky's right hand found its way to Steve's, resting gently on top of it.  He had been scared to touch him while he was asleep, not wanting to interrupt his rest.  

Coulson's gaze glanced back to Bucky and it clearly said not now.  "We'll keep you updated, Mr. President.  For now, you should rest."  He stepped back a few paces, giving Bucky and Steve as much privacy as he could comfortably could while staying in the room.  He had no intentions of letting the President out of his sight anytime soon.

Bucky scowled at Coulson, and was getting ready to say something objectionable when he felt Steve squeeze his hand. 

Steve interlaced his fingers with Bucky's, smiling up at him.  "You've been here the whole time?"


"Told you I wanted to spend as much time as I could with ya, punk." He said softly, teasing.  The smile didn't quite reach his eyes, though.  "For future reference, when you say you're going to clear your schedule, don't you dare pull another stunt like this."

Steve smiled and shook his head - that sad little depreciating scoff.  "Good idea," he conceded, looking at the bandages strapped across his chest.  "Thank you," he said genuinely, giving Bucky's hand a small squeeze.   

Steve seemed to be content just laying there, still heavily medicated but loving the feel of Bucky's hand in his.  Some time later, Coulson touched his hand to his earpiece.  "Roger that," he said, going towards the door and opening it.  

James burst through the doors ahead of his Serviceman who looked a little annoyed at this enthusiasm.  "Daddy!" he cried, virtually jumping up on the bed and swinging his arms around his neck.  

"Easy there, Tiger," Steve shot back, pulling a few IV tubes out of the way.  If his son had hurt him (which would seem hard not to do considering) he didn't let it show, and Bucky noticed the welling of tears in his eyes as he cuddled his son.  

Coulson exchanged a few hushed words with James's agent and looked towards Bucky, nodding towards the door.  "Let's give them a few."


Bucky's eyes lingered for a few moments in a blend of concern and fondness before turning to Coulson with a nod.  He didn't want to be a third wheel and get in the way of the happy father-son reunion... and he had some questions for Coulson.  

He followed Coulson out into the hallway, and the moment the door was closed behind them, Bucky rounded on him, eyes sharp.  "What the hell was that back there?" He asked in a forced whisper, well aware of other servicemen down the hallway, "What aren't you telling us?"

There were two other Secret Servicemen posted by the door to Steve's hospital room, so Coulson took him by the elbow and lead him down the hall, pulling his earpiece out.  Obviously whatever he was about to tell Bucky he didn't want on the official channels.  "I didn't want to say anything to the President until we got confirmation," he said, his voice low.  "But preliminary reports indicated that the shooter may be an assassin codenamed 'Crossbones.'"


Bucky's eyes widened in recognition and his left arm reflexively tightened into a fist, the mechanical plates shifting with a whirr.  "He told me that was the alias of the man who shot his wife."  Bucky hissed.  

"Yes," Coulson said, his mouth a serious straight line.  "That's the last thing I want to pile onto him right now.  Not until we're sure."

Bucky crossed his arms and set his jaw, suddenly wishing he'd thrown in at least another punch or two to the man who had caused Steve so much grief. But at least they had the rotten bastard now.  "Has he said anything else?  Anything about Pierce?" He sneered, but made sure to keep his voice only audible enough for Coulson to hear.  His time was ticking down, and he refused to leave anything that big unresolved.  

But as luck with have it, before Coulson could elaborate there was a flurry of activity down the hall.  Suddenly Coulson was standing up straight, and quickly putting his earpiece back in.  "Mr. Vice President," he said, unable to hide a slight waver of nervousness in his cadence.  Despite that, the agent interposed himself directly between the man approaching and the door to Roger's room.

Alexander Pierce was stalking down the hall, an entourage of Serviceman in tow.  "Agent Coulson," he said, his face looking grim as came to a stop in front of him.  His steeled eyes darted between Coulson and the haggard looking man by his side who definitely wasn't service, military, or press.  "How's he doing?"



"He's in with his son," Coulson said, with a note of finality in his voice.  

Pierce nodded his head as his mouth pulled down into a frown.  "And who is this?" he asked, back to Bucky.

