I updated this story on 11/23/18! I'm going to delete and reupload parts 2 and 3 as I redo them, so subscribers get a notice that they've been updated. Part 3 is undergoing MASSIVE changes.


"Mr. Barnes?" A woman's voice asked and he turned his attention up and to the left. A young woman – early twenties, with dark, wavy hair, brown eyes, full lips, and glasses – was looking down at him, holding a clipboard. Her expression was one he saw often, especially on women – it was the look one gives a stray dog that may or may not have rabies.

He hated that he was here, wearing his filthy jeans, boots, and black long-sleeved shirt, with his long, greasy hair; he hadn't showered in at least a week, maybe longer. He hated the noise and the anxiety that came from being surrounded by people; but he had to do this.

He'd promised.

"Bucky," he corrected, clearing his throat.

The woman blinked, "I'm sorry?" She looked at her clipboard, concerned she had confused him with someone else.

"I'm James Barnes," he said, gesturing to himself with his right hand. "But people call me 'Bucky,'" he said and flashed his million-dollar smile, the one that could charm the pants off of any woman – or man, he'd learned.

You learn a lot of things you didn't expect you would have to when you become homeless.

She blushed and smiled, raising her hand to touch her hair in the way some women do when they're nervous. "I'm Darcy," she said and she pulled a pen out to write his name on the paperwork she was holding. "Well, they're ready for you, Bucky." He stood up and grabbed his secondhand jacket and his green canvas bag that held everything he owned.

They weaved through the groups of people, leaving the noise of the lobby, and walked down a long corridor with ugly blue carpeting and off-white walls. Once they reached the end of the hall, they turned left, walking down another hall with the same color scheme.

They reached a plain, wooden door without a name or number on it and she smiled at him as she knocked. "Come on in," a man's voice said and she opened the door for him.

Bucky stepped into a small conference room with a decent table, made to seat six, but there were eight chairs orbiting it. On the opposite side of the room, three men sat – two were older and one was young, maybe early thirties. They were all dressed in casual clothes, Bucky thought, which made him feel less inadequate about his own wardrobe, but theirs were much cleaner than his.

The man on the far left rose, walking around with his right hand extended. "Sergeant Barnes," he said, smiling as Bucky shook it. He had white hair and a decent mustache to match. "I'm Thaddeus Ross, this," he gestured to the second man who still had some red in his graying hair, "is Alexander Pierce." Pierce stood and came around, shaking Bucky's hand as well, then Ross moved his arm to gesture to the younger man, "And this is Steve Rogers."

Steve followed suit, standing – holy shit, he was tall - and walking around the table to shake Bucky's hand. There was something very familiar about him and Bucky wondered if he was a model, or something. He had a beautiful face with blond hair that was styled a bit old-fashioned, but was still looked attractive. He wore a light blue V-neck sweater that nearly matched his eyes, making them luminous. He was also huge, with a broad chest, thick biceps and forearms that strained against his sweater, but he had one of those thin waists that Bucky found irresistible.

Then Bucky realized that he wasn't some model, and, as they shook hands, he said, "I know you."

Steve smiled a gorgeous, golden boy grin, and said, "Yeah, we served together briefly."

Bucky nodded his head, suddenly remembering things he wished he hadn't. "It's good to see you, Captain," he said. He felt himself blush, becoming very aware of how filthy he looked and smelled, but, if the others noticed, they showed no sign of it.

"Call me Steve," he said, smiling. Steve and Bucky stood at just about the same height but he did have to look up at Steve, if only a little bit. "We were stationed together at Camp Dwyer," Steve explained to the others. "There was a time when there were too many units in one place and I had to practically sleep on top of him."

On top of, Jesus, Bucky thought, watching Steve speak and trying to keep his face from betraying what was in his head. I wish.

"So, James," Pierce began as they all returned to their seats and Bucky took the middle seat opposite them, setting his bag and coat on the floor.

"Excuse me," he said, holding up his right hand, "But, if I may, please call me 'Bucky.'"

They all nodded and Bucky noted that Steve continued smiling like he had just won the lottery, or something. "So, Bucky," Pierce continued, "We are interviewing you today for a short-term placement in the VA shelter here. You get a room, three meals, and access to counseling – both vocational and mental health." As he spoke, his eyes never left Bucky's face and there was something about his stare made Bucky uncomfortable. "This is a six-month program for all veterans and their families, but our goal for each man and woman is no longer than four. Now, Bucky, you've been on our waitlist for," he finally broke that intense eye contact to look down at the papers before him, then looked back up. "Six months. Where are you staying now?"

Bucky hesitated – the embarrassment that came from being homeless, a drag on society, a loser – all came up, but he took a breath and swallowed. "An old buddy from basic put me up in his apartment for a couple of months, but his landlord threatened to evict him, so I…" he dropped his gaze to his lap and fiddled with his left hand.

"Bucky," Steve said as he leaned forward a bit. "We don't care about legal or anything like that."

Bucky nodded his head, looking up at Steve, and then finally said, "There's a bunch of us who stay outside a vacant warehouse in Hell's Kitchen."

Steve sighed and sat back in his chair, making it creak. He was frustrated, even a bit angry. This was something that Steve had probably heard often – too often – from veterans. He'd probably heard something similar hundreds, maybe even thousands of times. He said, "We work with all of the local shelters but we are, unfortunately, the only VA shelter in the city. We have twenty-two beds but we can double some rooms up sometimes and take as many as thirty-four." Then he seemed to remember himself and concealed those emotions behind that brilliant smile that knocked Bucky's pants off.

I wish, he thought again.

Pierce cut in, saying, "We do everything that we can. We're all veterans on staff, except Darcy, but she's a Navy brat, born and raised."

Bucky nodded in recognition of their efforts and said, "I've been to the food bank here and the soup kitchen."

Ross smiled, looking over at Pierce and Steve to make sure that they were done speaking. He sat forward and said, "Alright, we just have a few questions."


The interview took around a half-hour and, by the time they finished, the clock on the wall read eleven-thirty. Ross encouraged Bucky to get some lunch at the soup kitchen. He thanked them all and shook their hands again, then he grabbed his belongings to head out.

"Hey," Steve said and Bucky paused. "I'll walk you out."

He didn't need help but he nodded and waited by the door as Steve picked up the folder and loose paperwork on the table. Bucky followed him through the corridor and, as they turned to go down the hallway that led to the lobby, one of the plain, brown doors opened and a large, metal cart full of electronic equipment was pushed into the hall.

At that moment, the loud sound, the surprise, and the sight had Bucky slamming his back against the wall opposite the open door, ready for an attack of some kind.

The man pushing the cart, whose nametag read 'Fitz,' apologized over and over, and Steve appeared to be speaking to him sternly.

Bucky wasn't really registering those things. He blinked and realized that Fitz and Steve had grabbed his arms to pull him back up but he couldn't remember when he sat down. Fitz apologized again and again as he wheeled the cart away at a much slower pace.

Bucky looked everywhere, trying to find something he could focus on when Steve stepped in front of him. He put his hands on Bucky's shoulders and took a deep breath, blowing out peppermint smelling air. It took a moment for Bucky to register that he was doing that too – without the peppermint, unfortunately – and had begun mimicking Steve's breathing patterns.

Bucky swallowed and nodded his head, allowing Steve to take a step back and let go of his shoulders. He said, "I'm sorry. I'm just a bit more, uh, high strung today because of the interview." It all came out in a rush.

"Don't apologize, Bucky," Steve nodded his head and smiled that smile. "Okay," he said. "Come on, let's get something to eat." Then he began leading Bucky back down the hall, away from the lobby, and then turned, going the opposite direction of the conference room. "We'll go out the side," he said by way of an explanation. "That lobby gets really loud at lunch time and…" but he didn't finish.

Didn't need to. Loud noises, surprises, and even unending sounds could set Bucky off, but Steve had known what to do in the moment.

The side door opened to an alleyway and Bucky put his coat on, watching as Steve kept walking toward the street. Bucky just assumed that Steve would take off, say 'Nice to see you again,' and go back to his office, but once they came out on the street, Steve asked, "What are you in the mood for?"

Bucky shook his head and said, "I'm just gonna eat here."

Steve looked from Bucky's eyes to the line for the soup kitchen and said, "I'm not trying to coerce you or anything, Buck, but it gets really loud in there at this time."

Steve was throwing Bucky off; he had seen him nearly have a panic attack minutes before, because of a sudden, loud sound, and he was trying to help Bucky feel calm. He'd served with Steve years earlier and Bucky didn't remember a lot of it.

What was it about Steve Rogers that made Bucky Barnes feel safe?

Bucky turned and looked at the line of people, too, and then turned back to Steve, nodding his head. "I just want to get a taco from a food truck, or something." He couldn't sit in a restaurant with Steve, not looking and smelling the way he did.

Steve's smile brightened and he said, "Come on."

Bucky followed like he'd done it his entire life, trusting this man, relying on him. They walked a couple of blocks and found a taco truck that was at a small park; there was a crowd around it, but it wasn't large enough to make Bucky nervous.

He had a few dollars from some (illegal) panhandling but it was enough to get a taco. Once Steve reached the front of the line and began ordering, Bucky waited alongside him. When Steve was done, he turned to Bucky, so he could order as well. Steve looked at him with a strange expression before tripling the number of tacos Bucky had requested.

"Whoa, hey," Bucky protested, "I can't –"

"I got it," Steve said, handing the woman a twenty.

Bucky walked out of the crowd to stand by the stone wall surrounding the park, embarrassed and angry. Didn't people understand how humiliating it was to do that?

When Steve reached him, Bucky huffed a breath and said, "Look, man, I don't need your charity, alright?"

Steve's smile faltered for a moment but returned as he said, "It's not charity, Buck. I remember what you did when we served. Shit, you saved my ass over and over. No one was a better shot and I nearly died twice and I only say 'nearly,' because you saved my life." By the end, he looked and sounded more like the Captain that Bucky remembered from then, what he could remember anyway.

Captain Rogers never smiled easily; he made you feel disappointed in yourself for not putting your all into a mission. He abhorred bad language, bureaucracy, and poor character choices. Bucky remembered watching him admonish his unit and, unlike other commanders, he didn't yell. Somehow, to Bucky, that made it worse. He spoke to them like a disappointed teacher, rather than an angry drill sergeant.

He drove his unit hard but he supported each and every soldier who fought with him. Bucky remembered that they had called him 'Captain America' because he practically wore patriotism on his chest. He was the All American Boy; it was like baseball and apple pie had a baby.

Steve was right about Bucky's skills as a sharpshooter, too, but he had no memory of saving Steve's life. After a beat, Bucky asked, "So, what? You buy me lunch and we're even?"

Steve laughed and, Christ, Bucky could live to hear that sound over and over. Steve shook his head and said, "No, but it's a start."

Bucky considered for a moment but didn't respond. Their order number was called and Steve went to get the bag, then they walked into the park to find a place to sit on the grass. Bucky pulled his jacket off and laid it on the grass to provide some comfort. It was April and the weather had just a bit of chill in the morning but, by noon, it was gorgeous and warm. This was the best weather to be homeless in.

There had been times over the last winter when Bucky truly worried that he might die.

Steve divvied out the food, offering Bucky some of his chips and guacamole, which he declined. They ate in silence and Steve was polite enough to not watch as Bucky ate his food a mile a minute. When he finished his last taco, Steve was about a third of the way into his burrito.

He set it down and ate a few chips before asking, "So, now that you have housing, what's your next goal?"

Bucky looked at him and asked, "This is a continuation of the interview?"

Steve shook his head and said, "No." He bit into his burrito and then put it down to wipe his face with his napkin. "No, Buck, it's not. You're already in and nothing we say here will end up in your file." He thought for a moment and then added, "Unless you want it to."

He hesitated before asking, "What is your role there?"

Steve smiled and said, "I'm a therapist."

Bucky tucked his hair behind his ear and opened the plastic water bottle that Steve offered him. "Did you go to school when you got out?"

Steve nodded, "Yeah, I got my LCSW licensure, uh, two years ago." Bucky finished taking a drink and pulled his sleeves up a bit, feeling himself beginning to sweat. Steve noticed Bucky's left arm and asked, "Can I ask you… how did you end up in this position?"

Bucky saw Steve looking and pulled the sleeve back down, hiding the scars, "A lot of bad choices." Steve waited for him to continue, leaning back with his hands in the grass. Bucky chewed his lip for a moment and then said, "There was an accident and my left arm got pretty messed up. After that, I decided to get my life together."

Steve nodded his head, smiling a diminished version of his usual one. "Thank you for telling me."

Bucky could tell that Steve knew it wasn't the full story but he didn't pry any further. The same feeling that made Bucky feel physically safe around Steve also made him feel like he could open up about his past, though he wasn't ready yet.

"You must be good at your job," Bucky said, chuckling, and glancing over at him.

Steve shrugged, feigning modesty, and said, "I'm not the best, but I'm up there." Bucky laughed in a way he hadn't heard himself laugh in months. It felt good. Steve began packing up the garbage and said, "Come on, I'll show you your room."

They made their way back to the shelter in silence and went in through the lobby door. Darcy was at the desk and when she saw them, she smiled at Bucky, blushing a bit. Steve walked up to her and said, "Darcy, you remember Bucky?" She nodded and he said, "I need a key for the exterior door and for room eighteen."

She stood up and rushed down the corridor they had gone down earlier; she didn't have to go quite as far, though, and she returned a minute later. "Okay, Bucky," she said, setting the two keys on the edge of her desk. "This one," she pointed to the square-shaped one on the left, "is for the exterior alleyway door. If you come home after the lobby is closed, you have to go through that door. It also opens the shower room door and the gym. This," she pointed to the smaller, round key with the number 'eighteen' on it, "is for your room." She pointed to his left where a set of stairs led up. "Those stairs lead to the rooms," she stood up to show him the way but Steve interrupted her.

"I'll take him," he smiled and she sat back down, a little shocked.

Bucky followed him up the stairs and into a hallway lit with LED overhead lights; the doors lining the hall had large, black numbers on them. Steve turned to the right and Bucky; about halfway down, they came to room eighteen and Steve stood aside to let him unlock it. He opened the door to a small, dorm-like room with a single bed against the wall on the right, a dresser across from it, and a desk and chair at the end. There was some shelving and a window across from them. The comforter looked hand-made with blue and green patterns quilted on; the furniture was made of cheap, pale wood and the chair was metal.

"This is mine?" His face split in a grin as he turned back to Steve.

Steve nodded, smiling, and stepped inside as well; he filled the small space with his massive form. Any other time, Bucky would have felt anxious about having someone cage him in such a small space but, for some reason, he knew that Steve meant him no harm. "The bathroom is three doors down on the left and you can use the shower anytime; there are razors, soap, shampoo, and toothbrushes and toothpaste in there for you to use. But you can, of course, buy your own if you'd prefer."

Bucky nodded, "Thank you."

Steve's smile got bigger and it was almost too bright for Bucky to look at, but his eyes could adjust. "Oh," he said, "and there is laundry in the basement. It's coin-operated but you'll have clean clothes. What size do you wear?"

He thought for a moment; he remembered the sizes he used to wear but he'd lost a lot of weight living on the streets. "I'm, um, I'm not sure."

Steve shook his head and said, "It's okay, I'll grab some stuff and bring it up."

He began turning to leave but Bucky said, "You don't have to."

Steve turned back to him, "I want to, Buck."

Bucky nodded as Steve left, shutting the door behind him. Bucky decided that he needed to take a shower before he could do anything else. He set his bag on the floor and opened it; he didn't really have any clean clothes but he had some that were tolerable. He could wear them while the others were in the washer. He pulled his dog tags off and unlatched the chain, slid the two keys on it, and then clicked the ball back into place. He made sure that the door locked before he walked three doors down and tried the room labeled SHOWER. He tried the big key and the door opened.

There were three shower stalls, sinks, and bathroom stalls, as well as lockers, benches, and a cabinet labeled TOILETRIES. It looked like a changing room at a gym. He opened the cabinet and grabbed shampoo, a bar of soap, deodorant, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a razor. There was a sign that read MOUTHWASH IN LOBBY and he understood that it wouldn't be left in here since it could be used to get drunk.

There were some towels – the hotel type that scrape your skin as they dry you but Bucky was just glad to have one. When he grabbed it, he smelled the bleach wafting off of it. He went to the stall furthest from the door and set his clothes down on the floor; he stepped inside to undress – you lose a lot of modesty and dignity on the streets, but he felt that he should hang on to what he had left. He hung his dog tags on the shower head so he could keep them in sight; if someone stole his clothes, whatever; but he needed those keys.

The hot water felt amazing and he was sure he scrubbed years of grime off of his skin and out of his hair. The shampoo felt incredible since he had used regular soap on his hair for so long. He scrubbed his feet, hands, and face, then he brushed his teeth; he decided he would request some mouthwash too.

He heard the door open and footsteps on the tile. "Buck?" He heard Steve's voice and he, suddenly, became nervous.

"Uh, yeah?" He answered.

"I brought some clothes from downstairs," he said. "I just guessed on your size, but I think they'll fit. I'm going to bag up your dirty clothes, okay?" His voice was even, tentative, as if he were talking to an animal that might attack him if he moved wrong. Bucky heard Steve approach the stall and begin picking up his clothes off of the floor. "And you can use the bag for your other clothes when you do laundry."

"Thank you, Steve," Bucky replied.

Steve's footsteps began to move away but paused. "I forgot to tell you," he returned to the stall. "There's a gym here, it's upstairs. It's free to use."

"Okay, thank you," he said. "I'm going to, uh, get out now."

"Oh, right," Steve chuckled, "I'll see you around."

He waited until he heard the door shut and opened the white, plastic shower curtain. He grabbed his dog tags before he stepped out and slipped the chain over his head. He looked down and saw his clothes bagged in a large, white plastic bag and, next to it was a folded pile of clothes – a red t-shirt that would fit and a pair of jeans that may be too big for him, plus some basic boxer shorts and socks. He used the towel to dry off and wrapped it around his waist.

He walked over to the mirrors above the sinks and stared at himself. His hair was long, almost to his shoulders, but uneven from the times he had cut it himself; he had dark circles under his eyes and could see the way his body had changed since he had become homeless. He had been very muscular, though not as huge as Steve, but he had considered himself to be very attractive.

Looking at himself, though, he could only see hints of that person; his arms were still bigger than most and he had a somewhat defined abdomen but his ribs protruded. His overall mass had decreased from months of, perhaps, one meal a day if he was lucky and scraps the rest of the time.

He considered his left arm and hand; there were several surgical scars from the metal rods and implants they had put in following the accident. His hand, too, had scars and he knew he would never regain full mobility in it.

He shook himself and smoothed his hair back to look at his face; he hadn't shaved in weeks but, underneath the growing beard, he could see that his cheeks were sunken in. When Steve had known him before, he'd been healthy and vibrant; his hair was short and he always shaved. Though it had only been around five or six years, he looked like he had aged significantly. He had lines and scars all over his body and not all of them had necessarily come from his combat experience.

