Steve is… too perfect.

Don't get him wrong, Sam loves the guy. He enjoys his presence, he does. He cooks, he cleans, and he buys the groceries. Basically he's the perfect roommate and Sam couldn't ask for anyone better.

But he repeats: Steve is too perfect. He only ever cooks and cleans and buys groceries and accompanies Sam on their morning runs. That's all Steve does. He doesn't do anything. It's like the guy has no hobbies. Then again, Sam isn't so sure Steve did much of anything even before the whole Winter Soldier incident.

So Sam decided to cut the guy some slack. It's not every day you find out your best friend is the enemy and very well alive all in the same day. Not to mention he's a world-class assassin and has been on a killing spree since 1945.

But this? This is where Sam says enough is enough.

Steve didn't even do anything that horrible. It wasn't like he blew up the living room or something. Sam almost feels bad when he calls Steve out on it, with the way his face scrunches up in confusion and is ready to apologize at any second. But he's sticking the course. Riley always told him that.

Steve came back from his run a little later, telling Sam he wanted to do a couple more laps around the city. He headed straight for the fridge, taking a banana and tossing the peel in the trash all in one stride (Sam could REALLY use those super-human reflexes). He popped his head out from the fridge and stared at Sam with a genuinely sad expression. "We're out of milk," he says in a flat voice.

Sam doesn't even tear his attention away from his iPad. The sports section is really important at the moment. "Oh yeah, I forgot about that. I'll buy some later on my way to work," he replies absentmindedly.

Steve furrows his brow. "Oh." He turns his head back to the fridge and looks at it sadly.

"We still have orange juice though." For some reason this only makes Steve more sad.

"Oh," he says again.

"Or coffee. You could make a quick cup if you want."

"No that's.. that's fine. I'll—" A thought flashes across Steve's face. "I'll run to the nearest 7-11 and grab some milk, how about that?"

Sam pauses in the middle of the sentence he was reading and looks up. "Dude. Just drink something else," he says a little defensively. It's not like he didn't have any liquids at all.

"No no it's fine. I'll be right back okay? Lemme just grab the keys and—"

"Steve," he states firmly.

"Yeah?" The blonde spins around as he grabs the keys from the hook. He looks excited. As if the prospect of running to a 7-11 to buy milk is exciting.

"You do realize," Sam begins slowly, "that you don't have to buy the milk now. It can wait. Right?"

Steve deflates a little but he doesn't let up. "I know. But I'm kind of in the mood for it." And that right there is the biggest lie he has ever heard. The guy is an open book with all his emotions out on display. It doesn't take a psychology degree to know something is definitely up.

Sam rises from his seat and crosses his arms. "Steve. What is this about, really?"

He shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny. "Nothing. I just.. really want some milk that's all."

"No. Seriously man, what's with the milk? You wouldn't be that desperate to buy it if it was that important to you."

Steve bites his lip and leans against the wall. He looks down at his feet in resignation and sighs. "It's stupid, okay? You'll probably laugh at me but. I want to buy the milk because… because Bucky always drank it. He was always hounding me about drinking my milk and getting my fill of calcium. 'Need to keep the bones strong or you'll never grow.' I didn't listen to him, no surprise there, but after he died I sort of kept up the ritual. And now that he's back well…"

Sam blinks at this sudden confession. He gets it, he does. Sam had done the same thing when Riley died. So the next words out of his mouth are a lot harsher than he intended them to be.

"Look man, I get it trust me I do. But it's milk. You can't keep moping around expecting Bucky to come back. Because that's all you've been doing for the past three weeks."

And then everything went to hell and Steve has been out of the house for a good 2 hours now. Maybe things didn't erupt into total chaos, but that's how Sam feels and he feels pretty bad to be honest. But he had to say something, or Steve would just continue going through the motions without any sense of purpose. He has literally been a lifeless robot and Sam is about up to here with it. That still doesn't stop him from feeling like an ass though.

His ears perk up at the sound of the door opening. Steve peeks his head through and surveys his surroundings.

"Steve," Sam says sternly.

He jumps and looks over at the other man guiltily. "Sam.. hey. Hi. Uh—"

"We need to talk."