Bucky felt like he was looking down the barrel of a gun.  As much as he was willing himself to say something, to interpose himself defensively between Pierce and the door, to fucking do something, his limbs might as well have been lead.  His heart hammered in his ears and his back went ramrod straight.  

It was one thing to envision the things he wanted to do to the man, but he hated himself in that even now, in his presence he felt like he needed to sink to his knees and follow his handler's orders.  His shoulders had a perceptible shake to them, and the fear behind his eyes was evident as they were blown wide.

He asked you a question.  Bucky's mind prodded him.  Irritation flared anew, and thank God, because it seemed to help him at least move past his silence.  Did Pierce even remember seeing him in the car with Steve?  Or was he just being intentionally dismissive?  

"Barnes, sir." He heard himself say, disgustingly softly and respectfully.

"Mmm, yes, that's right.  I didn't realize you'd still be around."  His eyes cast over to Coulson.  "I need to speak with the President, urgently."



Talk.  Move.  Fucking do Something! Bucky screamed internally.  Flashes of the torture, the domination, and 'treatments' that he had been put through ran through Bucky's mind as he stared at Pierce, frozen to the spot.  

Summoning his will, reached down and grasped at the hatred that boiled in his gut.  He remembered who he was now.  Knew what he had been forced to do.  This man couldn't deny him the fucking right to express his desires any more.  

Steve was in trouble.  Hi jaw set and his eyes turned to steel.

"He ain't up for company." Bucky growled, dislodging his feet from their stance and interposing himself between Pierce and Steve's room.

Pierce pulled his glasses off his face and folded them into his breast pocket.  His jaw set, he took a short inhale of breath.  "I'm sorry, did it sound like that was a question?"

Agent Coulson took a hold of Bucky's elbow and squeezed as warning.

Bucky seethed, stiffening.  He was gaining momentum against the deep-rooted conditioning.   And there was no fucking way Bucky was going to let him in there with Steve alone.  Bucky knew that even if this wasn't the same Pierce, he was behind the assassination attempt.  Rumlow had confirmed it.  Bucky knew that this Pierce was every bit the scheming son of a bitch he was back in his world.  He just fucking wish that he had the proof for Coulson, too.  

Bucky cocked his head to the side, a hard smile crossed his mouth, but cold eyes fixated on Pierce.  "Guess it wasn't.  But you know, I figured the man deserved some time with his kid after that close call."  He rolled his shoulders with feigned nonchalance.  "Guess we'll see how he's doing."  He said, making no secret of the matter he was going to be joining him.

Pierce chuckled lowly, looking at Barnes with a mix of disdain and admiration.  "You're the man who apprehended the shooter, aren't you?" he asked, looking over him like one might inspect a new car, eyes hovering on the glints of metal that showed through his flayed sleeves.  "Fascinating."  He didn't say anything more, but his eyes hid a storm raging inside, and a glint of inspiration.  Bucky got the distinct impression this conversation wasn't over, just delayed, for Pierce didn't even wait for a response before turning around and heading into the room with the President.  

"I am." Bucky muttered, mostly to himself, but his tone carried an only loosely veiled warning. 

Bucky fell into step just behind Pierce.  This wasn't the first time he had followed in the man's footsteps, but this time there was no sign of obedience.  Instead, he followed him in order to keep shrewd eyes on the man's posture and movements, each one analyzed for a possible threat.  

"I'll think we'll be fine, Agent Coulson," Pierce said as he opened the door to the room.  He leveled his eyes on Coulson, making it clear he wasn't making a request.

Coulson locked eyes with Bucky.  "Yes, sir."

While the judgment and anger was evident in Bucky's eyes that Coulson had been unwilling or unable to prevent this  encounter, it was paired with a silent, resolute promise that he would die before he let anything else happen to Steve.  

With his shoulders squared, Bucky shadowed Pierce into Steve's room.  

Steve looked over, James sitting on the edge of the hospital room.  "Hello Mr. Alex," James said politely, with a smile.  


It was creepy how fast Pierce could go from a prowling tiger to a friendly grandfather.  "James," he said, holding his arms out with a big, warm smile.  "How's your Dad doing?"

At the invitation, James hopped off the bed and ran into Pierce's arms, giving him a hug. 