He had several tattoos as well, each covering a scar. Each tattoo was a memory; a memory of what the image meant as well as a memory of the marred flesh beneath it.

He looked down at his left hand and clenched his fist, noting the tremor that occurred when he tried. He bit his lip, trying to focus enough of his energy into making a full fist, but he could see the gaps where his fingers didn't quite touch his palm. He released it, sighing in frustration. He had ignored it for a long time; he favored his right side anyway but he had used his left when aiming his rifle. He couldn't do that anymore.

He stepped up to the sink and ran the water, then used the bar of soap to lather up his hands and then his face. He wasn't keen on shaving this way as it tended to leave his skin feeling dry, but he would use what he had at his disposal and buy something better when he could. The razor was pretty bad but it got the job done; it left razor bumps on his neck but there were no cuts.

He checked the toiletries cupboard again and found a small bottle of lotion, which he rubbed into his skin. He hissed at the slight burn that came with using scented lotion on freshly shaved skin, but was grateful it would ease the dryness. He washed the area around the sink and wiped the hair up with paper towels, disposing of them in the trash.

He returned to his belongings and began pulling the clothes on that Steve had left. It all fit well, except that the pants were a bit big in the waist, but it didn't matter. He could find a belt if he needed to. He made sure all of his items were in the plastic bag before he started toward the door, carrying the bag and his boots.

As he reached it, he heard a key in the lock and the door swung open; he'd begun to step backward, luckily, because the guy had not been paying attention. A muscular man with short, black hair and facial scarring walked in; he was about the same height as Bucky, but wider in the shoulders. He was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a simple black t-shirt. He saw Bucky and nodded, "I didn't know anyone was in here."

He fiddled behind the door for a second before walking all the way inside; it looked to Bucky like he had slipped something into his pocket. His keys? He stepped forward and held out his right hand, "I'm Brock Rumlow."

Bucky accepted the handshake but remained wary. "I'm James Barnes," he said; his gut told him that this guy wasn't someone he would be friends with.

"Just move in?" Brock asked, shifting on his feet a bit and fidgeting with his hands.

He watched, recognizing the familiarity of the movements; Brock was a user. Bucky recognized the telltale signs of someone looking to get a fix. "Yeah," he answered, "just today."

Brock nodded, sniffing, and then said, "Well, I'm gonna shower."

Bucky noted that he hadn't brought any clothes in with him but said nothing as he stepped past Brock. He wasn't going to return to that life, but he wasn't a narc either. "See ya."

When he returned to his room, he shut and locked the door. He noticed that the rules were posted on the back:

Curfew is 9:30 PM but you can apply for an extension if it is related to work Drinking alcohol is strictly prohibited Drug use will not be tolerated Keep your space clean Do not engage in any business on shelter property Be respectful All residents must attend two groups per week and meet with their counselor No fraternization between residents is allowed

A note at the bottom said: "Breaking these rules will result in dismissal from the program." He felt the urge, suddenly, the craving that came on sometimes. He had been in mere feet of a fix; he had been so close. He rubbed his face and pulled his hair back into a bun before he grabbed his wallet. He counted the cash he had and took a deep breath; he needed to think of a goal; having a plan always made it easier to ignore the cravings.

I need to get a job.

He got up and left his room – making sure the door locked – and went down the stairs to the lobby. It was about four-thirty and Darcy was still sitting at her desk with a file open. He approached and she closed it, smiling at him. "Bucky, how can I help you?"

He could tell that she was surprised at the transformation. He smiled, feeling like he was on much better terrain now that he was clean, shaved, and had brushed his teeth. He was attracted to women, some women, but Darcy was too young and sweet for him to take that kind of interest in her. She reminded him of his sister, Rebecca. "Um, do I need to schedule a meeting with the, um, job counselor?"

She nodded, "Yes, I can do that." She looked at her computer screen, clicking on the mouse and typing on the keys. "Good for you, taking the bull by the horns." He half-shrugged and smiled sheepishly at her. "Okay, Sam Wilson is really awesome; he can be tough but in a totally supportive way. Our other counselor is still out on maternity leave, but I can get you in with Sam on Thursday."

Bucky nodded, "That's good. I think I, uh, need tough right now."

She smiled and typed some more. "Alright, he has an 8:15 or a 3:30."

"8:15, please," he said without hesitation. "I'm a morning person."

She grabbed a business card from her desk and wrote the information on it, then handed it to Bucky. "You just come check in with me and I'll let him know you're here."

He nodded his thanks, holding up the card and walking away. It was Tuesday and not quite dinner time yet and he had completed his goal for the moment. Darcy was watching him as he stood, somewhat lost, and she said, "Uh, Bucky." He turned back to her and she said, pointing with her left hand, "There is a schedule of the daily groups on that wall. There are, um, day and evening groups. Oh, and the gym is open until 10 P.M." She seemed to steel herself before adding, "There's an NA group tonight."

He watched her, wondering if that information was in his file or if that was private. She seemed to read this thought on his face and she said, "I go to the NA group." He blinked, realizing that she knew about him because she saw the signs of an addict trying to stay sober. She saw the need to stay busy, to keep small goals in mind, to stay active, and she wanted to help him.

He nodded and walked to the wall; the papers posted there were lists of groups with small descriptions, room numbers, and meeting times. The NA group was set to meet right after dinner. "Thanks, Darcy," he said, smiling at her. "I'm going to head to dinner."

She nodded and began putting her work away. He walked out the front door and turned left; there was already a line but there always was. He stood behind an older vet who went by 'Dum Dum,' but his real name was Tim Dugan. They had seen one another quite a few times at the kitchen and they shook hands. Dum Dum had a bowler hat that he swore was his granddad's from World War II and he had a handlebar mustache that he was exceptionally proud of. "Bucky, you clean up damn nice," he said. "But you should'a gone for a mustache."

Bucky laughed, "No, man, I can't do that. I'd look better than you."

Dum Dum laughed, loudly, "Keep dreamin', Buck."

Just then, Bucky heard a voice he recognized – Steve – and he turned around to find the man himself walking out of the shelter lobby doors. He had his cell phone to his ear and looked to be arguing with someone. "No, we discussed this – yes, we did! You can't just – Fine, fine, I'll see you at home." He ended the call and continued walking past the line of men and women he advocated for without looking up once.

Bucky had hoped – really hoped – that Steve would notice him, but he didn't. He walked to the end of the block and took a left, going out of sight. Bucky wondered who had been on the phone and what the fight was about, but he also didn't want to know.

After he ate, Bucky went straight back inside to the room that was scheduled for NA. The door was open and he walked right in; there were several chairs in a circle with a few people already seated. He saw Darcy was one of them and he waved; she waved back, smiling. He thought it might be weird if he sat next to her so he took a chair a few seats away.

After a few minutes, the seats had filled up and the prayer said. Then, an older man wearing a plaid button up and jeans stood up. He said, "Hello, I'm Eric and I am an addict."

Everyone responded "Hi Eric" in near unison.

"I served in the Navy and, when I got out, I went to college. A decade later, I had just earned my PhD in astrophysics; I was getting published, I was at the top of my game. Then, I hurt my back and started taking pain medication. But I've been sober for three years and seven months!" He said, proudly, throwing his hands in the air to show his success.

The group clapped and several people said, "Congratulations."

He took his seat and a young woman stood up. She was black and had her head shaved; she wore an orange and brown V-neck shirt, black pants, and black motorcycle boots. She was really muscular and tall and Bucky could see several tattoos on her arms and going up her neck. "Hi, I'm Okoye," she said, pronouncing her name O-Ko-Yay. "And I am an addict."

The group greeted her as they did Eric and she discussed her own story. The meeting went on that way and Darcy even stood up; she shared that her older sister had died and she had chased her grief with pills and booze. "But I've been sober for two years, thank God," she said, proudly.

Bucky didn't share that night; he had hardly shared in the NA meetings he had attended before this but he knew the importance of community. When he was alone, he wanted a fix more. As everyone got up, many helped put the folding chairs away and stayed for coffee and cookies but Bucky was suddenly tired. It was only seven-thirty but he hadn't slept well in months. He excused himself, waving to Darcy again, and then went back to the lobby and took the stairs.


Bucky's Wednesday had been busy; he got up, found his basketball shorts and a ratty t-shirt, locked his door, and followed the signs that led to the gym. It was minimal – a treadmill, weight bench, a stationary bike, and a bar for pull-ups. He went right in, using the free weights for about an hour, and then he got on the treadmill.

It was surprising how out of shape he was for having lived his life on the go for almost a year. After an hour and a half, he was shaking and covered in sweat. He opted to wear the clothes he had gotten from Steve again and took them to the bathroom for his shower. He dressed in the red t-shirt and jeans and found his way to the public library to check out some books. He allowed himself about an hour and hauled the books with him to the Post Office, where he opened a PO Box and completed a change of address form. His mail was going to his friend, Wanda, and he made a mental note to call her.

Bucky had lunch with Dum Dum again and wondered if he might see Steve. Afterward, he exchanged a couple of his dollars for quarters and washed all of his clothes in the basement. He spent the evening reading and fell asleep with the book on his chest.

Thursday morning, he awoke at five-thirty; his body was clenched and tense – signs that he'd had a nightmare – but he couldn't recall the images. He was grateful for that at least. He slowly sat up, stretching his muscles out to relax them and then he stood. He grabbed the shirt and shorts he wore the day before and went to the gym again.

It was just as hard that day, maybe worse with the tension and muscle aches that came from beginning to work out again. He returned to his room, grabbed some clean clothes, and took a shower. Being able to shower daily was something that he had taken for granted for so much of his life.

He shaved again and pulled his hair into a bun before he went downstairs to grab some breakfast at the soup kitchen. The line moved quickly and he was back to check in for his meeting with the vocational counselor by eight-ten. Darcy was at the desk; her dark hair was up in a loose bun and there was a large coffee on her desk. "Hi Bucky," she said, a bit less happily than usual.

"Morning," he said, smiling.

"I'll let Sam know you're here." She picked up her desk phone and dialed a number quickly and said, "Your 8:15 is here." She looked at him for a moment and then smiled. "Sorry, Bucky, I'm not much of a morning person."

"I can see that," he said, looking pointedly at the cup.

She laughed and said, "This is my second one."

He chuckled and, just then, a black man with a shaved head, wearing a green sweater and blue jeans walked into the lobby. "Are you James?" He said, walking over and extending his right hand.

Bucky stood up and accepted the handshake, saying, "Yeah, but please call me 'Bucky.'"

"Bucky, okay," he said, nodding. "I'm Sam Wilson. Let's go back to my office."

He followed Sam back down the corridor he had come down for his interview, but they stopped at the second door. They went inside and Sam gestured for Bucky to take a seat as he took the chair behind the cluttered desk. Bucky sat down and waited while Sam grabbed a manila folder from a pile and opened it to a blank form.

"Alright Bucky, tell me about your work history."

He dove right in, describing working menial jobs through high school, then joining the Army and working his way up to Sergeant.

Sam jotted notes as they spoke. "What about since you returned?"

He hesitated but forced himself to say, "I haven't really… I mean, I started working for a friend of mine but it didn't work out and, um, long story short, I blew through my savings and lost my apartment."

Sam listened, nodding, but no longer writing the information down. When Bucky finished speaking, he said, "Bucky, what is your goal for this program?"

He gathered his thoughts and finally answered, "I'm going to get my life back together."

Sam smiled and said, "Okay." He pulled another folder out of a different pile and opened it. "I have a list of a few places around here that are hiring but, I warn you, they're not glamorous. Mostly service industry."

Bucky nodded his head, "I have no problem with that."

Sam nodded and grabbed a post-it note, writing information down on it. "Oh, one thing first," he said. "Are there any physical limitations?"

Bucky saw him glance at his left arm. "I have some weakness and pain in my left arm and hand." He held it up, looking over the scars. "But I can handle anything."

Sam nodded his head in agreement and said, "Here are five places that I think you'll have luck with, but first, let's build you a resume."

After forty minutes of talking, wracking his brain to remember names and dates of employment, and some coaching on approach, Bucky had the post-it note in his left hand and five copies of his resume in his right. Sam walked him back to the lobby, which had filled up since he had arrived at eight, and clapped him on the shoulder, "Let me know how it goes, man."

He nodded and smiled; as he was turning to walk toward the lobby doors, a familiar voice said, "Buck?"

He turned to his left and saw Steve standing with papers in his hands; he was wearing a white polo shirt and khakis with his hair still styled in that old-fashioned way. He was staring at Bucky with something akin to awe, like he was really seeing him for the first time.

He felt himself blushing, "Hey, Steve."

Steve blinked, "Wow, Buck, you look…" but didn't finish. He switched gears, clearing his throat, and asked, "Um, where are you headed?"

Bucky held up the post-it and said, "I'm going to apply for some jobs." Steve's gaze slid across the tattoo on his arm but Bucky knew he could see the scars too; he grit his teeth and dropped it quickly. He watched as Steve looked over his body and he wished he had worn a different shirt, one with long sleeves.

"Good for you, Buck," Steve said, though his smile had diminished, and he suddenly dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his cell. He looked down at the screen with an irritated expression; Bucky could see the caller ID: Sharon. "Well, I'll –" Steve broke off, obviously distracted, and walked down the corridor.

Bucky watched him go, feeling a bit disappointed that their interaction hadn't gone on longer but knowing that he had somewhere to be. He exited the building and followed the directions on the post-it note, turning right and going up three blocks before taking a left. He located Benny's Bakery with ease; it was a small place that had a hipster vibe and seemed to be pretty busy. He entered and waited until he saw someone was available and stepped up to the counter.

"Hi, how can I help you?" A young kid – maybe sixteen-years-old – said. He had brown hair and eyes, was shorter than Bucky, and wore a white t-shirt with a black apron.

Bucky smiled, hoping that his question wouldn't make the kid nervous, and asked, "May I speak with the manager?"

The smile wasn't disarming enough and he saw the kid's guard go up; when Bucky had a chance, he glanced at the kid's nametag: Peter. "Yeah, I'll get her," He said and walked to the other end of the counter where a woman was in the middle of making a drink. She was gorgeous, maybe late forties to early fifties, with brown hair and olive skin. Peter said something to her and they both glanced Bucky's way before she handed the steamer to Peter and began walking over.

"Hi, I'm May," she said, smiling. "How can I help you?"

Bucky smiled and said, "I'm James and I understand that you have a job opening."

The wariness in her eyes faded and she laughed, like a release of tense air, clearly relieved that he wasn't some disgruntled customer. "Yeah," she said, "yeah, we are hiring."

"I know you're busy, so I won't take up too much of your time," he said, remembering what Sam had taught him. "I can leave a resume with you and complete an application, or I can stay and give you both at once, if that works better."

She looked him over, smiling, thoughtfully; her look wasn't suggestive in any way. It was more like she was sizing him up. "I'll take a resume," she said and he handed one over with his left hand. She glanced at his arm and seemed to hesitate for a moment.

"I can wear a long-sleeved shirt," he said, quickly. "It won't be a problem."

She shook her head and continued smiling, as she looked at the paper in her hands. "You're living at the shelter down the street?"

He nodded, "Yes, ma'am."

She looked at him, "I've hired a few vets from there in the past." Her tone wasn't easily readable; she may have had some poor experiences or some really good ones, he couldn't tell. He simply nodded his head. She looked at the page again, reviewing his job history and skills. "Well, James," she said with a sigh, "this bakery is my baby. Other than Peter, but he's my brother-in-law's baby."

"I heard that," Peter said, chuckling.

She went on, ignoring his outburst. "We get a lot of business; we have a lot of the kids from the university come here; there's the high school a few blocks away; and we're surrounded by apartments and businesses."

He nodded his head, "Yes, ma'am."

"It doesn't pay extremely well and it's part-time."

"Yes, ma'am," he repeated, without any hesitation.

She looked at him again, considering, and then said, "When can you start?"

His eyes lit up and he thought he might cry from the joy that burned in his chest. "Really?" She nodded and he said, "I can start tomorrow, or today if you need me to."

"Can you be here at seven tomorrow morning?"

"Yes. Yes, I can."

She smiled and said, "Alright, we'll do the boring part and start training then." He nodded his head and reached his right hand over the counter; she took it and shook. "Okay, James –"

"Please," he interrupted, "call me 'Bucky.'"


With a bit more spring in his step, he followed the post-it note directions to the second address, which was a laundromat. When he approached the counter to inquire about the job, the woman informed him that it had been filled. Unwilling to be deterred by the news, Bucky made his way to the next one listed.

Similarly, the manager informed Bucky that the position was no longer vacant. Feeling slightly more dejected, Bucky walked out and decided to head to the restaurant. It wasn't formal dining but it looked fancy from the outside; he took a deep breath and walked through the doors of Stark.

It was a large, open restaurant with the kitchen and bar in the center, so patrons could watch the chefs and bartenders. There was the main level, with the kitchen, bar, and a few tables, though the main dining room was upstairs. That level wasn't exceptionally high; it was up a set of six steps and the middle was open, encircling the kitchen.

Bucky saw a bored looking man standing at the host's station. He was older, maybe in his forties, with dark blond hair; he was wearing a black button up and black slacks, with shiny shoes. Bucky swallowed, steeling himself, and approached the podium. The host's nametag read Justin. "Hi, I was hoping to speak with a manager."

Justin turned to Bucky, looking him up and down before fixing him with a very rude look. "Mr. Stark doesn't take walk-ins."

He licked his lips and said, "Okay, sure, is there someone I can speak to about the job –"

"We don't hire people like you," he said, his tone clearly demeaning.

Bucky felt his face heat up with rising anger; he had said less than twenty words and this person had already decided the kind of person he was. He cleared his throat and said, "I really think that's for Mr. Stark to decide." Approach, he reminded himself.

"I think you should leave," Justin said with a note of finality.

"Justin," a voice said and they both looked up; standing on the third step, coming down from the left side dining area, a man stood with black hair, thick-rimmed glasses, and a very precise goatee. Behind him, standing one step up, was a beautiful woman with long blond hair, wearing a form-fitting white dress; her skin was tan and she had her hands on the man's shoulders. "Pepper, can you –" he said, snapping his fingers.

She rolled her eyes at him, but said, "On it." She walked around him, descending the stairs toward Bucky. "Hi, I'm Pepper, how can I help you?"

Bucky watched as the man – Mr. Stark himself, he figured – crooked his finger at Justin and led him up the stairs and toward the back of the restaurant. His face hadn't betrayed any emotion but his body language sure did. Bucky turned his attention back to Pepper and answered, "I, uh, I was just here about the opening."

She smiled and said, "Well, we're about to have two. Resume?" She held out her hand and he gave it to her. She looked it over and then looked up at Bucky. "We still have a guy working here who was in the program," she said, smiling.

He smiled and nodded, "That's great."

She continued looking at the paper and then handed it back to him. "I'm sorry, James, but we –"

"– Would love to have you come in for an interview," a man's voice said. They both looked up and Stark – he assumed – was descending the stairs again.

"Tony," Pepper said with a warning in her voice.

