"You can always find hope in a dog's eyes."
"Steve?"
"Yeah?"
Bucky held a jam jar out at him. "Can you..?"
Steve easily unscrewed the lid and passed it back. "You know you could do it yourself if you'd wear your arm."
But as usual, Bucky shook his head. "No. That's not a part of who I am anymore."
Steve opened his mouth to reply but a shrill beeping rang out before he could say anything. Fishing his phone out of his pocket he saw a message from Natasha: Pick-up in five.
"I gotta go," he said. "Work."
"It's always work," Bucky said bitterly.
"The world needs saving."
"So do I! I don't— I don't know who I am any more! You promised that you'd save me from myself if I ever started to become him again, but you're never here!"
"Bucky, I don't have time for this now. Can we talk when I get back?"
"If you even notice that I'm here," Bucky snapped, striding off to the kitchen.
Steve sighed. Bucky was right - he was away on missions a lot, but while the recently rebuilt SHIELD got off the ground there weren't many agents to be sent out into the field. The very-much-alive Phil Coulson had succeeded Fury as director and had implemented stricter vetting procedures to catch out any remaining members of Hydra, so there were currently only a handful field agents active: himself; Natasha Romanoff; Clint Barton; Melinda May, leading Coulson's former team; and Sharon Carter - whom he'd been surprised to find out was Peggy's granddaughter. He'd have a word with Coulson when he got back, and remind him that - for now - his priorities needed to lie with Bucky, not SHIELD.
. * * * .
Alone in Steve's apartment the following day, Bucky tried to keep himself distracted from old memories that threatened to surface on a daily basis. Steve's boss insisted he talk to a Dr Garner about the stuff in his head. In fact it was one of the conditions he was sure was attached to his 'freedom' - the word used to describe the short leash on which he was kept. But he didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to remember it. If Hydra had never wormed their way into his mind - had never corrupted his sense of self - and he'd returned home from the war, he wouldn't have been ordered to talk to a doctor about what he was thinking. He'd have been expected to carry on as usual, regardless of the nightmares that keep replaying in his head.
It felt hopeless, trying to slot back into a life he'd lost a long time ago, and a world that had moved on without him. He was still trying to remember who he was then, and figure out who he was now.
Steve had faith he'd find his place. He was so full of hope that it was suffocating. He was deluding himself if he thought that Bucky had a place in this world, now. After everything he'd done, he should be strung up at the gallows or face a firing squad. He didn't deserve Steve.
And Steve's friend... Tony Stark. He knew that name. He couldn't remember why, but he didn't need to be able to remember the details to know that it was because of something he'd done. Some crime or act of terrorism he'd committed. If those details ever came out, he knew Steve would be forced to choose between his friends and Bucky didn't want that. Steve deserved better than him.
Because even though the Winter Soldier wasn't him, he was the Winter Soldier.
. * * * .
When Steve returned two days later, eager to tell Bucky that Coulson had agreed to let him take a leave of absence, he found his wallet missing from the dresser where he'd left it.
Bucky was also missing.
"Damn it," he muttered. He picked up his phone and dialled Tony Stark, powering up his laptop while it rang.
"Evening, popsicle."
Steve rolled his eyes. "Remember that lesson on internet banking you were going to give me? I need it now."
"Okay, first press the power button on your computer," Tony told him seriously. "It's not quite a full circle with a line sticking out - if it was a clock the line would be in the twelve o'clock position."
"Very funny. I'm just opening up Explorer now."
He didn't understand why Tony started spluttering and swearing down the phone.
. * * * .
Several hours later, Bucky still wasn't home. Steve paced their small apartment, trying to decide what his next move should be. He knew his friend had removed a large sum of money from his account, and after Tony had tried to track his cell Steve had found it charging in the kitchen. He'd called the bank but they hadn't been able to give him any information, and he wasn't about to open a case with their fraud department. It seemed that wherever Bucky was, he didn't want to be found and might not even be planning on coming back.
He's always had a suspicion that Coulson was secretly keeping tabs on Bucky, but he didn't want to pursue that possibility yet. Besides, Bucky would easily be able to lose anybody tailing him. Alerting Coulson to the fact that Bucky was AWOL would only strengthen Coulson's belief that Bucky should be detained. For know, he needed it to look like he wasn't worried. All Bucky needed was someone to give him a chance. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, thinking that if Bucky kept giving him cause to worry it would soon start to show his age.
The scrape of a key in a lock turned his attention to the door, and he'd never been so relieved to see his friend entering their apartment.
"Buck! Where the hell have you..." Then he noticed the leash in Bucky's hand, and his gaze dropped to the nervous, three-legged dog cowering behind him, tail tucked between it's legs.
"Don't shout. She doesn't like loud noises," Bucky warned, his eyes never leaving on the dog hugging his leg
Steve nodded. "Okay," he said, making sure to keep his tone soft and quiet.
"I found her," Bucky hurried to explain, unable to look Steve in the eye. "And I borrowed your wallet."
"Three thousand dollars is a lot to borrow without my permission."
"I'm sorry. But they were going to have to put her down if I couldn't pay for her treatment - I couldn't let them do that." He crouched down and offered his hand to the dog to sniff, which it did so timidly. She tensed as he raised it and stroked her head gently a few times. "She just needed someone to give her a chance."
"What happened to her?
"Her leg was all torn up and these kids were torturing her, throwing stones at her like it was a game."
And all at once Steve gets it.
"Can we keep her?"
Steve looked at the shaking dog. Her beautiful golden-brown fur would grow back in over time, and hide the scar the surgery would leave. But he and Bucky both knew that the it was the mental scars that were the hardest to heal. He smiled at Bucky. Sure it was an extra mouth to feed, but his friend was looking at him with such hope in his eyes that none of that mattered. "Of course we can keep her," Steve told him, unable to say no.
"Come say hi to Steve," Bucky said, tugging the dog forward..
Steve crouched down and held his hand out, letting her come to him in her own time.
"What will we call her?" Bucky asked.
"I think you should decide," Steve told him as she nervously sniffed his hand.
Bucky had been avoiding making any decisions about anything, afraid of making a bad decision and being held responsible. He'd done enough bad things in his life.
"What—" He swallowed. "How about Hope?"
"Hope sounds perfect," Steve grinned.