"O-oh, okay." Steve shuffles over to the living room. He looks like a five year old about to be reprimanded by his mother. It's cute. Sort of. In like a really weird friend way if that makes sense.

"About this morning, I uh, that was a little harsh."

Steve blinks in surprise.

"What seems insignificant to me may be important to you."

"Sam—"

"So you can.. drink all the milk you want," Sam finishes lamely.

Steve is about to say something but leaves his mouth hanging. He closes it and goes for a smile instead. "Thanks."

Sam grumbles a "you're welcome" and looks away. For some reason this is really embarrassing. Steve is still smiling at him and it's blinding.

Sam stumbles into the kitchen fully expecting to see Steve making some sort of elaborate breakfast, like full on eggs and toast and shit.

In the short time Steve has been here, his repertoire has expanded quite a lot. He's gone from burning water (don't ask, Sam still doesn't get how exactly) to expertly flipping Russian pancakes and making all sorts of desserts. The Oreo balls are Sam's favorite.

He figures it's a need-based thing. Steve did mention he and Bucky never had enough food to even last them a week. He doesn't mind, it just means Sam will have to go for longer runs.

"Hey, Steve?"

There's no Steve. In fact Steve is nowhere to be found. He's trying to listen closely to see if he's still upstairs, but it's only 7 meaning Steve should be well awake by now.

Something neon catches his eye and he steps closer to the table. There's a post-it note with some very loopy handwriting on it.

Going out for a bit. Don't wait up. I'll be back in five hours or so.

Sam smiles a little. Looks like he'll have to make his own breakfast this morning. Not that he minds, he's been living alone for so long.

He walks to the fridge and opens it to find a carton of milk staring him in the face.

He can't help laughing at that. He shakes his head in disbelief and grabs it.

Steve comes home five hours later like he said he would. And NO Sam was not worried sick or anything.

Maybe.

Having a somewhat depressed but not really depressed supersoldier wandering around DC for five hours straight doesn't exactly put Sam's heart at ease.

Neither does the fact that Steve is covered in dust from head to toe and looks like he just got out of a fight.

"What—"

"Dogs." Steve grins sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. He draws his hand back and tiny specks float off his body.

"Dogs," Sam repeats. Because what.

Steve shrugs and brings out his phone. He flicks around and holds the screen up for Sam to see. And yes, those are dogs. Tons of them. From the pictures, it looks like Steve was at an animal shelter.

"Wow," is all Sam can come up with.

Steve nods excitedly and puts his phone back. "I'm considering it."

"Considering what?" Sam asks in a confused voice.

"Getting a dog." This is graced by a look of horror from Sam. He doesn't hate dogs. But they shed and it's an absolute bitch to get the hair off the furniture.

Steve's mouth quivers and he breaks out laughing. Sam stares and stares because this is the first time he's heard the guy laugh in a while. Not just a 'heh heh' kind of laugh that only lasts a millisecond, but a genuine, real laugh. Hell, he'll buy a million dogs for Steve if that's all it had to take.

"Maybe a dog wouldn't be so bad," Sam decides reluctantly.

It's 2 a.m. It is two o'clock in the morning and no one should ever have to be awake at this hour because it's Monday and Sam has work in five hours.

Somehow he still finds himself rising sluggishly from his bed. He's trying to pinpoint where the muffled noises are coming from when he realizes they're from outside.

He opens his bedroom door and finds a very bored looking Steve sitting in the dark. There are continuous flashes of light coming from the TV, illuminating Steve's face and creating a ghost-like effect.

The guy doesn't even look remotely tired.

Sam walks over and gingerly sits down on the opposite end of the couch.

"Did you know arctic fish are cold-blooded animals?" Steve says over the noises.

Sam peers over carefully, and there doesn't seem to be anything out of the blue. Steve still looks and acts like Steve. But looks can be deceiving. He won't admit it, but Steve doesn't sleep well. Sam has dropped hints here and there about seeing a sleep therapist but to no avail.

"Really?" He tries to sound curious.

"Yeah, so as the temperature gets lower it gets harder for them to function. Sometimes even ice crystals will form over their cells, and then they just stop functioning completely and die. It's pretty incredible actually." He says this all while looking at the fish swimming across the screen.

"They must be pretty strong I guess," Sam yawns out.