"No, hear me out," he said, stepping off of the stairs and facing toward her. "I like his look, I like the way he handled that asshole, and I think he's pretty enough to draw some business." He said, grinning and winking at Bucky.

"Tony," Pepper admonished.

He held up a hand and said, "Yeah, okay, you want to come in at two today and interview?"

Bucky's eyes widened and he nodded eagerly, "Yes, absolutely. Two o'clock!"

"Wait, wait a minute," Pepper interrupted. "Tony, he has barely any experience working in a restaurant, let alone one like this."

Tony smiled at Bucky and said, "A restaurant's a restaurant and a shitty customer is a shitty customer." He pointed at Bucky. "I like this one and I'm interviewing him. Done," he said, turning and walking toward the stairs.

"You're interviewing him? You never interview anybody."

"Well I'm interviewing this one," he said, defiantly, and walked up the stairs. "Get that resume back from him, would you?"

Pepper sighed and took the resume back. "Okay, James, be back at two."

He nodded and thanked her, leaving before she or Tony could change their minds. He returned to the shelter, needing to speak to Sam about interview skills and clothes. He approached the desk, noticing that Darcy was watching him with a sly smile. He said, "Something funny?"

She shook her head and said, "I saw you and Steve earlier. 'Captain America' doesn't look at anyone that way, not even –" But then a tall, slender woman with brown hair walked into the lobby. She wore a pair of high-waist slacks and a white t-shirt; her hair was pulled into a knot on the back of her head.

"Darcy, my eleven-thirty no-showed again," she said, somewhat dismayed.

"Oh, Ms. Hill, let me call –"

"No, no, it's already too late," she sighed; then she looked over at Bucky and said, "Hello, are you new?"

He nodded his head, "Yes, I moved in on Monday."

She reached her right hand out and said, "I'm Maria Hill. I'm a mental health counselor."

"Like Steve," he ventured.

Her expression soured some but she nodded, "Yes, like Steve."

Darcy leaned toward Bucky, feigning secrecy, and whispered, "Maria's clients keep transferring to Steve."

"Hey," Maria said in a stern voice that Darcy obviously didn't take too seriously. "Only two have done that."

Bucky smiled and said, "I could – I could use some –"

Both Maria and Darcy looked at him then. "I have some openings tomorrow," she said, smiling pleasantly, as if the entire conversation hadn't happened.

He said, "I was just offered a job, so I might have to take a raincheck."

"Congratulations!" Darcy said, elated at his success.

"Thank you," he said. "Um, does Sam have any time to see me?"

"Let me call him and check," Darcy offered, standing up and walking down the corridor.

Maria smiled at him, "Just set up a time with Darcy when you know your work schedule."

"I will. Thank you," he said and she turned around, walking back down the hall as Darcy returned with Sam in tow.

"Hey, Bucky," Sam said, excitedly. "You got a job offer and an interview, I hear."

He nodded, proudly, "Yeah, May at Benny's Bakery offered me a job and, um, the owner of Stark asked me to come back for an interview."

"The owner? Tony Stark?" Bucky nodded again. "Man, that guy is unpredictable. Let's get started."

They discussed basic interview etiquette and Bucky did pretty well, but when Sam began throwing tougher questions at him, he struggled. They worked for almost an hour on how to answer uncomfortable questions without giving too much unnecessary information.

"Now," Sam said, "let's go to the basement and find some clothes."

Bucky followed him into the hall to a door marked BASEMENT; they took the stairs down into another hallway. Sam walked to the third down on the right and used his key to unlock it. As the light turned on, it illuminated a small room that was packed with tall metal shelves; each shelf was stacked with items of clothing.

They dug right in and Bucky looked at every pair of black pants that he could find, trying to locate something near his size. There was no particular order and there were various sizes, no gendered separation, and even some kids' clothes among the items he checked.

It struck him, then, how much work Steve had put in to find him one outfit. He felt his skin heat up and he wasn't sure if he blushing because of Steve or because of the impending claustrophobia of the space he was in. He shook it off, moving from section to section.

"I got something," Sam called from the other side of the shelf Bucky was searching. "These pants will fit you."

He walked around and handed them to Bucky; he checked the size and held them up to himself. "Thank you," he said, looking up at Sam.

"Keep looking for a shirt," he instructed, returning to where he had been. Bucky found a dark blue button up that would be snug, but would fit him – now that he was smaller than he used to be, at least. He also located an undershirt to wear. "Hey, man," Sam said, coming from further back, "I found another pair of pants and a pair of shoes."

The shoes were worn but much more appropriate than his dirty boots; he accepted the items from Sam and asked, "Do I need to return these?"

"No, man," Sam shook his head. "Just get out there and kick ass and, one day, when you've gotten your life back on track, donate 'em back."

Bucky smiled, nodding his head, "Thank you so much." He was sure that was all Sam asked of any of the vets he worked with: just pay it forward.


They returned upstairs – Bucky was able to breathe fully once they ascended the stairs again – and he went straight to his room. It was lunch time, so he laid the clothes out and hurried down to eat. Dum Dum wasn't there but Bucky was able to talk with some other vets, including meeting a woman who was in the program; her name was Hope Van Dyne and she'd served in the Air Force, she said.

"I'll see you around," he said as he left and she nodded, waving to him.

When he returned to his room, he applied deodorant and set about getting changed. The pants were a bit tighter than he had thought they would be, but he was sure it was because of the fit and not the size. He pulled the undershirt and the button up on, tucking them both into the pants, and then put his socks and the new shoes on. He didn't have a mirror in his room, so he hurried to the bathroom and looked himself over. He took his hair down and combed through it with his fingers; he then pulled it back up again, allowing some stray pieces to fall.

It was one-fifteen by that time and he decided to start making his way back to Stark. He stopped in the lobby to get a 'Good luck' from Darcy, but as he approached her, she had a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Hey Bucky," she said, a bit loudly. "You look really good." He looked at her confused as her grin grew wider. "Are you on your way to a date or something?"

"What?" He asked, chuckling, "You know I –"

"Hey, Buck," Steve said, suddenly in the lobby, as if by magic. He was standing awkwardly by the hall as though he had been waiting nearby to jump out. He was looking Bucky up and down.

"Hi Steve," Bucky said, tucking some stray hairs behind his ear and feeling much more confident with his arm covered.

Steve began to walk over and when Bucky glanced back at Darcy, she was grinning like the Cheshire cat. "So, where are you heading?" She asked, though he knew that she knew exactly where he was going.

"I'm going…" he said, looking back up at Steve, suddenly. "I've got an interview."

Steve was standing about two feet away, definitely in Bucky's space but still respectful. "That's great, Buck," he said, smiling brightly. "Where at?"

He licked his lips and he thought that Steve's eyes followed the movement, but Bucky dismissed it. "Um, Stark, the restaurant."

Steve was still smiling when he said, "That is so great!"

"And he got a job offer at Benny's," Darcy added, continuing to grin at them.

Steve reached over, gently squeezing his right shoulder, with an ecstatic expression. "Buck!" He said, proudly. "That's so incredible, holy shit!"

Bucky chuckled and said, "Language, Cap."

Steve laughed out loud at that and said, "Am I ever gonna live that down?"

He shook his head, grinning, "Never." Steve paused after his laughing fit slowed and he just stared at Bucky. He felt his skin flush; he bit his lip and he began stepping backward. "I, uh, I have to, uh –"

"Yeah, of course, Buck," Steve said, waving. "Good luck."

"Good luck!" Darcy called.

Bucky arrived at Stark at one-forty and he went right in; this time, a shorter man with light brown hair was standing at the host station. He saw Bucky coming and smiled, stepping around the podium and walking over. "James?" He asked, holding his right hand out, "I'm Clint."

Bucky accepted the handshake, smiling. "You used to be in the program?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "But I worked myself off in five months. It's hard and takes a lot of dedication, but it's possible, man."

Bucky nodded and said, "I'm ready."

"Good to hear, Frosty," a familiar voice said and Bucky saw Tony coming toward him from the right hand side. "We weren't properly introduced, earlier," he said, approaching them. "I'm Tony Stark, owner, proprietor, and all-around master of the house."

Bucky chuckled and said, "I'm James, but please call me 'Bucky.'"

Tony considered that for a moment but said, "Nah, I like Frosty better. Follow me."

They walked up the stairs to the left, following along the railing that ensured drunk patrons didn't fall into the kitchen. Tony stopped at a table set for two and pulled his chair out; he gestured to the one across from it and said, "Sit." Bucky did so and focused on his breathing; he remembered Sam's coaching and sat up straight, meeting Tony's stare. "I like you, Frosty. I've owned this restaurant for ten years and I've seen Justin frighten off job seekers with his shit over and over. Clint, over there," he said, pointing behind Bucky, "played it safe and called to make an appointment. I respect that; I do – planning ahead; sticking to it; all that shit."

Bucky wasn't sure if this was an interview for a job or an interview for an editorial. At that moment, a tall woman with wavy brown hair and a thin figure approached, depositing a drink in front of Tony. It looked like bourbon but Bucky didn't drink anymore, so he didn't know for sure. Tony nodded and she smiled at Bucky before walking away.

"Pepper had been telling me to fire him for years, but he kept the rabble out and that was his job. He could see trouble coming a mile away and he kept it out of my restaurant." Tony leaned his elbows on the table, folding his hands, and resting his chin on them. "But now he's no longer working here and I need someone to take over."

Bucky realized that they were, finally, getting to the job part of this job interview. "I understand, Mr. Stark," he said. "You need someone who recognizes when a situation could become unmanageable or dangerous and can intervene, quickly and quietly, to make sure it doesn't disrupt the patrons."

Tony's eyebrow quirked and he said, "You think that's you?"

"I know it's me, Mr. Stark," he said, confidently.

"Tell me how," he replied and sat back, taking a drink from the glass of caramel colored liquid.

Bucky took a breath, then said, "In my… job in the military, I had to learn how to read situations from a distance – no audio, little to no background, and no backup."

"You think this is like a war?" Tony asked; his tone wasn't argumentative or sarcastic, merely curious.

"I think that learning to recognize those behaviors can be translated to almost any environment."

Tony's eyebrow arched and he said, "Well, Frosty, the job is from two-thirty to ten, sometimes later. I want you to start shadowing Clint for a week and then I want you at the host station. You'll learn the layout, the sections, the servers, bartenders, and busboys by the end of that week, if your observational skills are as you say."

Bucky's jaw had dropped somewhere between the nickname and the hours. "Yes, Mr. Stark, thank you so much," he said, reaching his hand out.

Tony clearly hesitated – not because of Bucky, he could tell – but Tony took his hand, shaking it once and pulling back. "Be here tomorrow at two-thirty to get the paperwork done before you start training."

Bucky nodded and Tony waved him off. He walked back to the entrance and saw Clint standing by the host station. "You start tomorrow?" He asked, smiling.

He nodded, "Yeah, he said I'll shadow you for a week."

Clint whistled, as if the task was extremely daunting, but he smiled and walked Bucky to the door. "See ya," he said, waving.

He began walking back to the shelter in a haze. He had a job – two jobs! He had a place to live, sources of income, and was going to start counseling. As he entered the lobby, he approached Darcy. "How'd it go?" She asked, excited.

"It went really well," he said, smiling. "I got the job."

"Oh my God, Bucky!" She exclaimed, happily, and jumped out of her chair to come around and hug him. "I knew you could do it!"

He chuckled, hugging her back. "Thanks, Darcy." She pulled away and returned to her seat. He looked around before he asked, "Is there a phone I can use?"

She smiled and said, "Yeah, over there," and pointed to a table beneath the schedule board. He hadn't noticed it before, so he thanked her and walked over.

He picked up the receiver, hesitating. He knew this call was important – he'd promised. He took a deep breath and dialed the phone. He listened as it rang once, twice, three times, and then a woman's voice answered. "Hello?"

He swallowed. "Wanda? It's me. Um, it's Bucky."

There was silence on the other end for some time, maybe ten seconds, before she spoke. "Are you at the hospital?"

He furrowed his brow, sighing. "No, Wanda, I… I got into that VA program in the city. I got two jobs. I'm… I'm doing it."

He heard her intake a breath, surprised. "That – that's great, Bucky," she said, though her voice didn't sound happy. He knew why. "I'm glad you told me."

He felt tears stinging his eyes, but he refused to give in. He said, "I promised."

There was another long pause before she replied, "Thank you. I want to hear from you, Bucky. I know you might not believe that, but I do."

His breath was shaky and he bit his lip to stifle it, to stop the emotion from escaping. "I'll call you and let you know how I'm doing."

"I'd like that, Bucky," she said. "I have to go."

"I'll talk to you later," he said and the line went dead.


After that, Bucky looked at the schedule on the wall. He needed to get his mind off of things and decided to attend a PTSD group that was on the schedule before dinner. He went upstairs to change – he needed those clothes to wear to work the following day, so he changed back into the jeans and gray t-shirt he wore earlier. He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face, then fixed his hair.

He returned downstairs and found the room. When he walked in, there were chairs in a circle, again, and he took one without really looking to see who was in attendance. He leaned back, glancing around as more people were filing in and there he was: Steve Rogers, sitting three chairs away from Bucky to his right.

Their eyes met. Steve had changed his clothes for some reason; he was wearing a light blue button up that was tucked into a pair of khakis. The color of the shirt made his eyes pop and sparkle; Bucky was so drawn to it that he didn't realize he was staring. He blinked a few times and smiled, awkwardly, before he looked away. But he could feel Steve's eyes on him still.

He swallowed before glancing over and, yep, Steve was watching him. His expression was one that Bucky couldn't identify; it seemed uncomfortable, maybe nervous even. He began to worry that he should leave and allow Steve to express himself without someone he knew present. He chewed his lip, trying to avoid looking at him again; he was about to stand and leave when a tall, thin man with dark hair that was graying on the sides stood up.

"Alright," he cleared his throat, "we'll close the doors now and begin. I see a few new faces today, so allow me to introduce myself," he said, his eyes glancing at Bucky and a few other people. The group was large, maybe twenty attendees, which also surprised him. "I'm Dr. Stephen Strange. I served in the Marines as a combat surgeon. I was highly successful until my convoy was hit; I survived but," he held up his hands, palms facing himself, "the bones in my hands were shattered." Leaning forward a bit, Bucky could see the tremors and the thin surgical scars that ran along his fingers and the backs of his palms.

"I had to have dozens of metal bars put in to allow the bones to heal but my hands would never be the same. I could no longer perform surgery." He stepped forward more, still holding his hands up. "You can see the tremor and that, I'm told, is mostly psychosomatic, but it ensured that I could never practice surgery again. I wanted to give up, I wanted to end it, but I didn't.

"Instead, I traveled; I went to Ashrams and temples, finally ending up at a temple in the Himalayas. I learned to accept my physical limitations but learning to accept the effects of the trauma was much more difficult. I returned to school and trained in a new field. Now, I am a licensed psychiatrist. I've worked with this shelter for three years and I have a practice as well," he explained. "Now, I would like us to introduce ourselves with our first names only and you may also share your branch of the military or something else that you would like us all to know."

They began on Dr. Strange's right, going counterclockwise; the participants gave their military branch and how long they had served. Bucky tried not to watch Steve, but his eyes unconsciously moved to him; sometimes he was staring back at Bucky, but sometimes not. When they reached Dr. Strange again, he said, "Welcome everyone."

They met for an hour, discussing how to challenge negative thinking and unhealthy habits. Several people shared about their nightmares; unconscious responses to seeing an unclaimed backpack; physical responses to loud sounds; and panic attacks that came on from surprises. Bucky felt even worse when Dr. Strange turned to Steve and said, "You're unusually quiet today, Steve."

Bucky knew that Steve was uncomfortable with his presence and he felt ashamed for having imposed on his space. Steve smiled and said, "I'm doing okay this week."

When the group let out, Bucky stood and walked to the door; he hadn't considered that Steve would be there and, if he had, he would never have anticipated it would make Steve so uncomfortable. He was opening the door to leave when he heard footsteps; he assumed it was someone else leaving, but a warm, dry hand grabbed his right arm. He turned, quickly, finding Steve and his goddamn blue eyes and shirt.

"Buck," he said, releasing his arm; Bucky watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "How are you?"

"I'm doing okay," he said as he chewed his lip some more and Steve watched him.

"That's good," he said, his eyes still on Bucky's lips. "How did your interview go?"

"I got the job," he replied, feeling nervous without knowing exactly why.

"That's great!" He said, smiling. But they both seemed to hesitate after that and Steve shifted on his feet, seemingly nervous too. "Are you… do you want to get something to eat?"

Bucky was about to answer when Steve's phone chirped; he dug it out of his pocket and checked it, frowning. It must have been the same person from earlier, because his expression was the same: annoyed, unhappy.

"I, uh, I was gonna eat here," Bucky said, interrupting Steve's stare-down with his phone.

He looked up at Bucky, suddenly, and clicked his phone off before shoving it back in his pocket. His smile returned as if it had never left and he said, "Nah, my treat, okay?"

Bucky shifted in his spot, biting his lip some more. "Steve, you don't have to keep buying me things. I'm not asking you to."

"I know you aren't, Buck," he said, his smile faltering a bit. "I want to." Bucky looked around, hesitating. "Hey," Steve said, leaning into his field of view, "I want –" but he was interrupted by his phone, chirping again.

He sighed in frustration, pulling it out and clicking on the message. This time, Bucky caught sight of the name: Sharon. I was right, he thought.

"Shit," Steve grumbled, "I gotta go. Rain check?" Bucky nodded his head as Steve walked through the door.

That night, Bucky stayed in his room and went hungry, trying to forget the way Steve had looked at his lips.


The following day, Bucky rose at five to work out and shower, then went straight to Benny's. He went inside and May pulled him behind the counter and into a small, stuffy office to complete his paperwork. He said, "Um, Miss –"

She interrupted, "Call me May." Her hair was up; she was wearing a white shirt under her black apron and orange capris.

He nodded, "Okay, I wanted to tell you that I've also been offered a job in the afternoons. It starts at two."

She thought for a moment and asked, "Can you be here at five in the morning tomorrow?"

"Absolutely," he said, smiling.

"Can you come at five every day?" He nodded, assuredly. "Okay, you'll work until noon or twelve-thirty at the latest. Can you do Tuesdays through Fridays, and some Saturdays?"

"I can work later than that, if you need me to."

She shook her head, smiling. "No, Peter and I do okay after the morning rush."

At twelve-thirty that day, she told him to make himself a sandwich while she counted up tip money from the morning. She handed over a sizable stack of dollar bills and fives. He looked at the money in his hand and said, shocked, "May, this is, like, seventy dollars."

She blinked, "Did you think…more?"

He shook his head. "No, no! I just… this is a lot."

She laughed and said, "Bucky, you saw how busy it was. That's how it is. I told you, homes, schools, offices – we are in a prime location for high traffic." She patted his shoulder and said, "We do okay."

He nodded, smiling, "Thank you so much."

She waved as he walked out the door. "Keep track of that for your taxes," she called.

