One of the things Sam Wilson had enjoyed about his military service was the opportunity to travel. After the shocking and brutal death of his wingman Riley, he promised himself he would travel after his final tour, see more of the world without looking at it through a military lens. He never imagined being in Vienna at the side of Captain America in a search for one of the Howling Commandos.

Steve Rogers was pursuing James Buchanan Barnes with a terrifying level of focus. Sam and Steve hunted down lead after lead, often spending less than one day in a city before draining it dry. Sam was willing to admit he was exhausted, vociferously and frequently. Steve, however, wanted to run fast, and possibly forever, if it meant finally getting Bucky back.

Sam was worried about Steve.

He was worried Steve wasn't eating enough, wasn't sleeping enough, wasn't talking enough. He worried he was traveling with the inexhaustible, indestructible Captain America, but Steve Rogers might need to slow down and just breathe.

In Vienna as midnight approached, Sam finally put his foot down. "Look, Steve, I'm sorry this was another dead end. But please, for my health and yours, let's just stay here another day and rest up a bit."

"But…"

"No. Just no." Sam crossed his arms and stood his ground. "Let's get a good night's sleep, go to a museum or a concert tomorrow, eat dinner in an elegant restaurant, get another good night's sleep, and then we can leave."

Steve stopped shoving stuff into his duffle bag and slumped down onto his bed. "I'm sorry, Sam. I know I've been selfish."

"Hey, I think you could use a bit more selfishness in your life, honestly. But I'm worried about you, functioning at this pace for so long and all."

Looking up at Sam with a small, chagrined smile, Steve said, "I'm not sure I know how to slow down."

"Start with a shower and a comfortable bed." Sam patted Steve on the shoulder before sitting on his own bed. "I'm skipping straight to bedtime, myself."

Steve grabbed his toiletry kit and said, "Good night, Sam" before heading to the bathroom.

Sam woke up uncertain if Steve had slept at all, but they spent the day much as Sam had hoped. A leisurely breakfast of hot chocolate and pastries was followed by strolling through the Kunsthistorisches Museum. Sam had somehow missed the fact Steve had been an artist in his youth and now felt a great deal of curiosity about the notebook Steve carried at all times. Steve's enthusiasm for the art brought a brightness to his eyes previously missing during their year-long pursuit of the Winter Soldier. After a late afternoon snack in a sidewalk cafe and a masterful performance by a string quartet in a cathedral, Sam sighed gratefully as they sat to down to dinner.

"Thank you."

Sam glanced at Steve over the top of his menu. "For what?"

"For today. I'm sorry I didn't realize you needed a break. Thank you for not being…"

"… too intimidated by Captain America to give you orders?"

Steve smiled. "Yeah. That."

"Any time, man."

Conversation flowed naturally while they ate. Sam felt compelled to try a traditional wiener schnitzel, while Steve enjoyed duck confit and potato dumplings. They spoke of the beauty of the music they heard earlier in the day, and Steve had clearly enjoyed the art museum, considering how he went on and on about it.

As their desserts were placed before them, Sam said, "So, you like the arts, but when I asked you what made you happy when we met, you didn't have an answer. Art obviously sparks something in you."

"It always did." Steve shrugged. "I had hoped to make it into a career before…"

"Before?"

"Before the war."

Steve didn't talk much about his life before World War II. Sam wondered if it was because Steve could reasonably expect everyone to know his story or because Steve thought people wanted Captain America, not him.

"What else made you happy before the war?"

Steve hesitated a bit. "Wasn't much joy to be found in the Depression, but we managed to have fun. Bucky and I would take his sisters to the park and play catch. As we got older, we would go to Dodgers games a few times a year. Our moms would scrape together money for tickets, and once Bucky was getting steady work, he'd treat me." Steve was smiling at the memories. "He even took a few art classes with me. I think it was his way of making sure I didn't cause a fight with anyone there."

"You light up when you talk about Barnes. It's good to see."

Steve concentrated on eating his sachertorte and did not respond.

Sam knew he needed to follow that thread, but now wasn't the time. He switched to a happier topic. "Do you still draw?"

"Not as often as I used to, but I kinda can't stop doodling if I'm forced to sit still for too long."

"The notebook?"

Steve nodded.