"Somebody shot him!" James said with obvious anger (and a touch of cool factor).  "But he's going to be okay."

"That's wonderful," he said, patting his back.  "Why don't you go outside with Mr. Coulson for a few minutes, your Dad and I have grown up things to talk about."  

James looked over to his father who gave a nod.  "Okay," he said, making his way to the door.  "Hello Mr. Bucky," he said as he passed him.


"Hey, Kid."  Bucky responded,but there was little warmth in his voice, and he never took his eyes off of Pierce.  He fought off a wave of nausea at just how insidious the man was and his familiarity with James.  This was the wolf in sheep's clothing.  This was the way the ingratiating bastard had slipped into the upper echelons of power.  He was glad that the kid was being ushered out, though - Bucky knew in his gut that he didn't want him to be here for whatever was going to go down.  

Once the door closed, Bucky positioned himself just a step or two behind Pierce, arms tense by his sides.

Steve shifted in his bed, sensing the tension in the room.  "Good to see you, Alex."

"How are you holding up, Soldier?" the older man asked, stepping closer to his bed.  "That was quite a close call, did you hear we have the shooter in custody?"



"Yes," Steve said, looking relieved.  "I'm very much looking forward to finding out what the motive was.  I'm obviously not doing my job as President very well if people want me dead."



"Don't take it personally," he countered.  He sat on the edge of the bed, near Steve's head, reaching over to pam his hand.  "I'm sure he's just some nameless crackpot or conspiracy theorist.  We'll get to the bottom of it."

He was turned in a way that Steve couldn't see, keeping his eyes on him as they spoke, but Bucky, who was keeping a hawk's eye on Pierce and his every movement, saw a glint of metal slide out of the older man's sleeve.            

There was no hesitation whatsoever as Bucky's body flowed into motion.  Later, Bucky would thank whoever was listening that when it came to Steve's safety, not even the decades of conditioning kept him from acting against Pierce when he really needed to.  Faster than humanly possible, Bucky's left arm shot out and grabbed for the glint of metal before even really stopping to consider what the object might be.  He wasn't going to take any risks.  If he was being paranoid, he could deal with that later.  But now, with Coulson gone and Pierce dangerously close to Steve, Bucky was willing to act first.

An auto-injector syringe bent easily in Bucky's metal hand, spraying a clear, orderless chemical over his hand as the needle deflected harmlessly over his cyber panels.  Pierce was on his feet, surprisingly swift for a man his age.  "Service!" he called, and Coulson and the others were already into the room just seconds after the scuffle.  "He's trying to slip something to the President," he accused, pointing to the man now holding the crushed syringe.

All of this was going too fast for Steve's drug-addled mind, and he flailed helplessly on the bed, trying to stand up but feeling faint.


Bucky threw the broken syringe onto the ground behind him, hardly paying any notice to the intrusion.  "Liar!" He roared, advancing on Pierce with deadly intent.  He couldn't ignore the blatant threat - this man had tried to kill him twice now, and Bucky didn't fucking care about proper procedure any more.  They had their chance.  "That's why I crushed the fucking thing, HUH, you lying bastard?!"  

His metal hand seized Pierce by the throat.  It felt almost, almost, like one of the myriad revenge fantasies that Bucky had entertained after escaping from Hydra.  Fantasies that he didn't think he'd ever be able to see through after Pierce had been killed back home by a stranger.  But now, he couldn't help but keep a dark smile from his face as his hand enveloped his neck... and squeezed.  

Pierce was unprepared for just how strong the Soldier was; he was lifted straight off the ground as the metal vice closed around his throat.  Both his hands clamped around Bucky's wrist as he kicked and struggled, useless against the unmovable grip that was quickly causing spots to flash before his eyes.

"Bucky!" Steve screamed, his eyes wide with horror and confusion.  He scrambled into a sitting position, causing the medical machines to start whining loudly, adding to the chaos as the electrodes popped off.  

"DROP HIM!"  Guns were pointed at Bucky from at least four different Serviceman, but Coulson was the closest, and looking Bucky straight in the eye.  In a split-second decision, Coulson charged him like a bull, tackling him and putting himself in the line of fire from any of the other agents.  