He jammed the bills into his wallet; he couldn't remember the last time that he'd had that much money at one time. As he walked back to the shelter, he ate the bagel sandwich he had made. By the time he returned, it was completely gone. He walked through the lobby, waving at Darcy, and he took the stairs, two at a time, to his room.

He pulled the money out and tucked it in an empty aspirin bottle on his desk. He smelled his clothes and sighed, noting the sweet smell of baked goods and the slightly greasy smell that accompanied it. He dug out the other shirt that Sam had found for him and applied more deodorant.

He had just eaten, so he had no reason to go to the soup kitchen, and it was barely one, so he went downstairs to the lobby. Darcy was talking to a tall, bald, black man with an eyepatch and some facial scarring. He was wearing a nice suit and Bucky presumed that he worked here in some capacity, but he was twitchy, anxious.

Darcy glanced at Bucky but didn't smile, which made him worry a bit – maybe she was in some kind of trouble? He walked over to the wall with the schedules on it and pretended to be very interested in them as he attempted to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Mr. Fury, you're welcome to take a seat and wait for her."

"No, no, I'll stand," he said, nervously shifting.

"You look fine, sir," Darcy smiled. "She'll love it."

He smiled a bit but shook his head, "You don't think –"

"Darcy, what was the big emergenc–" Maria came walking down the corridor into the lobby, stopping in her tracks when she saw Fury. "Nick?" She said, quietly.

He smiled, sheepishly, "Hi, baby."

She practically screamed with excitement, running and leaping for Nick catch her. "Oh my God, when did you..? Why didn't you call me?"

"I wanted to surprise you," he whispered, holding her closer. "I missed you."

She nodded her agreement as she began kissing him and Bucky turned away to give them privacy. He heard footsteps coming but continued to avert his eyes. "General Fury?" Steve asked – of course Steve heard Maria scream and came running.

Bucky was only able to look away until he arrived. He turned toward them and watched Maria, unwillingly, step back and Steve and Nick shook hands; both men were smiling giddily. "Captain America," Nick replied, chuckling. "How the hell've you been, man?"

He shrugged, finally noticing Bucky. "I'm, um, I'm good, sir." He nodded his head and followed Steve's glance, seeing Bucky standing and staring like an idiot. "Uh, sir, this is James Barnes. He and I served together."

Nick walked over to him, holding out his right hand. "Good to meet you, son."

Bucky accepted the handshake and nodded, "You too, sir, thank you."

"Well, it was nice to see all of you, but I'm going to take Maria out to lunch," he said, returning to her side and taking her hand.

She was blushing and laughing, nervously, and Bucky knew that they weren't going to be eating anything. He waved to them as they left and he returned his attention to the schedules. "Hey Buck," Steve said, suddenly standing right behind him.

He turned, "Hey Steve."

"You started work today, right?"

He nodded, "Yeah, I gotta get to my second job here soon, too."

Steve smiled, "That's great, I'm so… I'm glad." Bucky tucked a few loose strands of hair behind his ear; Steve watched the motion with a strange look in his eye. He seemed to shake himself out of it, though, and squared his shoulders. "I was about to put up fliers for the camping trip," he said, holding up a stack of colored pages. "Every year, Sam and I take some of the vets out. You should come," he said, handing a page to Bucky. "It's not until August."

He looked at it and said, "I'll ask for the days off, but I can't guarantee it."

Steve smiled, happily, "Yeah, no, of course, you just started. But I hope you can make it. We do barbecues and swim; it's fun."

Bucky nodded, smiling, "I'd like to. I haven't been camping in years."

"Are you working at Stark tonight?" He asked, completely switching gears.

"Yeah, he is," Darcy said. "Weren't you trying to decide on a place to go tonight?" She asked Steve, leading; Bucky blushed, staring at her with a mortified expression.

Steve didn't seem to notice either her tone or Bucky's expression, though, and said, "Yeah, I was. Maybe we'll see you tonight," he added, smiling brightly, and then he returned down the corridor.

Bucky turned to Darcy, eyes wide and mouth agape. "What are you doing, Darcy?" He asked in a low tone.

She smiled and said, "You like him."

"Darcy, that doesn't matter," he replied, shaking his head in disbelief.

She looked at him, confusion plain in her features. "Bucky, that's the only thing that matters."

He shook his head, frustrated. "Darcy, he has a girlfriend; he's straight."

"You don't know that for sure –"

"He's Captain America, Darcy," he interrupted. "Do you think Captain America likes dick?" He asked, sardonically, and didn't give her the chance to answer him; he looked at the clock and said, hurriedly, "I'll talk to you later," as he rushed out the door.


He arrived at Stark at two-fifteen and Clint was waiting for him at the hosts' station. "Come with me and we'll get your clocked in." They began walking around the kitchen and bar, toward a back door. "Pepper will go over the paperwork with you and then, hopefully by three, you'll be back out here."

Bucky followed him through the door and into a small waiting area; opposite them was a closed door. The walls were decorated with magazine and newspaper articles about Stark and there were three white, padded chairs and a matching loveseat. Clint gestured to a chair and walked back to the door, knocking three times.

After a few moments, Pepper opened the door, smiling at the sight of Clint. "James is here to get the paperwork done."

She nodded and he returned to the restaurant. "Come on in, James," she said, waving him in. He stepped through the door into a fairly large office with a black desk, three chairs, and monitors standing behind Pepper's chair, showing every angle of the restaurant. He sat down in front of the desk as she took her place behind it, pulling out paperwork for him. "Alright, let's start with these."

Twenty minutes later, they had done the necessary forms and discussed the schedule, clocking in, and how to request days off. Bucky said, "Um, there's a, uh, retreat that the program is putting on in early August –"

"Oh, the camping trip?" She asked, smiling brightly. "Clint would be so disappointed if you didn't go. You have the dates?" He pulled the flier out of his pocket and opened it; she took it and said, "This is totally doable."

"Really?" He asked, nervously. "If anything happens, I will gladly come in."

She smiled and nodded, "I'll keep that in mind."

She wrote down the dates of the trip on her desk calendar with his name next to them and said, "Today, you'll shadow Clint and just observe. Tomorrow, if you're feeling ready, he'll let you step in and, over the next week, you will do that more and more."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, nodding.

"Pepper, please," she said, then leaned back in her chair.

He nodded, "Please, call me 'Bucky.'"

She smiled and nodded, "Alright, Bucky, Clint will be waiting for you. Tony will be in around four today." He nodded, smiling, and returned to the restaurant.

Clint was standing by the bar, talking to another man. "Come on, Drax," Clint whined.

The bartender, Drax, was bald with what looked like some kind of tribal tattoos spreading up his neck; he was very bulky and wore a sedate expression on his face. Clint was leaning across the bar, gazing at him, and obviously flirting pretty heavily. For his part, the large man looked anywhere but at Clint as he focused on drying drinking glasses.

"I do not mix romance and work, Barton," he snapped, setting the glass below the bar. "Ah, it looks like your shadow is here now," he said, gesturing toward Bucky and turning away.

Clint looked over but not before he said, "I'll be back later."

"I am sure you will," Drax replied, looking at Clint over his shoulder and smiling.

"I see that, I see that," he said, pointing at Drax, and grinning. "Anyway, come on James, let's get started." Bucky nodded and followed him, waving quickly at the bartender as they rushed by. "So, we open at four for dinner – the only day we open earlier is Saturday; we have a limited lunch menu that Tony is trying out." Bucky listened, making mental notes as they went. "Before we open, though, we do the set up and preparation for the entire dining room. It sounds easy, but it takes time and Tony expects perfection. He can spot a smudged glass or crooked place setting a mile away."

Over the next hour, they set out silverware, water glasses, and cleaned the menus. At four, there were already people waiting and Bucky did as Pepper instructed; he stayed with Clint and observed him.

Clint was funny with the patrons; they came in and he was able to get even the grumpiest looking businessman to smile. He was flirtatious with the women, but not in a lewd way that would make them uncomfortable. He made a point of introducing Bucky and explaining that he was new so that they wouldn't be confused as to why he was following and not speaking.

Around four, Tony Stark came in, wearing a gray suit with a light pink button up. As he walked by, he patted Bucky's shoulder. "Glad to have you," he said, walking toward the back.

At seven-thirty, Clint told Bucky to take a break and he nodded. "Do I just go the back or go outside, or..?" He asked.

"You can go to the back or you can go to the bar and get an appetizer. It's on the house for us," he said, smiling.

At that moment, his stomach growled and he rushed in that direction. Drax was busy; he was the only bartender in a crowded restaurant, but he looked extremely cool and collected. Dozens of people were shouting drink orders at him and he seemed to register each and every one. He approached Bucky and said, "Pick an appetizer from this menu," and handed him a long, thin page.

"I'll have the nachos," he said, barely glancing at the options and Drax nodded, stepping away. "Can I have some water, too?"

Within ten minutes, his nachos had arrived and he had already chugged three glasses of water. He finished the plate within five minutes, glad that the restaurant was so busy that no one watched him. When he was done, he ran to the restroom and returned to Clint. "Okay, man," he said, "I'm going to take a fifteen. So, for the next fifteen minutes, you're going to do this."

Bucky gulped, "Okay. Okay, I can do this."

"You know the system well enough and Scott has already cleared two tables on the right side, so when he signals, you can take the next two couples. The tall guy with a man-bun is next."

Bucky nodded, glancing at the man he was referring to, and took a deep breath, "Okay."

Clint patted his right shoulder and walked away; Bucky watched as he approached the bar and Drax grinned, shaking his head. He turned and looked up at the dining area, waiting for Scott, the thin server with dark brown hair and a pointed nose, to nod.

As he watched, the man in question came to the rail and signaled Bucky and he stepped toward the crowd, grabbing two menus. He located a tall, muscular man with long hair in a very attractive bun atop his head; his date barely reached his shoulder in height, but she was a looker too. "Your table is ready," Bucky said, smiling nervously, and gesturing for them to follow.

"Is this alright?" He asked, taking them to the first available table and the woman smiled.

"This is just fine." Her smile was radiant and her date definitely appreciated it.

"Thank you," the man said in a deep, accented voice.

He handed them menus and said, "Scott will be your server tonight." He smiled at them again before starting back toward the podium.

"Hey Buck." The voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned and saw Steve sitting two tables over, next to a gorgeous woman with short, red hair. He approached them, cautiously. "I hoped you would seat us but I think you were on break," Steve said, smiling.

Bucky nodded, unsure of what to do with his hands, so he slid them into his back pockets. "Yeah, I just, uh, how is everything so far?"

Steve had a large beer in front of him and his date – Sharon, Bucky assumed – had a martini with extra olives. "It's good," she said, eying Bucky with one eyebrow raised; it was almost like she was… appraising him. She was incredibly beautiful – she was fit, had a nice figure, and was wearing a tight, black dress and red pumps. He had nothing on her – nothing at all. "This your first night?" She asked, with a hint of a smile.

He nodded, trying to shake off the melancholy coming on, "Yeah, I just started."

Steve was smiling. "I hope it's alright that we –"

"Yes, of course," Bucky answered, though it didn't feel fine. "I gotta, uh," he said, gesturing back to the doors and turned without another word.

Scott signaled him again and he grabbed the next couple, leading them to their table. He noticed that Val – a young, black woman originally from England – was also signaling him about a table in her section. Clint returned a few moments later and praised his work. "You were nervous but you did it, man."

Bucky nodded, trying to focus on anything but the sinking feeling in his gut. "There's a woman at the bar asking for you. Uh," he looked around the dining room and added, "we still have a few minutes to wait before Val or Scott have a table open up." He nodded for Bucky to go to the bar and he did, without really considering who would be asking for him or why.

He approached and saw… tight black dress, red heels, and red hair. She was watching him approach with a mischievous smile on her face. "Can I help you?" He asked, doing his absolute best to keep all emotion out of his voice.

She shook her head and gestured up to her table with her head. "You know Steve, huh?"

He gulped, but nodded his head, "He works at the shelter."

"I think there's a bit more to it than that," she said.

He couldn't read her facial expression; it seemed almost… amused. Her full lips were upturned in a small smile and her green eyes were bright.

He shook his head and said, "No, well, we served together years ago but –"

"You like him," she said, her full, red lips smiling fully.

He tried to play dumb, tried to keep Sharon from worrying about him and becoming unhappy with Steve. "Sure, he's a great guy, Sharon," he said.

Her eyes widened, suddenly, and she burst into a fit of laughter. He was looking around, trying to figure out if he had something on his shirt or a booger on his face, or something. "Oh, Bucky," she said, giggling, "I'm not Sharon."

His brows furrowed, confused; he said, "I just assumed, I'm sorry."

She nodded, "Yeah, it's a safe assumption, but, no. I'm Steve's best friend." He nodded, wondering what the point of all of this was. "Look, Bucky, I don't know you but I know Steve and, well, he's not happy. Not with her," she was watching his face intently, observing his reactions. "He talks about you a lot and he actually seems happy when he does. It's almost like someone flicked the lights on. You understand? I haven't seen him that way in almost a year."

He was trying not to get excited about what she was saying, but it was difficult. He'd, of course, noticed how Steve reacted to calls and messages from Sharon. He seemed defeated, angry, and hopeless. In that way, this woman was right.

"She's not good for him anymore and I won't say exactly why, but," she approached him, speaking in a low voice as if they were in cahoots. "He should leave her and it'd be great if some hot guy wanted to flirt with him, maybe show him what he's missing."

Bucky gave her a long, hard look and said, "I'm not interested in being his 'mistress,' if you're asking me to be."

She laughed again, shaking her head. "No, Bucky, I'm asking you to do what you want to. I spent a minute between you two and I could tell you have feelings for him. I'm asking you to let yourself and, maybe, see if he responds."

He hesitated a moment before he asked, "What makes you think I'd be better than Sharon?"

Her face lost every trace of amusement and she observed him with eyes that, he could tell, were seeing his every flaw. "I know what you did for him over there," she said.

He swallowed and said, "That's not me anymore."

She met his eyes, searching them, before she said, "Yes, it is." With that, she returned to the bar and grabbed the drinks she had been waiting for.

He returned to Clint, trying to calm his heartrate and taking deep breaths. Steve talked about him 'a lot.' Did that mean he… Bucky shook his head, returning his focus to his work.

But every time they sat people on the right side, his eyes found Steve's. After the second time, he steeled himself and gave him his cockiest, knock-your-pants-off smile and Steve choked on his beer. As he walked the other way, the redhead was smiling at him, nodding.

That night, he left the restaurant at ten-thirty with $137 in tips.


Spring passed by in a blur, giving way to the heat and humidity of summer. Bucky woke at four in the morning and washed his face, pulled his hair up, and dressed for work at Benny's. He would buy breakfast there and work until noon. Then he would return to the shelter, attend a group, work out, or rush to wash his clothes and dry them before he had to be at Stark at two. He would leave work there around ten-thirty or eleven at night, return to the shelter, shower, and pass out. He didn't consistently work Saturdays at the bakery, but always at Stark. Neither the bakery nor the restaurant was open on Sundays and he spent that day getting errands done and always made sure to go to the gym.

He had been able to schedule several sessions with Maria but they had been short half-hour meetings so he could get to work on time. They hadn't really discussed anything substantial; she asked what his goal was for counseling and he told her he didn't have one yet. She accepted that answer but told him she would ask again.

He had made a point to go to a store and purchase a toothbrush, toothpaste, a good razor, shaving cream, and lotion. He also got a comb, some hair bands, shampoo, and conditioner that smelled good. His hair was getting really long again and he didn't want to cut it, so he thought he might as well make it feel soft.

He had thought, non-stop, about the redhead's words, but he couldn't very well flirt with Steve if they never saw each other. When they did pass by, he didn't even have to try to show Steve how happy he was to see him. His face lit up; he felt himself blush; he bit his lip; and smiled. At first, Steve would just smile and say 'Hey Buck,' but after a few times, he seemed to catch on that Bucky wasn't just being friendly.

On several occasions, Bucky would look up from the bakery case at Benny's to find Steve watching him. He'd order the same thing – a large redeye and a blueberry bagel – and he always ate it at the bakery. Even when they were busy, it seemed he always found an open seat. Sometimes, if they were slow, Bucky would take a break and sit with him. Talking to him became easier; they laughed and even, Bucky thought, flirted.

One Saturday morning, two months after he had moved in, he was bringing his laundry up from the basement when he stopped in the lobby. Steve was there, standing, awkwardly, by the doors, looking at him. "Hey," he said, smiling openly.

"Hey Buck," he said, returning the smile. "Do you… do you want to get some coffee?"

Bucky's smile widened and he nodded, "Let me put my clothes away."

As he walked up the stairs, he noticed that Steve was following him and he began to feel more nervous. His left hand was trembling more than usual as he unlocked his door but it opened, finally, and he stepped inside. He set the bag on the desk, pulling the items out and folding them, quickly; with his back to the door, he could only hear Steve approaching and his entire body lit on fire.

He swallowed, trying to focus on the task at hand. Luckily, he had very few items of clothing, so it was done quickly – unfortunately, that meant that he had to turn around. As he did, he realized that Steve was standing about a foot away; his hands were in his pockets but Bucky could see them balled into fists. He licked his lips meeting Steve's eyes; he was blushing, too, watching Bucky's mouth, and then looking over his face, as if he were trying to solve a puzzle.

Bucky swallowed and said, "Who was the redhead?" He blinked, having no idea where the question came from.

Steve seemed equally startled, stepping back a few inches, and answering, "Her name is Natasha. She's a good friend of mine."

Bucky nodded and smiled, "You ready? I want to buy the coffee."

Steve smiled brightly, nodding; he could see that it was a source of pride that Bucky could do that. "I'd like that, Buck."

They left the shelter, walking side by side down the busy sidewalk. Bucky realized that they were heading to Benny's and smiled. "Do you really like the coffee?"

Steve looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Yes, I do," he said in a mock defensive tone. "And I get to pick where we go."

"Why's that, Stevie?" He asked, chuckling at Steve's sassy tone.

He grinned and replied, "Well, it is my birthday."

Bucky's eyes widened and he all but burst out laughing, "You were born on the 4th of July?"

Steve gave him an annoyed look but Bucky could tell he was trying to his own amusement. He said, "Yes, I was."

Suddenly, he remembered their units laughing and joking with Captain Rogers over a birthday cake. It had red, white, and blue frosting and Bucky had wondered, at the time, how on Earth they had gotten that all the way in Afghanistan. They had written 'Happy Birthday Captain America' on a banner and hung it up. Steve had been a good sport about the whole thing but Bucky could tell he was uncomfortable.

"Well," Bucky said as they approached the bakery. "Happy birthday, Stevie," he said, opening the door and letting Steve go inside first. They approached the counter and Bucky ordered a blended mocha with extra chocolate and Steve chuckled as he ordered his usual drink. As they sat down at a table, Bucky caught him eying the coffee and said, "Do you want to try it?"

Steve chuckled, shrugged, and then leaned forward. Bucky didn't care about sharing a straw; he didn't care about Steve's germs. Watching his lips on the straw was, in fact, the sexiest thing Bucky had seen in a long time.