Sam respected Steve's privacy too much to ask to see his notebook. He knew Steve would share if and when he wanted to. He also knew art was often recommended as therapy and could not help but ask, "So, did your therapist encourage you to take up drawing again?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your therapist. The one they made you see when you came out of the ice."

Steve was silent.

Sam sat, stunned into a brief silence of his own. Of all the possibilities, Steve not seeing a therapist at all had not crossed Sam's mind. "Steve, did you talk to anyone after you woke up?"

"There wasn't time." Steve raised his hand to indicate they were ready for the check, signaling an end to the conversation.

Unfortunately for Steve, Sam had plenty of experience dealing with recalcitrant veterans.

Sam waited until he was about to get snug under his own bedding. He knew, worst case scenario, Steve would go to bed and at least feign sleep if he wanted to avoid this conversation with Sam. Anything to keep Steve from pulling yet another all-nighter and maybe, instead, make some progress on dealing with his issues.

"So, did you really not see a therapist after being pulled from the ice?"

Using his best stern, disappointed tone, Steve said, "Sam."

"Steve, I'm not just your friend. I'm also a counselor, and my counselor instincts are telling me to force this with you. Humor me, okay?"

Steve sat on his bed, posture stiff, feet on floor. "I wasn't joking when I said there wasn't time."

Wait. "How long had you been out before New York happened?"

"I'd been awake for about three weeks."

"Jesus. That was…"

Steve looked sharply at him. "What?"

"Damned insensitive and unprofessional of SHIELD."

Steve snorted. "There are no protocols in this business."

"Well, there should be. You were just a few weeks from losing the love of your life…" Sam paused as Steve inhaled sharply, "…and what, a few months, from losing Barnes?"

Steve focused on a thread he was pulling from the hem of his sleep shorts. "Bucky fell only about a week, actually, before I went into the ice."

Sam was furious, but not at Steve. Waking up seventy years displaced in time would have provoked feelings of disassociation. Serving in an active combat zone could naturally lead to PTSD. Losing a possible future with Peggy could trigger a major depressive episode. Not having time to process his grief over the death of his best friend? Icing on the shitcake as far as Sam was concerned.

Sam damped down his anger before saying, "You woke up straight out of a combat mission. You weren't given time to mourn Barnes and Carter and your whole life. That was cruel to expect of you. You should have at least had someone assigned to help you deal with all of that."

"Captain America can handle anything that comes his way."

The way Steve intoned the words led Sam to believe this was an old propaganda quote. Sad thing was, people still believe it.

"Well, maybe Captain America can, but how about Steve Rogers?"

"Never really had to cope on my own before." At Sam's questioning look, Steve added, "Bucky always had my back, ever since we were kids."

"How were you coping after Barnes fell from the train?"

"Found out I couldn't get drunk anymore." Steve laughed bitterly, before adding, "I focused on taking down Hydra. Didn't really look beyond the end of the mission. Nothing else seemed to matter after that."

"Was the mission when you ditched the plane into the ice your next mission after losing Barnes?"

Steve nodded.

"Jesus." It had been wartime, of course. Sam understood the pressure to serve better than most. But a man who would have been grieving so deeply, who would have been obviously emotionally compromised, should never have been allowed back in the field that quickly if there had been any alternative. He wondered if anyone had even questioned if Steve Rogers had been ready when Captain America was who was needed. "When you brought the plane down, you thought you were sacrificing your life to save millions of Americans on the East Coast. Would you have still done it if Barnes was alive?"

Steve did not answer right away. Sam was grateful. The hesitation meant Steve was truly evaluating his choice. Eventually, Steve said, "It was the right thing to do. But it would have been a more difficult decision if I'd known he was alive."

And while not dead, Bucky Barnes was a ghost they were chasing across the world. "You still need to grieve his loss, Steve. Whatever we find, it won't be him."

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

"Not to me."

"How can it not matter? You saw what was done to him. Tortured and used and wiped for decades. It will have changed him drastically."

"Because he's Bucky!" Steve breathed deeply to control his emotions. "He's Bucky. That's all I need to know."

Not for the first time, Sam wondered about Steve's feelings for Bucky. Obviously strong bonds of friendship, of brotherhood. But was this level of devotion and loyalty about bringing back a lost friend, or did it speak to something deeper? Steve never said, but then again, would he?