Bucky knew he was beyond the point of no return.  If he stopped now, there was a chance - it didn't matter how small - Pierce could somehow get away with this and pin the blame on him.   He planted his feet as Coulson collided with him - a veritable wall of muscle - and interposed himself between Bucky and the other servicemen.  He used the cover, noise and jostle to at least somewhat covertly snap his fist closed around Pierce's throat, and finish with a twist that yielded a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage.  A moment Bucky had fantasized about for years was over in an instant.  Only then did he drop the body to the hospital floor.  

"I would get out of here - quickly - if I were you," Coulson hissed directly into Bucky's ear.  With his arms around him as he tackled him, Bucky felt something slip into his back pocket, and he knew from the weight it was most likely the side arm he had stolen off of Rumlow.  "Hit me," he commanded.  


There was a momentary look that passed from Bucky to Coulson - a silent understanding and almost imperceptible grateful assent of his head before he brought his right fist up and socked Coulson on the jaw.  He pulled the punch, but it was still enough to send him reeling back.  And as much as he wished he could say something to Steve - anything - he had to take this closing window of opportunity.  He dove and rolled past Coulson's staggering figure, crashing out through the door to the room. 

He didn't slow as he made his way out into the hallway, regaining his footing with a deft roll and kicking off into a sprint down the corridor, careening around surprised security and medical personnel.  He bobbed and wove down the hall, jumping over wheeled trays, gurneys, and other medical equipment, kicking off of the wall to take a corner faster.  He didn't run for the elevator or the stairs - already they'd be calling in support on the ground floor.  Instead he broke out in a dead run for the nearest window, brought up his arms to shield his face, and jumped through with a cascade of shattering glass.  

The three-story drop was almost nothing to the super soldier as his combat boots hit the pavement.  A momentary bend of his knees was all it took to absorb the shock before he was in motion once again, down the sidewalk at top speed, his only objective at the moment was to find a spot to lay low. 

Chapter Text

"VICE PRESIDENT PIERCE MURDERED, PRESIDENT ROGER STILL IN HOSPITAL AFTER ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT"

"America in Turmoil after President Shot; VP Dead"

"VP MURDER SUSPECT STILL ON THE LOOSE IN DC"

Bucky pulled his baseball cap further down on his head, perusing the newspaper headlines at the newsstand in the early morning light.  He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his newly acquired clothes, silently observing the chaos unfolding in the city after yesterday's action.  He hadn't slept, but he was well skilled in avoiding raising suspicion.  He had stayed in DC to keep a pulse on the news, and because he knew there were probably road blocks all around the greater area, looking for the mysterious man who killed Vice President Pierce.  Thankfully, "James Buchanan Barnes" was long dead, and nothing should ping for his 'brother' Sebastian, either.

Everyone was in panic mode.  There were police and military personnel crawling around like fleas on the city.  Most painfully, Bucky knew that there was no way in hell he was going to be able to get close enough to Steve again by the time his time was 'up.'  The entire hospital, save the most critical of patients, had been evacuated from the building and Bucky suspected Rogers has been transported somewhere else in strict secrecy.  

He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and looked at the cheap digital watch; he only had a few hours left at best.

He had to leave something for him.  Some kind of letter or goodbye, but he was stumped on how it would eventually end up in the President's hands.  He could probably have asked Tony Stark to do so if he had any way of getting a hold of him; he had no phone, and even if he did he didn't know his personal number.  He wasn't the kind of man you could just call the main Stark Industries line and asked to be put through to the main man himself.

He reached into his pockets and pulled out a handful of paper that had been folded and re-folded a dozen times.  He carefully unwrapped it again, reading over what he had written so far as he sat on a bench outside the Mall:

  

Steve,

I'm sorry things happened the way they did, and I have no idea if I'll ever be able to get this letter into your hands.  But please believe me, Alexander Pierce was trying to kill you.  That is something I couldn't allow to happen, no matter what.  One thing I have learned being here is that people don't change - our lives may be different and our paths may have taken different turns, but our souls shine the same.  Pierce was a bad man  with dark ambitions and a silver tongue; he was in my world and he was here as well. He is the man who hired Crossbones to kill you, and most likely your wife as well.  At least, he was in bed with those would have made the order.  