His face after, not so much. He shook his head, holding his palm to his forehead, whining, "Brain freeze!"

Bucky was laughing and so was Steve; he had tears in his eyes and his cheeks ached, but it felt so good. After their fits died down, Steve was just smiling at him. Bucky was sure that, if Steve was single, this would be a date – and that made him nervous.

But it also made him remember Sharon.

"How are things going?" Bucky asked.

Steve thought for a second before answering, "It depends, I suppose. Work is going well, apart from the high numbers of homeless veterans that are on our waitlist. Everything else is, well…" he hesitated, rubbing his neck and looking out the window. "It could be better," he said, cryptically. Bucky took a drink of his coffee and waited for Steve to continue; he swallowed, playing with the paper on his coffee cup. "My, uh – Sharon," he chuckled at himself, shaking his head. "Why is this so hard?"

Bucky reached over with his left hand without thinking, touching Steve's wrist. Both of their eyes went to that point of contact and he suddenly felt like he was doing something wrong, so he pulled it back. "It's okay, Steve, you don't have to tell me."

Steve shook his head, smiling bitterly. "God, Buck, it used to be good, you know? We used to be good. At least, I thought so."

Bucky leaned back and asked, "What changed?"

Steve laughed in an entirely humorless way and said, "She did, or we both did, I don't know." He looked back out the window as he continued, "About a year ago, I was going to DC to testify before Congress about veteran homelessness. I was supposed to stay three days but the committee adjourned early, so I took the train home." His voice had taken on a different tone – it wasn't the happy Steve; the carefree Steve; it wasn't even Captain Rogers. This was darker. "I got home and she was there, but she was supposed to be at work. The apartment was a mess, clothes, food, Jesus, just… but I thought she had been hurt, maybe robbed, or something. So I'm moving through the place and I finally get to the bedroom." He inhaled a breath, suddenly, and rubbed his face with both hands. "Well, needless to say, she wasn't alone."

Bucky's stomach was in a knot and he clenched his fists; Natasha wasn't trying to help Steve move on or find someone better; she was trying to get Steve to even the score. She didn't give two shits about Bucky or playing matchmaker; this was all about getting Sharon back for what she did. Bucky felt ill, suddenly, and he stood up. Steve looked at him, concerned, and he just said, "I'm just… I don't feel so good. S-sorry, I'm sorry, I have to –" and he ran.

He ran.


After that, Bucky did his best to avoid Steve. He knew it was childish; Steve had done nothing wrong and didn't deserve it but Bucky couldn't sort out his feelings. He wanted to keep seeing Steve, he wanted to see what would happen, but that made him feel ashamed. He had never cheated and he hadn't been cheated on, to his knowledge, but he knew from friends that it wasn't a good feeling.

Sharon had done wrong, but Steve made the choice to stay with her and it wasn't right for Bucky to insert himself into their lives.

He felt angry that he had thought it was alright up until that moment; his momma raised him better than that. The feeling was too heavy; he wanted to forget. He wanted to find a dealer and get so high he couldn't think straight.

May closed the bakery the last Monday in July to do inventory. She had initially asked him to come in to work for a while, but she told Bucky to just take the day. "You look like you need it," she said, smiling kindly.

"Yeah, I could use it," he agreed. He knew where he needed to go; he just hoped he could.

He returned to the shelter and approached Darcy, waiting as she helped an older veteran. He was twitchy, anxious; shifting from foot to foot. When it was his turn, he just asked, "Is Maria available at all today?"

She was taken aback by his lack of cordiality, but she saw the expression on his face. "Let me call her," she said, calmly, and Bucky nodded, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

After a few moments, Maria came out, smiling, and waved him back. They walked down the corridor and she opened a door at the very end. Inside, he noted the open floor plan, natural light, and several potted plants. She had two brown, cloth lounge chairs sitting in the middle, but not quite facing each other, and a matching couch. "So, Bucky," she began, sitting in one of the lounge chairs and he took the other. "You don't look like you're doing well today," she observed.

"I don't know what to do," he blurted out. "Everything is going right but, at the same time, it's not."

"Tell me how it's going right," she said, helpfully.

He sighed and began, "I was accepted into the program, um, I have a place to stay; I'm working now. I'm clean."

She nodded and asked, "How long have you been sober?"

He thought for a moment and then said, "Fourteen months."

She smiled and nodded, "That's great." She adjusted herself in the chair and asked, "What was the catalyst for you to get clean?"

"I promised," he said, simply.

"Who?"

"It's a long story," he said, looking out her window.

She smiled, opening her hands. "I've got time, Bucky."

He hesitated, swallowing; suddenly he felt anxious. "Um, I –" He took a deep breath and began, "I got out of the military and, uh, came back to my old place and my old life, like it was waiting for me. And it was." He rolled his lips into his mouth, fidgeting. "The drugs, the booze, the guys, it was all just where I'd left it." He swallowed. "I know it wasn't just that my nightmares and flashbacks were bad, you know? I definitely used to help myself forget, yeah, but I also used because I wanted to." This was the hard part, the part that he didn't really like to talk about.

She nodded, "Nightmares are something many veterans struggle with."

"Yeah, at first, I saw the war," he said, wiping his nose. "But they're not connected to my combat experience anymore," he said.

She replied, "Okay, can you talk to me about your nightmares?"

He sighed, rubbing his face. "I don't remember them, usually, but I always wake up and my whole body is, like, clenched. I have to work through to relax enough to get up."

She nodded, "That sounds like sleep paralysis. But you said you usually don't remember your dreams. What do you remember?"

"My friend, Pietro," he said but, as the name came out, it sounded odd for some reason.

"Okay, is he being hurt?"

He nodded and said, "I'm hurting him."

"What are you doing?"

He closed his eyes, fighting the desire to suppress these images, and focused on them, instead. "I'm stabbing him, I think, but it's not a knife in my hand."

"What is it?"

He chewed on his lip for a moment and then said, "It's a needle."

His eyes were still closed but he could hear her shift in her seat. "Bucky, why do you think it's a needle in your dream?"

He clenched his jaw, "I used with him, I –" He stopped, opening his eyes. "The first time he shot up was with me. I… gave it to him."

She nodded and asked, "Where is Pietro?"

Bucky felt tears in his eyes and he brought his left hand up to wipe them. "He's dead."

She hesitated before asking, "Did he overdose?"

He shook his head, "No, it was a car accident."

"Was he high at the time?"

Bucky nodded, "I think so."

"Had you gotten high with him?"

"I think so," he said again.

She cocked her head, "You don't remember." Her tone was not questioning or derogatory, merely factual.

He nodded and said, "I was in the car, I know that, but I hit my head in the accident; my arm got busted up really bad." He lifted his arm to show her the tattoo and the poorly concealed scars, but she had seen them before.

She considered that and asked, "Did you promise your family?"

He shook his head before returning his gaze to the window. "No, my sister, Rebecca, and I haven't spoken in years."

"Then who?"

"Wanda, Pietro's sister," he said, still looking outside.

"Is she your friend?"

He shrugged and said, "She blames me, I know she does. But she said that he made his choices, too. When I woke up in the hospital, she was there with me and she hugged me, but I didn't remember what had happened."

"And you promised her that you would get clean?"

He nodded, "Yeah, she told me he wouldn't want me to end up dead. She told me he would want me to get my life together. I relapsed a couple times after that but Wanda cleaned me up, fed me, and cared for me. She wouldn't let me just feel guilty, she said that was stupid. She said that it was my job to get better." He felt the tears on his cheeks and wiped them again. He gestured to his left shoulder and said, "She helped me design this tattoo."

She nodded her head, "It sounds like she's a friend."

He didn't disagree with her even though he wanted to. "I applied to the program and stayed with her for a short time, then an Army buddy, and then couch-surfed, then lived on the streets. But I never used again."

"What's the last thing you remember from before the accident?"

He hesitated, looking around. "I was at Camp Dwyer," he began, almost in a whisper. "Captain Rogers was comforting me when I got the news that my dad had died."

Her eyes went wide and she said, "Captain Steve Rogers?"

He nodded, "Yeah."

"How much time did you lose?" She sounded startled as she asked.

He thought for a moment, "About eighteen months."

She regarded him, considering her questions. "That's a powerful memory to have. Does it make you feel better being around Steve here?"

He covered his face, suddenly trying to suppress the anxiety that was coming. "It did and, at first, I couldn't really figure out why. But then…" he stopped, wiping the tears from his eyes, realizing that he'd been quietly weeping as he spoke. "I messed up."

She tilted her head to the side, "What do you mean?"

He chewed on his lip. "I always liked him; there was something about him that I was attracted to. But I was sure he was straight, so I just ignored it. But then I ran into him here and memories came back, like the one about my dad." He took a shaky breath. "He told me I saved his life but I don't remember that." He shook his head as if he could shake the memories loose. "His friend, Natasha, told me that I should flirt with him and see what happens. She said he talked about me a lot; she made it seem like he was into me too." He couldn't hide the disappointment from his voice when he added, "But all she was doing was trying to get him to cheat on his girlfriend to get her back for cheating on him."

She looked at him sadly. "Did she tell you that?"

He shook his head, "No, but a couple of weeks ago, he and I went to get coffee and he told me about what happened with Sharon. I put the pieces together."

"Have you spoken with him since then?"

He shook his head, "No, I'm…" he laid his head down in his hands. "I'm a coward."

"Bucky, it's not cowardly to step back when you realize you may be doing the wrong thing."

"But I don't want to," he said. "I want to – I want him. And I want him to want only me."

"But you've been avoiding him?"

He nodded, "Yes. It isn't fair to him, I know that."

"Have you thought about discussing these feelings with him?"

He laughed and nodded, "Yeah, oh yeah, and have it be awkward afterward."

She was considering her words very carefully but asked, "Do you think he reciprocated your advances?"

He looked at her. "I don't know, maybe. But maybe I just wanted him to. I don't know."

"Do you think you should continue making your advances while he is with someone else?"

He shook his head, "No, absolutely not."

"I don't know Steve very well, really, so please don't feel uncomfortable about answering this." She said, "If he ended his relationship, would you continue to pursue him?"

He hesitated, thinking back on his life up to this point. He'd been a shitty son and started doing drugs in high school, but he turned it around when he joined the military. He was a good soldier; he served his country and felt proud to have become a Sergeant. But when he didn't have the structure anymore, the rigorous requirements and discipline, he fell right back into the hole he'd worked so hard to crawl out of, hitting every shameful milestone on his way down.

He'd robbed people, sold himself for money to get high, blown through all of his savings – he'd given up almost all of his dignity and, at his lowest, he hadn't even cared anymore.

It took the death of a dear friend, and the guilt of knowing if it weren't for him, Pietro would still be alive, before Bucky could even see exactly how bad he'd gotten.

Once his options for couch-surfing dissipated, he realized that being a druggy wasn't much different than being homeless. The need to eat was as powerful as the need to get high. He had considered robbing people, stealing purses, even breaking into cars – but he never did.

But he did sell himself. He knew he was attractive and, he learned, there were men who would pay a decent amount of money to get sucked off by a pretty guy. He got quite a bit more if he let them fuck him – which he did.

He didn't even remember how many times he had done it; how many hands had been all over him; how many trips to the free clinic to get tested. Bucky could shower every day and never feel like he had washed that off.

He would bet that Steve remembered; he'd bet that Steve remembered every single partner he'd had. He'd probably never even had to get tested. What would someone like that want with someone like Bucky?

He wiped his eyes again, sniffling, and said, "I don't… I don't think so."

"You went somewhere just now," she said, leaning forward. "You were thinking about something very hard."

He looked out the window again and said, "I was just thinking about the things that I've done."

"You were thinking about the things you've done for drugs or money," she said; he met her eyes for a moment and nodded. "Bucky, before I joined the Air Force, I was an exotic dancer," she said, matter-of-factly. "I didn't just fall into that profession; I stepped into it with open eyes. I did that for three years and there were times when I was offered a lot of money to do more than just dance." He met her eyes, understanding what she was saying. "I said no a lot of the time," she said, nodding her head. "But not every time. I wasn't hurting for money or food, like you were. Do you think I'm undeserving of love?"

He shook his head, "No, of course not."

"My husband, Nick, he knows all about it," she said. "Do you think he loves me less than he would love another woman who hadn't done those things?" He shook his head. "As I said, I don't know Steve well but I know him well enough to know that you should give him the benefit of the doubt."

He bit his lip, processing her words. "I think… I think you're right."

She smiled, "So, again, if he ended his relationship, would you pursue him?"

He swallowed around a dry throat and said, "Yes."

Bucky left Maria's office and walked down the hall; usually the doors were all closed but, as he passed one, he saw Steve sitting at his desk, with his back to the door. He was wearing a blue and white checkered shirt and khakis; he was bent over in his chair, writing. Bucky hesitated, chewing on his lip, before he knocked. Steve turned around, smiling, but when he saw Bucky, that smile faltered.

And Bucky hated it. He hated that he could ever be the reason for that smile to stop shining. "Hey," he said, leaning against the frame, smiling.

"Hi Buck," he replied, unsure.

Suddenly, Bucky realized that he had no reason to be here – he hadn't thought about something that might make this seem normal. "Um," he said, nervously, and then a lightbulb went off in his mind. "The camping trip," he said, hurriedly, "Am I too late?"

He left his question slightly ambiguous on purpose. Steve's mouth had fallen open; he hadn't expected that and Bucky had to suppress the grin that wanted to escape. "No, no," he said, his voice hoarse. "Buck, you're not too late."

He smiled, nodding. "Do I sign up somewhere?"

"Yeah, here," Steve gestured toward the wall where a clipboard was hanging. It was surrounded by drawings but Bucky didn't pay them any attention; he was too nervous. He crossed the room and took it down; there were around ten names on it already. He stepped over to Steve's desk.

Bucky could see that he was blushing and he had to fight himself to keep it together. "Can I borrow a pen, Stevie?"

He tried the nickname out and was not disappointed. Steve's eyes fluttered slightly and he nodded, his Adams apple bobbing as he handed over the pen he had been using. Bucky took it and printed his name on the form.

"So, what is the protocol for the trip?"

Steve smiled as their hands touched when Bucky returned the pen. "We're carpooling; Sam, Maria, and I are all driving separate vehicles. We're bringing tents, sleeping bags, food, and all that. Oh, and," he shrugged, chuckling, "someone always brings beer."

"Do I need to bring anything?" He asked.

Steve shook his head, "Clothes and stuff, but otherwise, no. I mean, unless you want to go fishing or something, you'd have to bring your license and your own tackle."

Bucky nodded, smiling, "Okay, cool."

He was turning to go when Steve reached out and grabbed his right forearm, pulling him until he turned around. Steve stood up and was looking at him with wide, nervous eyes; there was a blush on his cheeks. "Buck, we're… is everything okay? After we had coffee, you, uh…"

Bucky smiled at how nervous Steve was; it made him feel…strangely protective. "Yeah, Stevie, everything's fine." He didn't seem satisfied with that response, though, so Bucky continued. "You know, I've been working a lot and, well, I've had some stuff on my mind."

Steve was looking at him in a decidedly unfriendly way. His lips were parted, slightly, and he held eye contact longer than normal. Bucky was almost sure that look was not one he gave Sam or Natasha. "Is there anything I can do?" Steve asked and the sound of his voice sent Bucky's heart racing because the tone wasn't one he would use with Sam or Natasha.

Steve's blush disappeared into his shirt and Bucky had an intense desire to find out how much of his skin he could get to flush like that. If Steve was single, Bucky would be on his lap right now, kissing him for all he was worth.

But he remembered that Steve wasn't single and, instead, he smiled and said, "Keep coming to see me."

"I can do that," he said, smiling that golden boy smile and returning to his seat.

"I'll see ya," Bucky said, waving as he left the room.

"Bye, Buck," Steve said.


The following days passed much the same as they had before; Bucky got up at four and arrived at work by five; he would leave there at twelve-thirty and get to Stark by two. He tried to attend groups when he could and he made a point of always hitting the NA group on the weekend. He hadn't been shaving every day, so he had a short beard growing in and his hair was up in a bun, wrapped comfortably. It was long enough to all go up now, rather than having pieces falling out.

Steve came into Benny's a lot more often after they had talked. Bucky wasn't sure but it seemed as though something was definitely different between them. Steve didn't come to Stark but that was much more expensive than a coffee and a bagel, so Bucky wasn't surprised.

One day, Bucky was working the register when a tall man with a shaved head came in. He had dark eyes and smiled easily, but it wasn't a warm smile. It was a smile he had seen on many faces in his past; faces he wanted to forget. This guy was wearing a crisp, black suit and reeked of Wall Street.

"What can I get for you?" Bucky asked, smiling politely.

Wall Street was checking Bucky out rather lewdly; it wasn't one bit subtle but, he could tell that this guy wasn't the type to do anything subtly. "I'll take a triple shot of espresso, iced, with your phone number."

Bucky was looking at the tablet, typing in the order and stopped, pursing his lips. "Um," he said, looking up again. The man held a hand up and reached into his suit jacket, pulling out his wallet; he handed Bucky a $50 bill and a business card. It read Darren Cross Investments and Bucky smirked. "Don't guys like you usually have lowly assistants fetch your coffee?"

Darren chuckled and said, "My lowly assistant decided to go on maternity leave." The way he said it more than suggested that he thought such a concept was disgraceful. "No, the truth is, I've walked by here a few times and've seen you. I thought I'd come in to… try the coffee."

Yeah, right, Bucky thought, but he nodded and smiled. "I hope you like it."

Darren smiled in an entirely impolite way; he was definitely undressing Bucky with his eyes. "I know I will," he said and began stepping aside to wait for his drink.

"Uh, your change," Bucky said, hurrying to get the register open.

"Keep it," he said, smiling and leaning over to read his nametag, "James."

Peter picked up the order and began making the shots of espresso after giving Bucky a look of indignation at the hefty tip. Bucky turned his attention to the next customer and was surprised to find Steve there. He was wearing a tight, gray workout t-shirt made of that soft polyester, and a pair of running shorts.

Jesus, Bucky thought, looking at the expanse of his chest and abs that were absolutely unmistakable. He shouldn't be allowed to go out like that.

Steve approached the counter but he kept looking over at Darren who had hardly looked at anything else but Bucky since he'd entered the bakery. Steve actually looked… angry.

"Hey Stevie," Bucky said with a smile, trying to get his attention. "A redeye?"

"Yeah," Steve grumbled, slamming a $5 bill down. Bucky went for it but Steve shook his head, glaring at Darren. "Actually," he fished in his wallet again and dropped a $10 bill too, "give me that guy's card."

Bucky's eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped. "Steve, what –"

He looked at Bucky and said, "The card, give it to me." But he turned his attention back to Darren and Bucky felt his body flush. Was Steve jealous?

He wanted to say that this was not new; he wanted to say that he'd dealt with guys like that on the streets and he could do it now. But he knew that saying anything like that would make this worse.

"Steve, it's okay," he said, calmly and in a low tone.