"No," Steve shakes his head. "No, they're not strong. They had to adapt in order to get used to the harsh conditions around them. They had to learn to survive. They needed to survive, or they would've been killed off without a second thought. Strength had nothing to do with it."

"We're not talking about the fish anymore are we?"

Steve finally draws his attention away from the TV and focuses on Sam. The dark circles under his eyes doesn't escape Sam's notice.

"…I'm not strong," Steve says.

"But you survived. You adapted. Just like the fish." Sam jerks his head to the TV.

"I didn't have a choice though."

"Neither did the fish."

"The fish live in below-freezing temperatures—"

"Dude just. It's a metaphor all right?" Sam gives an exasperated laugh and props his head up on his hand.

Steve looks at him thoughtfully, as if considering this. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, then re-opens them and goes back to staring at the screen.

Surprisingly, the arctic fish still manage to thrive in these freezing cold temperatures. Something that has baffled scientists for ages…

They fall asleep to the lull of the narrator's voice. Next thing he knows, Sam is jolting awake to the sound of roaring lions.

He rubs his face and looks over to his left. Somehow Steve is sleeping peacefully, although it looks more like he passed out than actually fell asleep. He makes sure to get ready for work as quietly as possible.

"Uh, hey man," Sam greets awkwardly.

Said man gives an awkward wave of his own.

He's not sure if he should tell Steve. Chances are he might fly out from the second story window, which to him may seem like no big deal but Sam would prefer it if his house stayed in one piece.

Sam was taking out his trash when he came upon the guy crouched by his trash cans in the dark. Almost had a freakin heart attack too. Sam's not sure how he's managed to survive all this time, but he's alive and looks like he could really use a bath.

Bucky grunts as he stands up. Sam takes a step back and is considering use the trash can lid as a type of shield. Bucky notices this and puts his hands up.

"Relax, buddy. 'M not gonna slit your throat or anything." But he's.. chuckling. Was that supposed to be funny?

"I would hope so," Sam says in a guarded tone.

Bucky angles his head and eyes the light coming from one of the windows.

Sam follows his gaze. Steve is up there, but he's not sure how Bucky will react to that so instead he asks, "Do you want to come in?"

A crease appears between Bucky's eyebrows but he doesn't respond.

"I've got food. And you know, hot water."

"Is Steve here?" Bucky blinks owlishly. It's hard to tell his expression in the dark.

"He is," Sam answers slowly. "Do you want me to go get him?"

He hears some kind of metallic crunching and notices Bucky has clenched his left hand into a tight fist.

"No," Bucky says in a raspy voice. "No I—no. I don't want him to know I'm here."

"Uh, okay. But I'm sure he'd be pretty happy to see you."

Bucky shakes his head. "No. I can't. I can't see him." He makes a shuddering noise, and Sam knows that noise. He's heard it so many times, knows that sound all too well.

"Bucky," Sam says quietly. He steps forward slowly. "Bucky, look at me. Just relax man. No one is forcing you to do anything." He manages to place a hand on Bucky's left arm.

Bucky's breath hitches and he goes very very still. Sam can tell he's not used to this kind of feeling and waits. After a while Bucky finally manages to stop shaking.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Nothing to be sorry about."

"…Sorry," Bucky repeats.

Sam keeps his hand there until he's sure the brunette won't panic again. He pulls his hand back and brings it back to his side. "Wait here."

Bucky does as he's told as Sam goes back inside. He comes out again to see Bucky still standing where he was a minute ago.

"Here, for you," Sam hands over the plate of leftovers.

Bucky doesn't make any sort of motion to grab it. He squints down at the food and looks back up at Sam.

"No poison, I promise. Also Steve has no idea that you're here."

Bucky swallows thickly and takes the plate. He glances at the food one more time before stuffing it into his mouth. It occurs to Sam that the guy probably hasn't eaten in days. Maybe even weeks.

He's still not sure if this is okay to keep from Steve.

"What would you do if Bucky was back?" Sam asks out of the blue one morning.

Steve looks up sharply from his tablet and narrows his eyes.

"It's a serious question," Sam tries to justify.

Steve's eyes get smaller, if that's possible. Sam mirrors his expression until Steve breaks his composure and laughs. He's been laughing a lot lately, which shows how much progress he's made since the milk incident. And the dogs. The dogs help.