I hope you believe me.  If you believe that I'm just as much your Bucky as I know you're my Steve, then I know you will.  Be careful who you let inside, Steve. You trust far too easily.  I do not know if Pierce's death will be the last of it; in my world he was the leader of "Hydra" - cut off one head and two more will take its place.  You may have a whole lifetime of monster slaying ahead of you.  

Phil Coulson seems like the kind of guy who you should keep around, though.

Steve, the last few days have been the best I can remember since World World II.  You have given me the first glimmer of hope I've had in my life in decades.  I have a confession: in my world I was hunting down the people who took my life away from me; a vigilante fueled on nothing but desperation and revenge.  

Thank you, Steve, for reminding me of myself.  For letting me remember what it feels like to be treated like a person, and not a weapon.  To feel the warmth of your love and your touch and what it's like to be human again.  For the first time since James Buchanan Barnes died in a ravine in Russia, I have felt alive.  

I promise you, that wherever I end up next, I will find you.  I hope I'm going home, so I can find my Steve who has been looking for me, and I hope he will be as understanding and loving as you were; which I'm confident he will be.  But even if I end up in another place, with another Steve, I will make sure to look for you.  I know now that nothing can fully keep up apart; not even time and space.

I love you, Steven Grant Rogers.  

Love forever, always, and wherever,

Bucky

The cadence of a sneaker-clad runner passed a few feet in front of him, jogging in the morning air.  Unremarkable on its own, but the faint whiff of a familiar scent of aftershave left in the air as he passed triggered something in Bucky's Solider-brain, causing him to look up.  A handsome man in a grey sweatshirt and blue running shorts; dark skinned, chiseled, and handsome.  A rise of jealousy in his chest - a gut reaction to this man.  

But an idea hit him.  Pulling out a ballpoint pen, he wrote a hasty post script:

Remember how I told you to be careful who you let in?  The man who delivers this letter to you; he's one you can trust.  His name is Sam Wilson, and though I don't know him well, personally, he has been by your side looking for me right beside you.  I've watched you both from afar, and I can say with confidence that this man looks at you the way I do.  Give him a chance; don't go another 10 years without giving your heart another shot at love.  - B

 

In a brownstone apartment in Dupont Circle, Steve Rogers stepped into his empty flat, feeling defeated.    His boots were heavy on the ground as he leaned his Star-Spangled shield against the wall by the door; always at the ready.  It had been over a week since there had been any sign of Bucky Barnes, and his last known whereabouts was a Hydra warehouse so close to home; just outside his home city.  The explosion was catastrophic, and if anyone had been there, they were most likely dead.  

Of course, Steve had refused to believe it.  He had spent the entire last seven days trotting the globe; smoking out any shady contact or black ops spy he had access to, scouring the earth for any sign of the rogue Winter Soldier.  He had no luck, and despite SHIELD's official analysis of the debris, he wasn't ready to give up on him just yet.  

He wandered into his kitchen, pouring himself a glass of milk before he would crawl into his bed and fail at trying to get sleep.  But as he was glancing over his StarkPad with the latest SHIELD satellite feeds, there was a knock at his door.  His brows creased in concern; it was after one thirty in the morning.  He made his way to the door, hand on his shield as he narrowed his eyes through the peephole in his front door.

Suddenly, his breath caught in his throat and the pulled the door open so fast it audibly squeaked on its hinges.

"Bucky?!"   

He had waited the six weeks as requested before Sam Wilson made his way through security at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.  He set his jaw, praying he wasn't about to get arrested.  "I'm here to see Jeffery Mace," he said to the security guards on duty.

The two men exchanged glances with each other.  This was the second time in as many months that someone had used the secret code word to get access to the President.  "How do you know that name?"

The man set his jaw, muttering a silent prayer to himself.  "I'm a friend of Mr. Barnes."  

One of the security guards came over to Sam, running the wand over him and taking him by the elbow.  "This way, please."

The other grabbed the phone and dialed a number on the hardline phone at the security desk.

"Yes?"



"Sir, there is somebody here to see Jeffery Mace."

"Are you sure?"



"Sir, he says he's a friend of Mr. Barnes."



There was silence on the other end for a moment before Agent Coulson answered.  "Tell him we'll be right down." 

The End