He could actually see the way Steve's skin became splotchy with rage; his jaw was clenching and his hair was falling into his face. He didn't look like Steve; well, not the clean-cut, all-American boy that everyone saw. He definitely didn't look like Captain America. This was more of that darkness that Bucky had seen a glimpse of before.

Steve looked back at him and Bucky gulped.

Steve looked like he wanted to slam Bucky against the nearest wall and fuck him hard enough to leave bruises, all while Darren watched. He looked like he wanted to mark Bucky up, make it so everyone knew he wasn't to be looked at or spoken to that way, make sure everyone knew Bucky was his.

Bucky licked his lips, suppressing the intense desire that thought brought on, and dropped the card on top of Steve's $10 bill, pushing it back toward him. "Here," he breathed, hoarsely. "Okay?"

Steve stared at it, his chest heaving under that tight shirt, and Bucky felt his heart pounding. He grabbed the card and the bill before he walked over to Darren. He was tall but Steve was just a bit taller and wider in all the ways that counted, but they stared each other down.

Bucky was watching, helplessly, but Steve merely handed the card back. "Sorry. He's not interested in investing," he said, calmly.

Darren's lips pulled down and he nodded his head, taking the card; he looked as if he was accepting what Steve had said. "Okay," he said, meeting Steve's glare again with a cocked eyebrow and grin. "But I wasn't going to invite him to my place to discuss investments."

Bucky's eyes widened at the comment. Steve's shoulders were squared, like he might lose it at any moment. Just then, May set both of their drinks on the bar and said, "Here you go, boys! Thanks for coming in today!" Her voice was stern and irate, but sounded polite and friendly and Bucky couldn't even begin to understand how she did it.

Both men were startled and took a moment to collect themselves before grabbing their respective drinks. They both seemed to realize what almost happened. Darren left without a glance at Bucky – which was no loss – but Steve turned to him; the look on his face made Bucky's chest ache. Steve was ashamed, embarrassed by his actions, and very confused. But he didn't attempt to speak to Bucky either; he rushed out of the bakery without looking back.

May approached Bucky at the register and he turned, still in shock. "May, I'm really sorry, that –"

"Was one of those guys your boyfriend?" She asked, sympathetically.

He shook his head and gulped, "No."

She nodded and smiled at him, "I think they both wanted to be."

Peter laughed, "They wanted something like that."

"Peter!" She admonished, but as she turned her back to him, she cracked a smile. The day returned to normal after that.


The rest of July went by, more or less, quietly and August began much the same. He and Steve hadn't spoken much since the incident at the bakery; this time it was Steve who was avoiding him. Bucky had gone to a few secondhand stores and bought some new clothes; some more work pants and shirts, as well as some better-fitting jeans, a new pair of boots, more t-shirts, and tons of socks and underwear. He also purchased some swimming trunks, sunscreen, a pair of comfortable brown sandals, and bug spray for the camping trip. He even found some decent shorts.

He was saving every dollar from his paychecks and almost all of his tips. The wad had quickly become too big for his aspirin bottle and he asked Sam for his advice. That day, he took Bucky to a small credit union near the shelter; he said that a lot of the vets had gotten started there because the accounts were no-fee. Bucky hadn't had a checking or savings account in more than a year, but it felt good to know that no one could steal his bag and he'd have nothing. He'd be happy to never feel that way again.

On the day of the camping trip, he packed his canvas bag with the new clothes he'd bought, his toothbrush and toothpaste, as well as his comb. His hair was past his shoulders and he had fun styling it, so he brought hairbands too. After some consideration, he also grabbed his pillow and stuffed it inside. He was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a blue V-neck t-shirt, his new boots, and he had pulled his hair up.

After fastening the clasps on the canvas bag, he lifted it with his right arm and started down the stairs toward the lobby. Lots of the vets he had seen around were waiting there with their own bags. He took a seat and set his bag on the floor between his legs, waiting. Everyone was supposed to be ready to go by seven that morning because the trip would take around five or six hours.

"Hey," a deep voice said and Bucky looked over to find Brock Rumlow sitting next to him. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Bucky smiled and said, "Yeah, I got a couple jobs."

Brock nodded, "That's awesome, man."

"Are you going on the trip?"

Brock shook his head, "Nah, I have to work. But I hope you have a good time," he said, standing up and heading for the stairs.

"Bye," Bucky waved.

"Alright, everyone," Maria's voice caught his attention and he turned back to the doors. "This group on the left will travel with Sam; the middle group with travel with me; and the right side," she looked at Bucky with a bit of sympathy but wiped it from her features quickly. "You're going with Steve."

Bucky looked at the other three people who were going to be sharing a vehicle with him; he had never met any of them but he smiled and they all shook hands.

"I'm Gabriel Jones," the tall, black man said.

"I'm Dino Manelli," the average sized man with jet black hair and a mustache said.

"I'm Izzy Cohen," the fit, brunette man said.

"I'm James Barnes, but call me 'Bucky.'"

They all walked out and Maria pointed them to an SUV with its hatch open. They all walked over and Bucky's heart was pounding; what if Steve didn't want him to ride with him? There were already things inside: there were two tents, five sleeping bags, a large cooler, and Steve's own bag. Bucky let the others put their bags in first; he was holding his own in both hands to ease the weight on his left arm. He was waiting to see if Steve would show up when, suddenly, he felt a hand pat his shoulder and he turned, startled, to find Steve there. He was wearing a tight, white t-shirt and some gray cargo shorts.

"Here, Buck," he smiled and grabbed the canvas bag from Bucky's hands and hoisted it into the back, on top of a cooler and the others' bags.

He stepped forward to protest, "I could've –"

"I know," Steve interrupted, smiling. "I wanted to do it." He turned to the others and said, "Anyone get carsick?" Bucky looked at the others before raising his hand, slowly. "You need to be up front or in back?"

He didn't want Steve to think he was only saying it to be able to sit with him but he said, "Up front. If that's okay," he added, checking with Izzy, Gabe, and Dino.

"That's fine," Izzy answered and the other two nodded.

"Alright, guys, let's get on the road," Steve said, walking around the vehicle and getting into the driver's seat.

Everyone piled in; it was a three row SUV, so they all had room, especially Izzy, who was stretched out in the back, reading almost immediately. Gabe made conversation for a short time, but eventually they all went silent and Steve turned the radio up. It was a jazz station, which surprised Bucky.

The drive was long; they chatted on and off, but eventually, Bucky looked back and all three of them were asleep. Suddenly he realized that he was practically alone with Steve and everything inside of him felt on edge. He took a shaky breath and glanced over; Steve was looking at him too.

Bucky bit his lip, nervously; he couldn't recall a time when he had been this high-strung just by someone's presence. But Steve was shifting and fidgeting too; his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed deeply. Christ, Bucky thought, you can cut the tension with a knife.

"Is it…" He whispered, but hesitated to finish.

Steve waited another moment before asking, "Is it what?" He was also whispering.

Bucky exhaled and said, "Is it okay that I'm riding with you?"

Steve considered the question, looking over at him longer than Bucky would have liked for him to, considering that he was driving. Steve took a deep breath of his own and said, "I'm happy you're riding with me, Buck."

Bucky exhaled a long breath and nodded, "Okay, I was… I wasn't sure you would be."

Steve hesitated for a moment and then reached his arm over, touching Bucky's left shoulder. "I wanted to… apologize for what happened."

Bucky shook his head, "You don't need to, Steve."

"But I do," he said, returning his arm to the center console. "I was out of line but that guy, he was so – and you –"

"It's okay, Steve," he whispered, emphasizing the word. "It happens sometimes –" But the moment the words tumbled out, he regretted it.

"It happens sometimes," Steve repeated, his voice taking on a new quality.

Bucky sighed and said, "Steve, I'm, well, I'm not being cocky, but I'm a fairly attractive guy and people notice." He was trying to be flippant about it, trying to show Steve that he could handle it, and it wasn't a big deal, but his mouth was already a hard line. "But it's only guys like that who act that way," he added, quickly. "That was the first time at the bakery that someone outright said they wanted to take me home," he chuckled.

Steve's face was unreadable and he kept his eyes intent on the road. "First time there," he repeated.

Bucky nodded his head, deciding it was best if he stopped talking for a while. They continued in silence for some time; he glanced over and saw that Steve's hand was clenched in a fist on the center console. Bucky was content to sit out the rest of the ride in silence, not because he didn't want to talk to Steve, but because he was nervous about what he might let slip.

Would he tell him how it turned him on to see the way he reacted that day? Would he mention how he thought about Steve when he was alone in the shower? Would he tell him that he was an addict who killed his best friend? Would he tell him that, even if Sharon had cheated on him, she was worth more than Bucky?

She was probably worth ten Buckys.

Steve broke the silence first, though. "Buck, can I ask you a personal question?" He still spoke quietly.

Bucky looked in the back at the three men, making sure they were still asleep before he said, "Yeah, sure."

Steve looked at him for a moment, then returned his eyes to the road. "Do you, um, are you… Do you date women?"

That was safest way to ask if Bucky was into guys, he thought. "Yes, but I, uh, prefer men."

Steve nodded his head. "Are you dating anyone?"

Bucky's heart was back to pounding, loud and heavy in his chest. "Um, no, I'm not."

"Why not?" Steve asked, curious.

"That's three questions," Bucky said, chuckling and Steve smiled too. He leaned back and sighed before going on. "The truth is there hasn't been anyone who was interested in me. I mean, I get, uh, offers like that guy's, but no one has asked me on a date in a long time."

Steve seemed to think about his answer for a while before he responded. "Why don't you ask them?"

Bucky looked out the window to avoid Steve's glances. He took a deep breath and began to speak but Izzy spoke up first, "Hey, can we stop?"

Steve nodded, checking the rearview mirror, "Yeah, there's a gas station up here I'm going to stop at. We can grab some food there, too."

"That sounds divine," Izzy said, sitting up and opening his book again.


After they hit the gas station, it took another hour to arrive at their destination. They all got out of the car and stretched, groaning at their tense muscles from having been in the car for so long. Sam's group was there already and Maria pulled up not long after.

The grounds were beautiful; it was plush and green and they were right next to the lake. There were other campers; some tents, a couple campers, and RVs.

They all walked to the back of the SUV to get the stuff to set up the area. Steve handed out one tent to Izzy and another to Gabe; he pulled his bag out of the hatch, which had a third tent attached. Bucky looked at the others and saw that Gabe and Dino were setting up one tent and Izzy began setting up his. He walked over to Izzy to begin helping him set up, since he assumed they would be sharing, but Steve tapped him. "That tent is pretty small and only fits, like, one and a half people. You can bunk with me."

He looked up and Izzy said, smiling, "I've got this, man, but thanks."

He nodded, standing and following Steve to an area away from the others, though not too far. Bucky watched as Steve pulled the pieces out of his tent bag and they set to attaching needed pieces and sliding the rods into the sleeves. After barely ten minutes, their tent was standing, and they stuck the stakes into the ground to keep it in place. Steve asked him to go get the sleeping bags and he walked back to the SUV, popping open the hatch and grabbing the last two sleeping bags. He pulled his canvas bag over his right shoulder and wrapped his arms around them, one under each armpit. Steve smiled at him as he returned and he walked over to take the item from Bucky's left arm.

He wanted to protest but it really had been shaking pretty badly and he'd been worried it might give out. Steve unrolled the sleeping bags inside the tent and Bucky put his bag inside.

"You should get into some shorts," Steve suggested and, as Bucky turned around, he caught Steve eying his ass, grinning.

He blushed and nodded, sitting inside the tent with his feet on the grass still to pull his boots off. He slid into the tent when his feet were bare and zipped the opening shut. He dug through the canvas bag, pulling out his pillow and finding his shorts, sunscreen, and sandals. He changed quickly and got out, spraying sunscreen on his arms and legs, then putting some on his face.

A short time later, all of the tents were up and people were sitting near the barbeque pit, talking. It looked like as many as twenty residents were in attendance, as well as the three staff. They had the fire going, already, and were cooking some hot dogs, making Bucky's stomach growl. "Bucky," Sam called, smiling, "come on over and get some grub, man."

He nodded, walking over and sitting in a camp chair that wasn't in use. Sam was standing with Maria; he was dressed in a light green t-shirt and blue and green swimming trunks, with black sunglasses on. Maria had her brown hair down and was wearing a pair of aviators; she had short jean shorts on and a blue halter top with a light blue button up over it. Steve went to stand by them and called everyone to attention.

Maria said, "Okay, everyone, as you all can see, the lake is right there. Now, this isn't some scheduled trip with groups and hiking trips. We're here to enjoy ourselves, within reason." Maria began getting paper plates out of bags and pulled several bags of hot dog buns out of a cooler.

"So," Sam took over, "You can go swimming, you can go hiking, you can do whatever. If you go hiking, please don't go alone. There're a lot of trails around here but there is always the possibility of injury."

Steve stepped forward, "If you want to do something, also, let us know so we can see if others want to join you."

Sam raised his hand and said in a loud voice, "I'm goin' to the lake! Who's with me?" Around fifteen others agreed, shouting along with him and raising their hands. Sam and the others began walking toward the beach.

Bucky got up and went over to where Maria was and took a plate to get himself some food. "Are you going to swim?" She asked, smiling.

He smiled back but shook his head, "I might go later."

She nodded, using the tongs to get a hotdog for him. "I'm going to get in when it's at its hottest."

"I'll probably do the same," he agreed, grabbing a bag of chips.

"Mind if I eat with you?" She asked, smiling and he shook his head. They sat at the picnic table, enjoying the quiet. "I'm not really your counselor right now, but I sort of am," she said, glancing over at Steve. "How was the drive?"

He looked around, noting that Steve was talking with a couple of guys who had brought their fishing poles and tackle and were heading toward the lake. He licked his lips and said, "It was weird." He chuckled then, opening his bag of chips, grabbing one and eating it. "He's kind of, I don't know," he said, thinking. She was observing him, eating her food, and allowing him the time and space to think about and process it. "He really doesn't like the idea of people hitting on me," he chuckled, nervously.

She considered that for a moment before asking, "Do you think it's that he doesn't like them hitting on you, or that he worries you'll flirt back?"

Bucky considered that for a few minutes, looking over at Steve. "He asked me if I'm seeing anyone," he finally said, rubbing his neck.

She looked at him and said, "Bucky, I know you have feelings for him, but I want you to remember something." He waited, listening, and she took a deep breath. "If he is as unhappy in his relationship as I have been led to believe – and don't repeat that, ever, because sharing that was inappropriate," she said, pointing at him. "But, if he is, then he needs a friend, but he may reach out to you for comfort, emotionally or physically." She sighed, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair, causing the brown strands to bunch up, and she fixed him with her gaze. "He won't mean to hurt you, Bucky; hell, he may not even realize how selfish he is being, but after he feels better… you'll still be alone."

That hurt to hear and she had known it would – she had tried to soften the blow and give it to him easy, but there was only so much she could do. He bit his lip, looking in Steve's direction and he said, "If I need to, can I… would it be inappropriate to share your tent? If I need to?"

She straightened her back and squared her shoulders, "I have a big tent."

He resumed eating his food and nodded, "Thank you."

"I hope you don't need it, Bucky," she said, doing the same.


They cleaned up and he helped go through the bags and coolers to locate water bottles, juice, and he found the beer, but he moved on. Then they went through the food and found the items for s'mores. By that time, it was almost four and he was sweating, heavily; Maria patted his shoulder and said, "Let's get in the water!"

He went to the tent to change, leaving his sandals outside. He found his trunks and removed his shirt, but as he was unzipping his shorts, the tent was opened and Steve was there. "Steve!" He gasped, holding his shorts closed.

Steve had his hand over his eyes, "Sorry!"

Bucky swallowed, waiting for him to zip it back up, but he didn't. "Steve," he said again.

"Hmm?" He responded.

"Come on, Steve," he said, just a hint of a whine in his voice. "Close the thing so I can change."

"I need to change too," he argued.

"Oh my God, Steve," he grumbled. "I'm almost done."

"Fine," he replied, pulling the zipper.

As Bucky waited to make sure he was safe, he heard footsteps approaching in the grass. "Steve," Maria's voice came on and he thanked her, silently, and hurried to get out of his shorts. "Did you have the snack cooler in your car or did Sam?" She was stalling and he knew it but he already had his trunks halfway up his thighs and pulled his shirt back on, sweaty as it was.

"Um, I'm not sure," Steve answered as Bucky unzipped the doorway, and walked past him.

"It's okay," she replied, waving. "Bucky, let's get in the water!" She was wearing her shorts still but had on a solid red one piece with a bow on the belly. He smirked at it and she chuckled along, saying, "Hurry up."

As they walked away, Bucky looked back and saw Steve disappear into the tent and he said, "Thanks."

She smiled but said, warningly, "I can't always be there."

He only nodded and they continued walking to the beach where Sam and a few of those who had followed him were playing a game of volley ball with other campers. She dropped her towel on the beach and Bucky cursed at himself for not bringing on.

She noticed and said, "I brought a bunch. Last year, no one had any and it was a nightmare." He smiled and glanced around, self-consciously, before he pulled his t-shirt off and left it next to her towel.

"I didn't know you had so many tattoos," she said, looking over his torso.

Bucky nodded, "I have six, total." He sprayed sunscreen on and rubbed it into his skin.

Maria was fearless; she ran and leapt off the dock into the water while Bucky waded in, slowly, allowing himself to adjust to the chill. She emerged, laughing happily, as he was finally mostly submerged in the water.

After a while, he got out and she told him where he could get a towel from. After he grabbed it, he also stopped by the tent to pick out a book to read. Then he returned to the lakeside and laid out his towel far enough away from the group playing volleyball to be safe. As he rested on his stomach, reading, he could hear so much activity around him, but the setting was tranquil and calm.

It wasn't like the city where it was noise, noise, noise, noise twenty four-seven. He was hearing people but also the sounds of nature; the birds tweeting, the trees in the wind, the water, and the bugs chirping. He felt like he could breathe – really breathe.

"Hey, man," Sam called, "Bucky, we're gonna get dinner going."

He looked up and nodded, realizing that the sun had moved further west and he was really hungry again. "Awesome," he said, standing up and grabbing his shirt and towel.

He went to the tent again and grabbed the shorts that he had worn earlier. He took them and the towel to the campground bathroom in hopes of avoiding another incident. The bathroom was usable; he'd slept in a few like it, so he didn't pay too much attention to the smell or look. He changed his clothes and walked back to the tent to lay the towel and his trunks on the grass. There wasn't a hint of wind but as the sun had gotten lower, it had begun to cool down. His shirt had dried in the sun and, while it had some sand on it, he continued to wear it.

He approached the group of camp chairs placed around the grill. He looked up and saw that there are burger patties cooking; his mouth watered and he tried to recall the last time that he had eaten a fresh cheeseburger. He waited patiently, sitting in a camp chair and looking around at the others. Most of them were in conversations of their own and he wondered who he might be able to talk to. He had felt comfortable with Maria and looked around to find her but she was nowhere to be seen. He began to stand up but a solid hand landed on his right shoulder and he jumped, turning to see Steve.