"Well for one thing, I'd be extremely happy."

"But what would you do is what I'm asking."

Steve drums his fingers against his tablet and looks down. "I.. I don't know what I'd do," he says finally.

"Would you ask him to join the Avengers?" Sam asks.

Steve quickly shakes his head and looks up with wide eyes. "God no. I would never—I wouldn't ask him to go back out onto the field. I couldn't do that. Not unless he wanted to at least…" His voice dies out towards the end.

Sam nods his head understandingly and they return to eating in peaceful silence. The only reason Sam asked was because Bucky had asked.

("I'll keep coming," Bucky said as he stared at his feet. "Just to make sure Steve is okay. He can be real stubborn sometimes. And reckless." His mouth quirks up just slightly at that. It's enough to be a smile, so Sam counts that as a sort of win.

"Sure. That's fine. Whatever you need man."

"You won't tell Steve?" He asks nervously.

Should he tell Steve? It'd probably be best if he did, but he also realizes he needs to respect Bucky's decision. This is probably the first decision he's ever made in his whole life since becoming the Winter Soldier.

Sam gives a half shrug. "Only if you want me to."

"If I want you to?" Bucky echoes back.

"Sure. We can just keep it between us until you feel you're ready."

"Until I feel ready." Bucky mulls over this.

Sam waits patiently until he sees Bucky nods his head.

"Okay," he almost whispers.

Sam smiles warmly and juts a thumb over his shoulder. "I gotta go back now. Don't want Steve to get suspicious."

He's about to turn around when Bucky calls out "Wait" and spins half-way back.

"Steve wouldn't… if I…" He takes a deep breath and starts over. "He wouldn't ask me to join his team would he?"

He's referring to the Avengers. Sam suddenly recalls Steve mentioning the death of Stark's parents.

"Why don't you ask him?"

Bucky makes a noise that's somewhere between a whine and a grunt.

"I'll take that as a no."

"Or you could ask him.")

"Steve said that?" Bucky asked in amazement. Well, it came out more as a "Stebe said tha?" with half a hamburger in his mouth.

Sam hums in response and bites down on his chicken finger wrap. Bucky will only visit at night and whenever Steve is out of the house, which makes for perfect bonding time between him and Sam. They usually talk outside near the trash cans, and sometimes inside the house if Bucky is really willing (it took some prying with that one).

Bucky actually smiles. But it immediately turns into a frown once he realizes. He sees Sam smirking at him and glares his signature Winter Soldier look.

"Tell him and I'll cut your toes off tonight Wilson," he threatens.

Sam barks out a laugh. Bucky squirts ketchup in his face for revenge.

"What's that on your collar?" Steve asks.

"Blood," Sam deadpans. He's still irritated at Bucky for that. It was one of his best shirts too!

"Uhhhh." Steve can't tell if he's kidding or not. "Should I get the first aid kit?"

"It's ketchup," Sam says before Steve works himself up into a frenzy and starts checking for injuries.

Steve raises an eyebrow but doesn't question any further.

Steve comes downstairs in his normal running attire. Sam accidentally slept in and is still only half-awake as he languidly sips his coffee.

"I'll head out first okay?"

Sam grunts in response and gives a half wave. Steve leans down to grab his sneakers and opens the door. But Sam doesn't hear it shut.

"Steve! Shut the door would you? Don't want cold air coming in."

He doesn't get a response so Sam groans and stands up. "Steeeeeve. I said shut the—"

He immediately stops when he comes up beside Steve. Sitting there on his doorstep is a sketchbook and a pack of colored pencils. And not just the crappy Crayola kind of pencils either. They're more authentic, with like 500 different shades and smell of wood and pencil shavings when you hold them up to your nose.

Steve is frozen on the spot and has absolutely no idea how to react. Sam isn't sure what kind of meaning this holds for Steve, but he has a pretty good idea where and who they came from.

"That jerk," Steve breaths out. He bends down and picks up the items like they're something precious and might break if he holds them too tightly.

"Do you know who they're from?" Sam asks curiously.

"I think I have a pretty good idea." Steve turns around to go back inside and places them tentatively in the middle of the table.

