A/N: I do not own the characters or names, etc in this story. All rights, etc belong to the good folks at Marvel.

Read and enjoy!

Bucky had expected London to be busier, but it was a damp, blustery Sunday, so the streets were near deserted. He navigated the Underground to Westminster and forced his legs up the stairs into central Whitehall. Bucky was not so sick as to not notice the stares he was attracting on the train, but Londoners were mercifully discrete, and no one said anything or looked twice at the sickly, unkempt soldier in the too-large coat. He was, sadly, an all too common sight.

Steve Rogers had been Bucky's first choice as someone to find, but he had no idea where Steve might be, or where to even start looking. Steve may still be in London, but it was also possible he'd already returned to the States, or still on the Continent somewhere, rounding up rouge Nazis. Howard Stark was a safer choice, as the places he could be more much more limited. Bucky now began to wonder if Howard Stark would even be there. He may have returned to the States. Or he may just be at home because it was Sunday. Or at church. Bucky hadn't been to church for months, and now, with Westminster Abbey looming off to his left, he felt drawn toward the building. His feet almost began to drift in that direction, until his mind brought them back in the direction he needed to be going. He didn't have time to sit through mass - he wasn't sure he'd last. He was still continually surprised that he'd made it this far, and he knew better than to push his luck.

Bucky wanted to see Steve so badly, to tell Steve that it was alright, that he didn't die; sure, he was in a pretty bad state, but they'd figure something out. With smart folks like Howard Stark and Agent Carter around, everything would be just fine. Bucky only hoped that his disappearance hadn't weighed too heavily upon Steve. It hadn't been his fault. It was war. It was what it was, but soon they'd both be home in Brooklyn, and it would all just be a story.

Bucky has expected to be held up by security and checked over before being allowed to enter the building which had been the centre of the Allied War effort, but there were no soldiers, no security or identification checks. Not that Bucky could possibly be any threat in his current state, but it was still different. What if Howard was gone? He may have packed up and gone too. Then what was Bucky to do? No, he couldn't think that until he checked. He gripped the stair rail tightly with his right hand as he descended down to the basement. His balance was terrible, he knew that, he leaned terribly to the right when he walked, and often found himself stumbling and tripping on his own feet. Bucky found it remarkable how the loss of his arm had affected so much of him.

Relief rushed through Bucky as he saw at the end of the tunnel, in the space he had always occupied in London, Howard Stark bent over a bench, welding mask on, examining something intently. Bucky walked slowly up to Howard's quarters. "I suppose I should have gone to church, but I reckon God's pretty good on forgiving, especially given the current circumstances," Bucky said, coming to a stop on the opposite side to the table to Howard. He gripped the table to try and stay upright, which was proving more than a challenge than it should be.

Howard Stark was, however, the one who needed to be holding onto something for support. He all but jumped out of his skin at Bucky's sudden appearance and pulled off the welding mask. "Holy - Oh my goodness. You're dead. Did you know that?"

"I thought that, maybe…"

"Hell, Bucky! Shit, sorry, you're real? You're actually real? What they hell happened too you?"

"I fell from the train…?" Bucky said, confused and unsure as to how much Stark knew. Bucky had assumed he'd been listed as missing, but not dead…

"Oh man, you look terrible," Howard Stark said seriously.

"I don't feel too great." Bucky admitted, trying to keep his tone light.

"No, Bucky, you don't understand. You look - I hate to say it, but I've better looking corpses."

"Gee, way to make a man feel good."

"No," Howard Stark said grimly, "You need to go to hospital."

"I know," Bucky admitted, "But do you know where Steve is?"

"Captain Rogers?"

"Yes?" Bucky asked hopefully.

"No."

"He's not in London?"

"I don't know where he is, Bucky."

"Is he still on the Continent?"

"No, Buck, we don't know where he is. At all. He, ah…" Howard trailed off.

Bucky felt his stomach drop. Any relief he had felt at returning to London and of finding Howard left him. The thought of being reunited with Steve had kept him going. "What happened?" Bucky asked, his mouth dry.

"Please sit down."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're really not," Howard Stark protested.

Bucky's legs felt like jelly and he was suddenly afraid they might give out. Howard swept around the table and grabbed Bucky around the waste. Howard reached his leg out and caught the leg of a nearby chair, dragging it across and placing it behind Bucky, forcing the soldier to sit. "What happened to Steve?" Bucky asked.

Howard sighed and leant against the table. "Once I tell you, I'm taking to straight to hospital."

"Fine," Bucky clenched his hand to stop it from shaking. If possible, he now felt worse. Something bad, something terrible had happened to Steve and he hadn't been there to help.

"Wait one second," Howard Stark said, "Hey, Collins!"

"Yes, sir?" A thin, spotty, be-speckled young man appeared from around the corner.

"Telephone Agent Carter. Tell her we've got a Code 2. Then call me a cab."

"Yes, sir." Collins said and ran down the tunnel, leaping up the stairs.

"What happened?" Bucky choked.

Howard picked up a pencil and began to twirl it nervously in his fingers. "Agent Carter knows more than I do, but, well…"

Less than ten minutes later Bucky was being supported by Howard as they climbed the stairs back to ground level. Bucky couldn't find any words. Steve was lost. He was probably dead. He had died trying to save the world. No, not trying, he had saved the world. And given his life for it. Surely there had been another way. I couldn't help him. Bucky felt overwhelmed. His head ached and he wasn't sure whether it was from whatever illness was plaguing him or the news of Steve's likely demise. Ever since he had fallen from the train, even in his darkest moments, he had always had Steve and the knowledge that he had to get better because he had to get back to London to find Steve. The assumed knowledge. Never had is crossed Bucky's mind that Steve could be dead.

Once they stepped outside, the cold momentarily brought Bucky back from the dark depths of his mind. A car was waiting at the door as Howard and Bucky emerged onto the street. They climbed in a Howard gave the direction. Bucky didn't hear which hospital he said. He couldn't hear anything. Steve couldn't be dead. Had Bucky not spent his entire life doing everything to try and keep Steve alive? And now he was gone. He couldn't be gone. He just couldn't be. Howard's intel had to be wrong, because Steve couldn't be dead. If Steve was dead, then what had been the point of it all?

The streets of London passed in a blur, and soon Howard was helping Bucky out of the car, and into the hospital, where lots of people shouted lots of orders and a lot happened very quickly. Bucky let them poke and prod at him as they wished. They stripped him down to just his underwear. He didn't like it and wanted his clothes back, but had no choice but to trust them. He was too weak to do anything else, his every muscle ached, his head throbbed, his vision came in and out of focus and he felt as though he was running a fever of 106. Steve just couldn't be dead. He couldn't be.

"You alright with that, Bucky?" Howard asked, gently touching Bucky's arm, bringing the soldier back to the real world.

"Sorry?" Bucky mumbled.

"Dr Humphries and Dr Fitzgerald are going to operate on you now," Howard Stark explained, "They're going to help you. They're going to remove the pain in your, ah, shoulder. The wound isn't particularly - professional."

"Johann was a butcher," Bucky said, the memory coming suddenly to him. He looked at the ground. He couldn't bear too look at Howard Stark's barely hidden horror at Bucky's near-naked body, or at the doctor's shock at the case they'd just been given.

"Yeah, ah, right. But, you still have to give your consent, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky shrugged with his right shoulder. "Sure." He didn't know what they were going to do, and frankly, he wasn't overly worried. He was exhausted and feverish and in pain, and if they took any of those things away, surely he'd feel better. He had to get better, because he had to go and find Steve. "Yes," Bucky breathed, forcing himself to look at the doctors, "Please."