"Sorry," he said, taking his hand away. "Sorry, Buck, I wasn't thinking." He shook his head and Steve sat down in the chair next to him. He was surprised, because when he'd looked at it earlier, someone was sitting there. "Did you have a good time by the lake?" He asked, smiling.

Bucky nodded, pushing down the idea that Steve had been watching him. "Yeah, I'm surprised I didn't get a sunburn," he said.

"I burn really bad, so I have to wear a lot of sunscreen," Steve replied, conversationally.

Bucky was nervous; he had been nervous about being around Steve for weeks but he remembered the ease with which they got to know one another. He liked Steve a lot and enjoyed spending time with him.

"I can get your back… if you need…" Bucky said, feeling foolish.

Steve nodded, approvingly, "That would be great. Tomorrow, there's going to a boat tour. You should go," he smiled.

Me and you, stuck in the middle of a lake for who-knows-how-long? He thought, staring at the way the flames lit Steve's skin and made his eyes glisten. "Sure, if there's space."

He smiled, happily, and said, "I'm sure there will be."

Bucky bit his lip and Sam called out, "Okay, burgers are ready."

They both stood and got in line for dinner; when he had his food, he sat down in the chair he had been in before. He ate quickly and quietly and, when he was done, he took his plate to the trash. He used a paper napkin to wipe his face and tossed that away too.

The sky was a wash of pinks, oranges, and blues and he walked to the beach to sit and stare at the changing colors. It was incredibly beautiful to him. When he was homeless, he saw sunsets all the time but it mostly brought on a sense of dread, especially in the cold months. If the sun was down, how would he stay warm? In the dark, how could he protect himself or his stuff?

But now, as he sat in the newest clothes he had owned in years, on a vacation with people he liked, he looked at it with a sense of reverence.

He heard footsteps and tried not to hope that it was Steve, but failed; he glanced up and saw him, tall and glorious, looking down at him. "Hey," he said, sitting down on the beach too.

Bucky smiled, looking at him without considering what his expression was saying; he couldn't make himself care. If Steve liked him and wanted to pursue something, Bucky would be happy; if Steve liked him, but stayed with Sharon and they simply remained friends, Bucky would be happy. He recognized that the ball was in Steve's court; it had been for a while.

"I was just thinking," Bucky said, swallowing and turning his attention back to the sunset. "When I was homeless, I stopped appreciating beauty. A sunset became a source of worry, knowing it would be cold and I had only my coat and a ratty blanket, or worrying my stuff would get stolen." As he spoke, Steve's expression became softer, affectionate even. "But it shouldn't be like that," he said, as the pinks turned to violet and the blues darkened. "Something beautiful should never be something to be afraid of."

He looked back at Steve and found that he was staring back with such a thoughtful expression. He smiled and said, "You're right, Buck. We should never be afraid of something like that." His voice was quiet, pensive, and Bucky smiled.

They stayed there until the sunset faded into the night sky and remained there, lying on their backs, looking at the stars. They talked and laughed and he would look over at Steve to find him staring back. He was nervous and Maria's words remained in his mind but he wanted to have these moments with Steve.

If he never got to have another moment like this; if their relationship began and ended with the program; if Steve and Sharon got married; Bucky would have these memories to cherish. He knew what it felt like to lose memories and he wondered at the indifferent way people made new ones. If they could know, too, the confusion and disorientation of missing time, maybe they would be grateful to be able to experience their lives knowing that they could keep it all with them.

At some point, he and Steve crawled into the tent; Bucky removed his shorts and shirt under the cover of his sleeping bag while Steve undressed as if he weren't even there. He covered his eyes, politely, and Steve chuckled at him. "Such a gentleman," he whispered, crawling into his own sleeping bag.

Bucky chuckled and whispered, "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

Steve didn't respond and, shortly thereafter, Bucky fell asleep.


The light coming through the tent was warm as Bucky steadily returned to consciousness. He could hear the birds chirping and the water of the lake; there were voices around but they were quiet and probably far away. He felt a little uncomfortable from sleeping on the hard ground all night, but he also felt like he hadn't slept that well in a long time. He began to stretch but found that he was pressed against something; he also felt a weight around his middle that he couldn't account for in his sleep-addled brain. He opened his eyes and yawned before looking around to find… Steve.

Steve was pressed against his back with his arm around his waist. Steve was holding him. He was partly asleep still but was quickly waking up and trying to figure out how to get up without waking him. He tried to move his arm but Steve just cuddled closer, pressing his nose into the back of Bucky's neck and making him shiver. The arm had also become tighter around his middle and he could see no way out without waking Steve and he didn't know what would happen if he did.

His breathing had picked up and he knew that, any moment, Steve would awaken. He heard Steve grumble in his sleep and, then, he felt Steve's body tense up. Bucky shut his eyes, choosing to pretend that he was still sleeping and let Steve sort himself out. Slowly, the arm moved and then, after a moment, the body followed suit. He waited a few moments, listening as Steve seemed to simply move over to the other side of the tent and lie back, and then Bucky pretended to stir, sleepily.

He sat up a bit, realizing that he was just in his boxers and hesitated before glancing over at Steve. His eyes were open but he was staring upward, not really seeing anything in particular. "Morning," Bucky said and reached out to grab his bag and pulled it up to him, pulling out his toothbrush, toothpaste, another pair of shorts, and a clean shirt.

"Morning," Steve replied; his voice was distant and, when Bucky looked over, he was still staring off into space.

Bucky pulled the shirt on and then tried to pull the shorts on without getting out of the sleeping bag. Once he was dressed, he stood up; he felt pain in his muscles from where he had slept, but it was a familiar pain. He unzipped the tent into a bright, beautiful, warm world of green and blue. The air smelled clean and fresh; he stepped into his sandals and walked to the bathroom. There was a line and he waited, patiently.

Once his turn was up, he stepped inside and rinsed his face off and pulled his hair out of its bun. He combed it out and left it while he used the bathroom and brushed his teeth. When he stepped out, there were others in line and he nodded to them as he walked past. There were some people around the barbecue pit already and Bucky saw that they had a couple of those metal coffee percolators on there.

Maria saw him coming and waved him over to sit next to her and Sam, which he did. They had been talking to some other attendees and he sat, listening. Sam leaned over to see him past Maria and said, "Bucky, I had no idea your hair was so long, man!"

He smiled, tucking it behind his ear and nodding; he looked around and noticed that several of the others were watching him, waiting for his response. "I used to cut it myself but it got too tedious when I was homeless," he replied, seeing several of the others nod their heads in agreement. "But now I actually like it."

Maria nodded, "I do too. More and more men are wearing their hair long." She leaned over, smiling conspiratorially, and whispered, "Too bad my husband shaves his head."

The group chuckled and Sam gestured to Bucky again. "I saw your ink yesterday, Bucky," he said. "I knew you had the one on your arm but I had no idea you had so many others." He was smiling as he pulled his t-shirt sleeve up, exposing a USAF tattoo that Bucky imagined Sam shared with his unit. "This is all I got."

Bucky smiled, "That's awesome, Sam."

For a moment, the others showed off their own tattoos before everyone returned to their own conversations. Maria turned to him and asked, pointedly, "How was your night?"

He glanced around and saw that no one was paying them any mind. He replied, "We stayed up late, talking, and went to bed."

She nodded, smiling, "Good talk?"

He nodded back, "I, uh, I think so. But this morning –"

"Coffee's ready!" Sam called, pulling out a sleeve of paper cups and handing them out. Maria and Bucky took one and Gabe came around, pouring some in each person's cup. Bucky usually took cream and sugar in his and, when he looked over, a container of dry vanilla creamer was being passed around, as well as a regular one. He poured some in his cup and passed it on, noticing a package of plastic silverware on the picnic table.

When he returned with a spoon and slightly dark caramel colored coffee, he offered the utensil to Maria and she accepted it. "Thanks," she said. "As you were saying?"

He sat in the chair and sighed, rubbing his neck. "He was… we were, kind of, you know… uh, cuddling," he whispered, quietly, leaning close to her. "I tried to scoot away but I didn't want him to wake up and for it to be, I don't know… weird, or anything. But when he finally woke up and pulled away, I looked over and he was just staring off into space."

"So, it was weird regardless," she observed and he nodded. "Bucky, when you realized that you were attracted to men," she continued, quietly, "was it an easy realization?"

He thought back; he remembered the looks on his parents' faces and how they were convinced it was 'just a phase.' He remembered how they had mocked him and joked about Don't Ask, Don't Tell when he joined the Army. He bit his lip and shook his head, "No, not particularly."

She nodded and said, "So, for him, it could be strange and confusing, maybe even unsettling. You said that, when you were stationed together, he was clearly interested only in women, right?" He nodded and she went on, "So, I imagine that, for someone who has been in a serious relationship with a woman for some time – and has only had relationships with women, that the realization of attraction to a man could be… difficult." He wanted to roll his eyes at the pervasion of toxically masculine stereotypes and when she saw his face, she added, "Bucky, it shouldn't be; it should never be an issue for any of us, but, for some people, it can be."

He nodded his understanding and swallowed his irritation; they drank their coffee in silence after that and Bucky caught sight of Steve heading toward the bathroom a short time later. He wondered why he'd been in the tent for so long after waking, but he didn't think much of it. After a while, there were scrambled eggs and sausage and Bucky chugged a bottle of water, and ate a plateful of food.

Sam came to him a while later and said, "You want to go on the boat ride, right?"

Bucky nodded, "Yeah, if there's room."

Sam nodded, smiling, "Hell yeah, man. It's going to be at eleven." Then he walked off to talk to others about it.

It was only around eight in the morning, so Bucky went to the tent and found some socks and his boots. He sprayed sunscreen and bug spray on, then went to the map board that gave information on the hiking trails. He decided on a shorter hike, one that would go to a view of the lake from above, and he oriented himself. As he was heading toward the tree line where the trail started, he heard footsteps coming toward him quickly and he turned. Steve was on his heels, smiling. He was wearing a white polyester exercise shirt and grey shorts, as if he were about to go for a run.

"Hey Buck," he said, stopping in front of him. "Do you mind if I join you?"

He was surprised as this attitude was completely counter to the one he had received earlier, but he nodded. "Uh, sure."

"I haven't seen your hair down in a while," he said, thoughtfully.

"I have a lot of hair and it gets hot," Bucky explained, taking that moment to pull it up.

They continued walking toward the trailhead, in silence. They'd said a few words on the way up: "Careful there," "Mind the tree," "Look overhead," and "Check that out;" but they hadn't spoken as they had the night before. He was not uncomfortable with the silence, though, and he felt that it helped him ignore that Steve was behind him, possibly watching him.

Bucky had been working out regularly for more than two months and eating three meals a day, sometimes more; he was filling out and getting stronger. He could see it in his muscle definition and feel it in his stamina. He felt proud and, at that moment, didn't care if Steve was staring at his ass.

Steve was in excellent shape, Bucky saw, and they climbed their way to the top of the trail easily within forty minutes. Looking out over the lake, seeing their campsite, and seeing how far they had come made Bucky grin, happily. He was sweating and his breathing was a bit awry but the accomplishment outweighed everything. "I haven't hiked in years," he admitted. "Maybe not even since Afghanistan."

Steve smiled and nodded, "There isn't much hiking in the city." They both laughed, catching their breath. "Yeah, I don't usually hike on these trips. Sometimes one person will want to go but I think it's mostly the peace and quiet that the vets come on the trip for."

Bucky looked over at him, "What do you come for?"

Steve regarded him for a moment and said, "Sometimes, I need a break." Bucky waited for him to elaborate, looking out at the view. There were mountains and they could still see some snow in the high elevations. "Work trips like this are, kind of, the only time… I mean, Sharon can't invite herself along."

Bucky nodded, wanting to ask more questions but not knowing if it would make Steve shut down or not. He simply said, "Breaks are important."

Steve observed him, silently, for a time and said, "You want to know about her, don't you?"

Bucky took a deep breath and shook his head, "No, I don't want to know about her. I want to know about you."

Steve smiled, sheepishly, looking down and squinting from the sun's early morning rays. "Why I stayed?"

Bucky looked at him. "Steve, I won't ask if you don't want to talk about it. You barely know me, I just…" He sighed, dropping his head. "Never mind, it's not my place."

Steve turned to face him fully and said, "I want it to be your place." Bucky gulped, meeting his eyes. "I mean, I, uh," he stuttered, rubbing his forehead. "I just meant I want you to feel like we can talk."

Bucky suddenly felt like he was walking up a steep incline, his heart was beating so hard. I want it to be your place, he said. That made him shiver, even if his entire body felt hot from the sunshine and the exertion.

He licked his lips and nodded, "Okay."

Steve nodded too, "Okay."

Bucky took a deep breath and looked over the lake again, trying to put the words together in his mind. "You're… Jesus, Steve, you're kind and generous and driven; you're gorgeous and you could be making so much money being a model, or some shit, and you work for the VA as a mental health counselor." He had begun gesturing toward Steve with his hands, almost haphazardly; he felt the blush on his cheeks and the way his breathing had picked up. "You could have anyone you wanted and I don't know Sharon, or the history, or anything, but I know that you," he paused, looking Steve in the eye. "You deserve someone as incredible as you are." He took a moment to breathe, slowly and deeply, letting his gaze drop to the rocky ground.

He was biting his lip when he finally glanced up and found Steve staring at him with wide eyes and deep pink cheeks. He said, "Wow, Buck," in a breathy tone. He rubbed the back of his neck, dropping his gaze to the ground. They both stood that way for some time, suddenly finding their own shoes quite interesting. "What about you?" Steve asked, suddenly.

"What?" Bucky replied, his head shooting up. That's not what he meant, he assured himself.

Steve's blush had spread down his neck and into his shirt. "I mean, why don't you have someone?"

"Oh," Bucky said, nodding and feeling completely foolish. "I told you, no one's asked me."

Steve took a small step closer, looking over his face. "Why don't you ask?"

Bucky held his gaze, nervously biting his lip, and said, "Maybe it's more complicated than that."

Steve stared back with a growing understanding in his eyes and Bucky's mind was swirling; he felt like he was driving toward a cliff and the breaks weren't working. The attraction that he'd always had was developing into something more. He could feel it but he could do nothing about it.

"We should go back now," Bucky said, suddenly, and turned to go but a hand grabbed his left forearm. He suppressed the instinct to jerk it away, but he couldn't ease the tension that spread through his shoulders.

"Bucky," Steve said, still holding his arm. "Thank you. For what you said."

He looked over his should and nodded as Steve released his arm and they began the trek back down. They didn't speak a word the whole way. It went quickly and when they returned, Bucky grabbed a bottle of water and chugged it down. Steve hesitated for a moment before wandering off toward the bathroom. It was after ten by then and Bucky changed back into his swimming trunks and applied more sunscreen.

As he was rubbing his scruffy beard, he saw a white and blue passenger boat coming toward the dock. He saw Sam and Maria walking toward it, waving at the driver. He stood and began walking over when Steve was suddenly at his side. "I'm glad you're coming along, Buck," he said, smiling.

Bucky smiled back, "I've never been on a boat, other than the ferry to the Statue of Liberty in, like, fourth grade."

Steve laughed and said, "I don't have the opportunity to get on 'em much, either."

The group stood waiting as the driver – a tall, older man with a bright blue Mohawk – stepped off to speak with Sam and Maria. Steve walked over to join them and the driver was clearly surprised by his size. "Whoa, man!" He said, loudly; he was extremely animated and energetic as he spoke. He had an accent – southern, Bucky thought, though he couldn't determine a specific state. "Boy, you're lucky you're so big, these other guys might eat ya!" He laughed as if the comment were the most hilarious thing he'd heard in years. "Alright, I'm Yondu," he said, shaking each of their hands. "Usually my son, Peter, does this tour, but his girlfriend's all green and sick, so he asked me to take over."

Maria was laughing but Bucky thought it was mostly at the ridiculousness of the situation. They continued talking and Yondu spoke loudly the entire time. "Come on, let's get on board!"

Bucky was actually surprised when everyone fit on the boat, though he realized that there were quite a few who stayed behind. He found a seat and took it, feeling the excitement of something unfamiliar. "Is this seat taken?" Steve asked, gesturing to the spot next to him, and Bucky shook his head.

"Alright," Yondu's voice came over the speaker, "we're gonna get a move on here, so everyone should take a seat." After a moment, the engine turned on and revved; suddenly they moved slowly away from the dock and Bucky felt nervous anticipation. "This lake is…" Yondu began the tour spiel but Bucky wasn't listening; he was leaning over to see the water change colors as it got deeper and they moved away from the sandy beach. He was looking at the wildlife and pointing out birds to Steve that he'd never seen the likes of before. Steve was watching Bucky with an expression he couldn't figure out.

His arm was pressed against Steve's and their thighs were touching and he couldn't scoot over anymore because he was pressed against the side of the boat, but he didn't really want to anyway. Steve was still wearing that tight polyester shirt and Bucky wanted to feel it to find out if it was really as soft as it looked, but he knew he couldn't do that. At one point, Steve leaned against him to point something out but the action brought their faces within a few inches of each other and he could feel Steve's breath on his cheek. Bucky fought the urge to turn toward him and see the look on his face; to see if he was totally unaware of their closeness. The trip went on like that and the tension in his belly, his desire to reach out, the overwhelming feeling of Steve pressing against him – all of it had his hands shaking, more so than usual.

"I'm so grateful to all of you for your service to this great nation," Yondu was saying as they pulled up the dock. "I hope you all enjoyed the tour today."

Bucky waited and Steve stayed put, letting other people stand to disembark first. He was taking deep, quiet breaths and counting to one hundred in his head to try to ease the feeling in his belly; it wasn't anxiety or fear or anger – it was desire. He felt embarrassed and foolish for it; Steve was pressed against him because he was a big guy and took up a lot of room.

But as it was their turn to stand and begin moving, Steve's hand brushed his in a completely unnecessary way. Up to that point, Bucky had made a point of not looking at Steve – avoiding eye contact and trying to appear interested in anything besides the man next to him. But when he felt Steve's fingers on his left hand, he turned, quickly, to find Steve staring right at his face, observing his reactions to the situation.

As quickly as the touch happened, it ended, and Steve stood up; he began walking toward the passage to get on the dock. Bucky followed suit, feeling like he should take that moment to run and dive into the lake.


Later, Bucky was lying on the beach again, reading his book after he had spent quite a bit of time in the lake. When they returned from the tour, they had cooked lunch and Sam had suggested that a group of them go hiking. Maria had taken her vehicle to go to town and buy some more food and water.

He stood up and took his towel over to the tent, dropping it off before he went to the bathroom. He pulled his hair down and ran his fingers through it and smiled, feeling the heat of the sun in it. He washed his hands and splashed water on his face before he walked out. He started back toward the beach but decided to sit under the shade of a tree to avoid getting too dehydrated. He lay on his back in the soft grass and thought about Steve.

Captain America was going out of his way to spend time with him on this trip; he was sitting with him, hiking with him, staying up late, talking to him, and touching him… They used to call Steve "the man with the plan," because of his incredibly strategic mind. Was this all some sort of plan? If so, for what? What was the object of all of this? Could it really be unintentional? Or was he just using Bucky to make himself feel better?