Sam takes one last look outside but Bucky is probably long gone by now. He shuts the door behind him.

Sam flicks the lights on in his room and almost screams like a little girl. Bucky is crouched on his windowsill staring him down like a hawk.

"Could you not do that?" Sam whispers loudly which totally defeats the purpose of whispering. He places a hand over his heart and checks to make sure Steve isn't within earshot.

Bucky shrugs and tries to look apologetic. "Did he get my gift?" He asks instead.

"'Oh no Sam, I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you!' But yeah thanks for asking."

"I do not sound like that."

Sam makes a noise of exasperation. "Can no one take a joke around here?"

Again Bucky shrugs. "Did he—"

"Yes yes, he got it loverboy. Now scram. I actually need my beauty sleep unlike some people." He makes a pointed look at Bucky's ruffled and dirty appearance.

Bucky huffs and in one swift movement jumps out the window and disappears into the bushes below. Sam almost yells after him because dammit he cut those rose bushes really nicely the other day.

Steve receives a gift every once in a while. Sometimes he'll get a bowl full of his favorite candy, more art supplies, a t-shirt with an Iron Man face (Steve laughed at that one), and more art supplies.

Now that Bucky is making his presence more and more obvious to Steve, Sam notices a change in him. He seems happier, and he laughs more easily too. He's started working again, travelling to New York at least once a week whenever a new mission's in.

He still does a lot of Bucky-related things, i.e., drinking his daily dose of milk and whatnot, but he's happy and that's what matters. Now that Steve knows Bucky is alive and is doing somewhat well, he's getting back to his usual self again. Whatever that was before waking up 70 years later than the rest of the world. He even accompanies Sam to the VA meetings and has spoken a couple times. Sam pretended not to beam with pride when it happened.

Bucky seems to be in lighter spirits too. He's cut his hair and managed to clean up a bit, and from what Sam gathered he has a job and his own apartment in the farther outskirts of Brooklyn. He still won't give his personal contact info to Sam in case he rats on him (and he would in a heartbeat, Steve is important to him too), but Sam is okay with that because it just means Bucky is taking his own time. Steve must know about their nightly meet-ups by the trash cans, but he's either really good at playing oblivious or he's just actually oblivious.

Natasha has stopped by a couple times when she wasn't in hiding, and that just made Steve's day a hundred times better. And Sam's too, but he won't admit that and he's pretty sure Natasha has a boyfriend. Or at least someone special from the way she fingers her arrow necklace.

Either way, things are going really really great.

"Can you give this to Steve?" Bucky holds out what looks like a letter to Sam.

This is a new development. Partly because they're out in broad daylight and usually Bucky is pretty cautious about that, and partly because they're outside the VA place and Sam is locking up for the day. He thanks the heavens above (or just Thor in general) Steve is in New York right now.

"You could just give it to him yourself when he comes back," Sam suggests but he takes the letter anyways.

Bucky shakes his head sadly. "No, not yet."

"Then when?" Sam pushes a little. He's a pretty patient guy don't get him wrong, but he can't keep playing messenger/match-maker forever.

"Just… not yet." Bucky shifts from foot to foot and looks around anxiously.

Sam finally sighs in resignation and nods his head. "Okay, okay. I got it. I'll deliver this to your boyfriend." And is that a blush he sees?

"H-he's not my boyfriend," Bucky mumbles embarrassingly. He looks around one more time and gives a pleading look to Sam.

"Go, go," Sam waves off and almost laughs as he sees Bucky take off like a rocket.

Bucky hasn't shown up for a month now. He's stopped leaving gifts on Sam's doorstep and he's not by the trash cans like he should be. Sam wants to beat himself over the head because how did he not see this coming? He should have known.

Sam's been watching Steve carefully and expects him to retrogress after all the progress he's made so far. He's a little sad, but not sad to the point that he totally caves in on himself and stops functioning altogether. Sam made sure to give the letter to Steve, which was around the time Bucky stopped visiting. He doesn't know what was in that letter, but he figures it's helping Steve cope for the time being.

Sam lightly knocks on his bedroom door. "Steve?" He knocks again but still no answer, so he decides to go for it and twists the knob.

Steve is sitting on the floor with all the gifts he received piled around him. His eyes are puffy and red but Sam doesn't comment on them. Instead he shifts the objects around so he can sit shoulder to shoulder with Steve.