Sam braced for a harsh reaction. "Do you love him?"

"Of course, I do. He's my best friend."

"That's not what I meant. Were you in love with him?"

Steve looked at Sam as if he had sprouted multiple heads.

Sam looked right back at him, expectation intentionally radiating from him.

Finally, Steve said, "Why would you ask that?"

"Because I think it's the right question to ask you at this moment."

Steve sat silently, appearing miserable and confused. Sam rapidly gained the impression Steve had never actively considered the possibility of romantic love for his friend before. Eventually, Steve reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. "Good night, Sam."

"'Night, Steve."

All-in-all, Sam thought it had gone well. And as any good counseling session should, it ended on a question to chew over before the next conversation. Sam practiced breathing exercises to help calm his residual anger over the way SHIELD and Fury and everyone had treated Steve coming out of the ice. Because Steve should have never been left alone like that, even if he wanted to be.

An unfamiliar noise pulled Sam out of his light sleep. It took him several moments of blinking to realize what had awoken him. Steve was crying. Softly, to be sure, but unmistakably. And as much as Sam did not want to embarrass him by acknowledging his tears, he truly believed Steve should not be left alone to figure out things for himself.

"Steve?"

Sniffling, the sound of hands wiping tears from his face. "Sorry I woke you, Sam. Go back to sleep. I'm okay."

"Are you really?"

There was a pause as Steve grappled with his reflexive defensiveness. "No."

"I'm sorry if our conversation upset you. I shouldn't have asked you that last question."

"No, Sam." A sob. "Turns out, it was the right question."

Sam reached for the bedside lamp, but Steve interrupted. "No, please, this will be easier for me in the dark."

"Anything, man."

"It's just…" There was a long gap filled only by the sound of Steve struggling to catch his breath. "For so long, Bucky was everything to me. I never even questioned his role in my life, the way I needed him so much. He'd just always been there. When he fell, I felt like I died, too. Hollowed out, nothing left of me." There was another pause before Steve said, "Maybe I really did mean to die on that plane."

Sam exhaled deeply. He should have realized Steve was brave enough to stare at his feelings until he figured them out, once pointed in the right direction. "You're doing great, Steve. You've made lot of progress in a few hours."

"Um, thanks?"

"Well, you should still find a therapist…" but Steve's scoff wouldn't let Sam finish.

"Really?" Steve launched into his best self-righteous tone. "Hello, I'm Captain America. I'm almost 100 years old. Most of what I do is not for public knowledge, so I can't talk to you about the choices that haunt me after every mission. Did I mention the part where the Nazis won? Oh, and I might possibly be in love with my best friend, but didn't realize it for eight decades because I was taught loving a man is a sin. And that friend, he's a brainwashed international assassin slash forgotten POW I'm searching for every second of every day until I know he's okay."

"Alright, you've made your point."

"Who'd believe the stories I'd tell, anyways? And who could I possibly trust with Bucky?"

At the tremble in Steve's voice, Sam made a mental note to start compiling a list of possible therapists for the Avengers.

"So, what do I do now?" His timid voice reminded Sam of how young Steve was.

"You learn to understand how you feel about Barnes. To know whether you're making decisions rationally, not emotionally, during this search. To know what is driving your need to reunite with him." Sam softened his tone. "And I'm not just saying this as a friend, but as a teammate. Your team deserves to know you have your head in the game. Your heart was never in question."

"You're right."

Steve sounded despondent, like he had let his team down. That would not do, so Sam decided to lighten the mood.

"You mean you never once thought about getting it on with Barnes?"

"Sam!"

"Seriously, he didn't do much for me while he was trying to kill me, but I've seen photos of the Howlies. I don't even swing that way, and I'd still…"

"Please, stop." Steve laughed.

Mission accomplished. "Oh, no. Every time I even glance at a woman, you give me shit. I have earned this."

"Well, this will take some getting used to."

Sam let his smile bleed into his voice. "Maybe it's good it's taking us so long to find him."

Steve waited a beat, then replied. "I hate you."

"No, you don't." Sam heard Steve nestle back under his blankets. "Good night, Steve."

"Good night, Sam, and thank you."