"Hey Buck."

Speak of the devil, he thought.

"Hey Stevie," he replied, smiling and sitting up as Steve walked over and sat down, leaving a few feet between them.

"This is nice," he said, looking around at the shaded area and feeling the grass with his hands.

As they sat in silence, listening to the sounds of nature, Bucky saw a group of vets returning with their fishing poles and tackle. "We caught dinner for tonight!" They joked as they walked by.

He glanced over at Steve, chewing his lip, nervously. That calm acceptance he had felt in the night was fading away, leaving only his anxious and confused thoughts. What if Steve was just exploring some passing curiosity? People did that, he knew. He didn't exactly know how Steve had learned that he was bisexual, but he'd known by the time they went on this trip. It hardly mattered, though; he'd stopped feeling the shame his family had impressed on him years before.

"Buck," Steve said, drawing him out of his thoughts. "Can I ask you something?"

Bucky chuckled and said, "You don't have to keep asking that."

Steve looked at him then, regarding his face, looking for any hesitation, and then he nodded. "When you're, uh, interested in someone, are you attracted to the same, um… qualities in both men and women?"

Bucky was actually surprised by the question and he released a nervous chuckle, "No," he answer, "not really."

Steve turned his body toward him and asked, "What's different?" Bucky gave him a dubious expression and Steve added, laughing, "Besides the obvious."

Bucky found himself laughing too. He wanted to ask Steve why he wanted to know these things; he wanted to ask so badly, but he was so afraid that if he asked, Steve would pull back and pretend that he was kidding around, that he was never serious.

"In women," he began, thoughtfully, "I like curves and I don't care about the size of their bellies or butts. I want the confidence." He paused, trying to decide how to say the next part. "In men, I…" he rubbed his neck, avoiding Steve's gaze and blushing. "I like muscles and, um, tall guys. I like when a man can pick me up and, kind of, um, physically put me where and how he wants me. Hold my hands down and, um, you know, take control."

Bucky was so nervous; he gripped his left arm, trying to hide the tremor that was suddenly a lot worse. He clenched that fist, trying to get it under control, when Steve reached over and put his hand on Bucky's upper arm. He always had the gut reaction to yank his arm away; it hurt sometimes, like a Charlie horse that wouldn't go away. The metal made it ache in the cold and sometimes it became nearly unusable. The tremors were worse when he was anxious or afraid; they were better when he was all alone.

But the feeling of Steve's hand on him was calming somehow and he felt himself asking again, Why does Steve Rogers make me feel so safe?

"What happened when you broke your arm?" Steve asked, rubbing the muscle with his thumb.

Bucky's desire to avoid Steve's gaze evaporated and he turned to him, shocked. His eyes were intent on Bucky's arm but looked up. "I told you," Bucky said. "There was an accident."

Steve nodded his head, "You did tell me that."

"And that's it," Bucky snapped.

Steve scooted closer to him and said, "I don't think that's it." He paused, giving Bucky time to get up and leave if he wanted to, but he stayed. Steve asked, "Do you want to tell me about it?"

Bucky shook his head, shutting his eyes tightly. "Steve, I –" he stopped, laying his head in his right hand. "You said… you said I saved your life but I don't remember that," Bucky finally said, weakly.

Steve's voice was unsure as he asked, "What do you mean?"

He swallowed. "Before I joined the military, I had a… I'd been using," he said, feeling like he could shake right out of his skin. "I, um, I got sober and enlisted. I was sober all through my service but, when I got home, I just…" He noticed that Steve's hand wasn't letting him go and the thumb kept rubbing his skin, comforting him. "I got pretty bad, I guess," he continued. "My friend, Pietro, he was younger than me and, fuck, he was a good kid. But I gave him a hit and, after that, we used together all the time."

He was trying to stay quiet; this wasn't something he wanted anyone else to hear – he didn't even want Steve to hear it.

"One day, we were at his place and, for some reason, we decided to go somewhere. Maybe to eat, but I don't know. Pietro was high and he blew through a red light and we got hit." Bucky was crying, suddenly, and tried to stifle a sob but it came out. Steve moved his hand from Bucky's arm to his back, rubbing his left shoulder. "He was killed instantly, thank God. The whole car was crushed like an accordion and my arm was, like, trapped with Pietro. I got a serious concussion, some broken ribs, and my arm was completely smashed. But I lived," he said, bitterly, as his body was racked with more sobs.

Steve's hand continued to rub his back, comforting him through the tears. After a time, Steve asked, softly, "You forgot your time in Afghanistan?"

"Some, not all," Bucky shook his head and chuckled, wiping his nose with his arm. "It's funny, the last thing I remember is when you were holding me after I got the call from my sister, that my dad was dying."

Steve inhaled, sharply and said, "I wish you remembered what you did for me, Bucky. It's something I can never repay."

He turned to look at Steve, realizing just how close they were to one another. Bucky really believed that Steve was about to kiss him; his eyes dropped to Bucky's lips and Steve's hand felt like it was pulling him, just slightly.

But Steve dropped his hand, letting Bucky go and they moved away from one another again. "I'm glad you talked to me, Buck," Steve said, quietly.

After a little while, Bucky excused himself to go to the bathroom and clean up.


When Maria returned that afternoon, she immediately started dumping ice into the coolers and putting the food and water bottles where they needed to go. When Bucky walked over, he asked, "Can I help?"

She shook her head, smiling, and said, "Nah, it's mostly done, but you can sit and talk."

He sat down in a camp chair near her and told her about the morning; the hike, the boat ride, the conversation under the tree. She listened, nodding or giving him hard looks at certain points where he absolutely knew she would.

Slowly but surely, evening came on and everyone began moving back toward the barbecue area for dinner. They began cooking the fish in tin foil with lemon and spices; he had never eaten fish like that, especially not cooked over an open fire. Dino, Gabe, and Izzy came to sit next to him and talked about the hike they had gone on with Sam. They had taken a different trail than he and Steve had and told him how incredible the view had been. He told them about the trail to the lookout over the lake and they said that they would have to hike that before the trip was over.

That was the first moment that Bucky remembered that they only had one more night there.

As the evening went on, someone brought out a few cases of beer. He hadn't had a drink in sixteen months and he didn't intend to have one tonight, so, when Dino offered him one, he put a hand up and said, "No, thanks." Without a question, he nodded and moved on to the next person.

The fish was served not too long after that and Bucky was surprised to find that he enjoyed the taste a great deal. He ate it quickly and wiped his hands and face with a napkin before throwing it all away. The group was talking and laughing; someone was telling a ghost story to his right but other people were too loud for him to really focus on it.

Steve was standing by the fire with Sam, laughing and drinking beer. Bucky wasn't sure if it was his second or third, but it didn't really matter to him. Suddenly, he looked over and Steve was pulling his phone out of the pocket of his shorts and frowning at the screen. He tapped Sam's shoulder and said something before he stepped away from the group and held the phone to his ear.

Bucky tried not to watch him as he walked further away; he knew that he was invading Steve's privacy so he turned his attention back to Izzy who was telling a story. He hadn't been listening enough to know what he was really talking about but he did his best to follow along. The sounds became grating after a while and the creeping feeling of anxiety began to come over him, like a cloud covering the sun.

It was after sunset but there was still some light in sky; he was looking up at the vista over the lake again, remembering when he and Steve had sat there together. He glanced over to find that Steve was returning with a scowl on his face. His lips were a hard line and he finished his beer and tossed the can in the appropriate bag for recycling.

Bucky sighed and rubbed his face. "You alright, man?" Gabe asked.

He looked at him and said, "Yeah, just a bit tired. It was a long day."

They nodded and Izzy said, "We won't judge you if you head to bed."

He chuckled and shook his head, "Nah, you're all way too noisy for anyone to get any shuteye around here." They laughed together, nodding, and becoming more boisterous as they drank more. He said, "I think I'm gonna take a walk, maybe wake myself up."

Dino patted his shoulder and said, "Good idea, man."

They all smiled at him as he stood and then continued talking and joking as they had been. When he was moving through the group, he heard Maria's voice, "Bucky, you off to bed?"

He turned and found her leaning against the picnic table. He said, "No, I'm just gonna take a walk, get some air."

She nodded but added, "Someone should go with you."

"I'll go," Steve said, suddenly; Bucky hadn't realized he had even been listening to them. He said, "I could use a walk, too."

Maria looked back at him and grabbed a flashlight, bringing it over to him. "Is that okay?" She asked, quietly.

He nodded and took it, then began walking toward the trailhead that the others had told him about. It wasn't steep, they had said, and there were plenty of places to turn around if he needed to return to camp. He turned the flashlight on, though there was still some light, and listened as Steve's footsteps followed behind him. They reached the trailhead and he began heading in, using the flashlight to illuminate the ground. For a hiking trail, it was a very open area; it seemed almost like a meadow beneath the tree canopy.

"Hey, Buck," Steve said with only a minor hint of inebriation. "Slow down." Bucky waited for a moment, allowed Steve to catch up but then he moved again, trying to keep some distance between them. "That was Sharon on the phone," Steve said, suddenly, and Bucky stopped and turned to look at him.

"Is she okay?"

He nodded, "Yeah, but she's really pissed. She didn't want me to come this year," he said. "But we'd have just fought if I stayed, so I came."

Bucky began walking and said, "Wouldn't that be better than following my ass around the mountains?"

"Hey," Steve said, chuckling, "I like your ass."

Bucky stopped, feeling very nervous suddenly, and took a shaky breath. This is not a good idea, he thought to himself. "What was she mad about?" He asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

"She's pissed at me about something I can't control," he said, cryptically.

Bucky kept walking up the trail, but hesitated when the flashlight illuminated rocks and branches along the path. He wondered if it was safe for Steve to be drunk up here. "We should turn around now," he said and he turned.

Bucky was trying to determine the quickest way to get around Steve, but for such a big, somewhat drunk guy, he was fast, and he grabbed Bucky's arm to hold him in place. "Wait," Steve said in a low voice, but Bucky still tried to get around him. Instead of letting him, though, Steve grabbed his waist and pulled Bucky's body against his own, roughly. Shocked, Bucky lost his balance, caught his foot on a rock, and grabbed Steve, who was too drunk to catch them and they both toppled over.

Steve landed, rather heavily, on Bucky's chest and pulled himself back to look down at him. He was so close and his eyes were looking over Bucky's face, before he leaned down. "Steve," was all he could say as their lips touched; it was tentative and shy, slow.

Bucky could tell that Steve, even intoxicated, wondered if he would get thrown off at any moment. Bucky knew what Steve would do: he'd laugh and say it was just a joke, then he'd help Bucky up and they'd continue as they had, heading back down the trail.

Everything would change between them after that.

But if Bucky kissed back – if he adjusted their bodies to accommodate the awkward position and didn't push Steve away – he didn't know what would happen. It was almost like a game and Steve had rolled the dice, upped the ante, and was waiting to see if Bucky would call it.

As if it had a mind of its own, Bucky's shaking left hand came up and pressed against the back of Steve's head, and then the world opened up and heat poured out. Steve's tongue pressed between Bucky's lips and he tasted like lemon and cheap beer. The kiss was fast and hard; it was teeth, tongue, and swollen lips but it was Steve kissing him and he didn't care that it hurt a little. Steve had listened when Bucky told him what he liked in a man or maybe Steve was always like this, which was even more exciting.

Steve pulled away first and Bucky nearly whined but he held it down; if he was stopping, that was for the best. "This," Steve whispered against Bucky's lips, taking in ragged breaths.

Bucky looked up, confused, and asked, "What?"

"This is why she's pissed," he said. "I can't stop thinking about you." Bucky's eyes widened and he shivered, suddenly feeling the cool ground against his back. "She's pissed but I can't stop," he placed a soft kiss against Bucky's lips. "I don't want to."

Bucky's hands were finally able to feel that soft fabric and he groaned without meaning to and Steve's hand reached up to the back of Bucky's head, pulling him into the kiss. He could feel the prickling hairs from Steve's growing beard and it was a sharp, stinging pain but it was incredible.

Bucky was on fire, everywhere; Steve was far warmer than he should be and his body was pressed against Bucky's. He lifted himself, not breaking the kiss for one moment, to adjust and get one knee between Bucky's, groaning a low sound deep in his chest and Bucky pressed harder against him. Steve pressed back, sending shockwaves up his spine, and Bucky moaned. Steve swallowed the sound but repeated the movement.

Steve's hands moved to Bucky's hips, rocking into him, his every breath a quiet moan into Steve's mouth. He moved himself again so that both legs were between Bucky's and he gasped, breaking the kiss to drop his head into the crook of Bucky's neck. He bit there, a sharp pain, and Bucky moaned, louder but not enough that someone might hear. He gasped, "Steve," when he felt the hardness pressing into his thigh.

"Buck," he moaned, gripping his hips tighter, enough that they might bruise. "Wanted to do this for so long," he whispered. Bucky slid his right hand into Steve's hair, finding purchase, and pulling lightly. He groaned, snapping his hips harder into Bucky's. "God, Buck," he groaned.

But inside, Bucky knew this was wrong. Steve was drunk; he had a girlfriend; he was hurting. And a part of Bucky – the part that had let men do that to him and throw cash at him when they were done, over and over – wanted Steve to do it.

But the better part of him – the part that felt like it was falling in love with Steve – knew it wasn't right to do this. He knew that Steve was in a vulnerable place; Bucky realized that he was taking advantage of him, and that made him feel sick with himself.

He had to end it; he had to stop this. He pulled away and pushed Steve off of him in one movement, causing him to fall on his side in the grass. "What the hell?" Steve asked, angrily.

Bucky stood up, quickly, adjusting himself, fixing his clothes before Steve could even stand. "Don't," Bucky said, "Just don't."

"What is it?" Steve asked, weaving as he finally stood up.

He shook his head, "You're drunk, Steve. You have a girlfriend. You were just talking about her." He brushed dirt off of his clothes. "This isn't okay."

Steve's face went through a few different emotions: anger, shame, embarrassment, and sadness before he answered. "Bucky, I –"

"Steve, you just fought with her half an hour ago. Don't use me to make yourself feel better, okay?" He felt guilty and angry with himself. Maria told him Steve would need a friend but he might think he wanted more. "I'm not a tool for you to use to get back at her."

"What are you talking about?" Steve asked, confused and angry.

Bucky said, frustrated, "You're only kissing me because you're miserable with her, not because you like me, Steve."

"What? Buck, no –"

"Let's just go back, Steve," and with that, Bucky was walking back toward the campground and he didn't stop to make sure that Steve was following him.


He returned to the barbecue and walked straight to Maria; she was standing in the same place as she had been. "What's wrong?" She asked, quietly, when she saw his face.

"Can I… can I sleep in your tent?"

"Sure." Giving him a deeply sympathetic look, she nodded, "Yeah, Bucky, get your stuff."

He rushed back to the tent he shared with Steve and got his things, including the sleeping bag, and followed Maria to hers. She hadn't been lying when she said it was big – it could fit a family of five, but he didn't give it more than a glance before he laid his sleeping bag out. "Do you want to talk about it?" She asked, sitting on her own sleeping bag with her legs crossed.

"I messed up, Maria," he said as he began to cry, telling her what had happened.

Bucky woke up in a cold sweat with his arms clenched over his chest; it took him a moment to realize he wasn't breathing. He gasped and sat up, quickly, taking fast, sobbing breaths. He looked over but Maria wasn't in her sleeping bag; he had no idea what time it was but he knew he wasn't getting back to sleep.

He got up, slowly, and went to his canvas bag, pulling out his toothbrush and other items, as well as some clean clothes. He unzipped the tent, slowly, and looked outside; there were still two people by the fire but the rest of the place was silent, apart from the sounds of nature. The sky was pitch black and he couldn't determine the hour. He crept across the site to the bathroom.

When inside, he use the hand soap to wash his face and armpits, using paper towels to dry himself. He combed his hair and brushed his teeth, then left the bathroom to return to Maria's tent. But as he was walking, he realized that the two people at the fire were Maria and Steve. He dropped down, hoping they hadn't seen him.

"Steve, I can't, you know I can't," Maria said, sympathetically.

"I know, fuck," Steve sighed. "I know it's unprofessional to even ask but I'm, Jesus, Maria, I'm scared I fucked it all up."

"Steve," she said, sighing. "You do have a girlfriend, right? Bucky was right about that."

"I know that," he said, sounding defeated at the mere mention of her.

"Do you think that's fair to Bucky?" She asked.

"No," he replied. "But I'm going to end it," he said, more assuredly.

"You can't do that for him, Steve," she said. "You know that doesn't end well."

"No," he said. "I'm doing it for myself."

"You do that," she said, "and then you talk to him."

Steve sighed, sadly, "Do you think he'll even talk to me after this?"

She didn't answer him right away. "I think you need to find out."

Bucky decided to head back to Maria's tent and lie down again; he crept that way, trying to hide from them. When he got inside, he lay down on his sleeping bag with his arms behind his head, thinking about what he'd heard. Was Steve sober or had they continued drinking? Would Steve even remember any of this when he woke up? After what happened, could Bucky face him without feeling humiliated? When they got back to the city, would he really leave Sharon?

A moment later, Maria opened the tent and stepped inside. She looked at Bucky and then walked to her sleeping bag. "Bucky, I know you heard that," she said.

"I didn't mean to," he said, defensively.

"I know," she replied, lying down.

He bit his lip, nervously, before asking, "Was he still drunk?"

She sighed, rolling onto her side to face him. "No," she said, "he stopped drinking when he got back to the barbecue. I asked Sam."

"When did you guys start talking?"

She thought for a moment, checking her watch. "About two hours ago. After you fell asleep, I went back out there. He came and asked to talk to me, said he was worried about you. I told him it wasn't a good idea to try and talk to you for a while."

He rubbed his face, roughly, with both hands and said, "I don't know what to do. I have no idea what is the right thing in this situation."

"Bucky, there's something more you need to consider," she said; her tone was almost sad. "While you're in the program, you and Steve can't… you could get kicked out of the program and he could lose his job."

"What?" He asked, suddenly, and sat up.

She sighed, "I should have talked to you about it when you first told me but I – I really didn't think –"

"You didn't think he'd actually be interested in me?" He asked, suddenly feeling angry and hurt.

She sat up and said, "No, Bucky, that's not what I thought." She crossed her legs and went on, "I could tell by the way he looked at you and the way he talked about you. He approached me about you after we started counseling and I could tell that his interest in you went beyond his role in the program."

"Why wouldn't you tell me sooner?" He asked, looking down at his hands.

She shook her head, "I don't have a good reason, Bucky. I guess, I didn't think he would ever leave her."

He sighed and nodded, whispering, "Neither did I."

"I don't want to see you get hurt," she said, lying down again.

Me neither, he thought to himself.

Bucky lay there for what felt like hours after Maria fell asleep. He couldn't get comfortable; he couldn't shut his mind off; and he felt incredibly nervous about the possibility of something with Steve.

He knew he was getting ahead of himself but he couldn't stop.