He puts a reassuring hand on his leg and looks straight ahead. Steve sniffles and every so often Sam hears a trembling gasp.

Three months go by and still no word from Bucky and somehow Sam has managed to sleep in again.

"Do you want me to pick anything up on the way?" Steve ties and double laces his sneakers.

Sam shakes his head from side to side in a sluggish manner. He almost moans at the wonderfulness that is his coffee.

Steve chuckles a little and opens the door only to stop in his tracks. Sam peers over the rim of his mug and groans. It's way too early for this. He scuffles up next to Steve and chokes on his drink.

Bucky is standing outside and has a tense smile on his face. Steve looks as surprised as the first time he received those art supplies times a hundred.

"Oh, hey man," Sam greets casually as if he hadn't been gone for four months.

This shakes Steve out of his stupor and he looks at Sam. "Why are you not more surprised by this?"

"Huh?"

"Steve." This causes both men to turn their attention back to Bucky.

"It's not his fault. I asked him not to tell you, remember?" Bucky's smile falters a little and he glances uneasily between the two.

"O-oh. Right." Steve still continues to stare at Bucky. His hand twitches at his side and Sam knows he desperately wants to reach out and crush him in a bear hug or possibly make out like crazy.

Sam rolls his eyes and knocks the back of his head.

"Right! You should come in. Don't want cold air in the house," Steve laughs nervously and steps aside to let Bucky in. Bucky has to bite his lip to stop from smiling like a dork.

Sam mutters a "It's about damn time" as Bucky walks past. He ignores the glare shot in his direction.

"I thought it was weird you were spending more than five minutes throwing out the trash." Steve leans against the doorway and looks at Sam expectantly.

"We were having a romantic rendezvous by the trash cans, what can I say?" Sam sighs dramatically and bats his eyelashes.

Steve almost doubles over laughing and smiles. "Thank you."

Sam returns it with his own smile.

Bucky sidles up next to Steve and snuggles into his side. Steve wraps an arm around him and plants a kiss on his head.

Sam laughs at the two of them and stands up to stretch. "I beg you, leave it in the bedroom guys."

Steve splutters and blushes like crazy while Bucky tries to keep a neutral expression. He can tell Bucky is trying super hard not to turn red in the face.

Sam saunters by them into his bedroom and makes sure to turn his stereo up all the way.

"SAM!"

To Steve (the biggest punk in the world):

I hope you enjoyed the gifts you got. Just letting you know now, some of them were really hard to find so you better appreciate them. There aren't many original heath bars left in the world so eat up.

If you're reading this letter, it means Wilson gave it to you and I'm already gone. Don't be mad at him, it's not his fault. And it's not yours either.

I want you to know that during this past year I've been watching you. Just to keep an eye on you so you don't pull some stupid-ass reckless stunt (I haven't forgotten everything). Once I know you're okay and can get by without worrying about me on a daily basis (don't think I don't know, Sam's been keeping me updated), I'm leaving. Not forever at least. I need to go away for a while, clear my mind. I've managed to recover a lot of my memories, but there's still something missing. Trust me, it has nothing to do with you so don't worry so much.

I did manage to get a job and my own place. I'm not telling you where I live, because I'm not ready for that yet. Again, it has NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU. I'm just not ready to face you head on first. I want to get better before that can happen.

Steve, you've always been at my side, and you always had my back. Till the end of the line, remember? I realize now that I want to be by your side again. I want you back in my life, and I want to be back in yours if that's okay. But I want you to know that I've done a lot of things. A lot of terrible things. So don't expect me to come back in one piece. There are still some broken parts of me, and from what Sam's told me there are some broken parts of you that need fixing too. Maybe we can fix each other somehow, when this is all over.

I don't know if this counts as some sort of love confession, but I know I do care about you. Another reason I need to go away is to sort out my own feelings and figure out how I feel about you. I wanted to kill you and protect you all in the one day, so it's a little confusing right now.

So I'm leaving. Try not to worry your ass over me. And… I think I do love you, but don't hold me to it. Wait until I get back at least.

Sincerely, Bucky

P.S. You're a huge punk

P.S.S. You're still a huge punk