In the end, Steve didn't need to go looking for Bucky. His old friend had managed to keep his conscience long enough to walk straight into the new Shield headquarters and hand himself in.
The Winter Soldier was placed in isolation, in a room that looked like it came straight from the Forties. It was not dissimilar to the one Steve had woken in after being frozen, only the one Bucky was in was severely reinforced. But even then, should the Winter Soldier choose to do so, breaking out would be easy.
Maria Hill, the new head of Shield, had authorised the sedation of the Winter Soldier upon his arrival and ordered the doctors to remove the robotic arm as a preventative measure. They came back to her, just under an hour later, apologising profusely and reporting that there was nothing they could do. The arm was directly integrated into the nervous system, and removing it could potentially kill him.
They left him in that room for at least a fortnight, giving him a chance to fight off the conditioning implanted into his head before they unleashed the psychiatrists on him.
It was Natasha they sent to inform Steve that they had the Winter Soldier in their custody. She had explained that Bucky couldn't see Steve – in case the sight of him made him regress into assassin mode – but if Steve happened to be behind the one way glass of interrogation room five at 9AM every day, he could see how his friend was doing. She left, the joking comments of Tony Stark itching to get his hands on Bucky's robotic arm echoing in his head.
The day of the first therapy session found both Steve and Natasha watching intently from behind the glass. Steve was almost pressed against it, but Natasha stood back. Bucky was already sitting on one side of the metal table; his body almost slumped in defeat against the backrest.
-XOX-
Bucky was resigned to this…this 'therapy'. The agents who had evaluated him for remaining homicidal tendencies had told him that it could help to bring back his memories. He remembered some things, mostly endless missions that all merged into one if he thought too hard about them.
Falling. He remembered falling from a great height. Of the main who claimed to know him…distinct facts and memories he had none, he only had strong feelings regarding him. He didn't know what they were, but he just knew that Steve had been important to him.
The door opened quietly, and closed again before a woman of indeterminate age sat in front of him. "How are you today, James?"
The winter soldier frowned down at his fidgeting hands, trying to interpret the feeling of unease at being called that.
"I-" He swallowed and tried again. "I don't think anyone ever called me that."
"What did they call you?" He pictured the mans concerned face in his mind, trying to will him to tell him who he was.
"I don't know, ask him."
"Him?" She enquired, pen poised above her pad of paper. He felt small. He felt stupid.
"Steve. Ask Stevie." He wasn't quite sure where the pet name came from, it just flowed so easily out of his mouth that it must have been natural to him at some point.
The woman gave a wry smile, "I'm here to find out what you know."
"Nothing."
She ignored his last sulky statement and pressed on. "Do you remember your date of birth?"
"No."
"Where you grew up?"
"No."
"Parents names?"
"NO!"
"Did you have someone special? A girlfriend?"
"I DON'T KNOW!" Bucky roared, slamming his fisted hands down onto the metal table. The woman didn't move, as though she was used to violent outbursts from highly volatile former assassins. His head bowed over the still clenched fists, letting his long hair hide the tears of frustration that spilled from his eyes. The woman waited for Bucky to speak again.
"I want him. I need to…" He trailed off, not knowing why he had wanted Steve.
"Why?"
He looked up at her. Tears running freely down his cheeks now.
"I don't know."
He sobbed once, loudly. He swallowed past the knot in his throat and looked back down at the fist shaped dent his prosthetic hand left in the table.
"He means something, he's important. That's all I know."
The woman scribbled notes in her notepad while Bucky regained his composure. She put the pen down
"You've done very well today James. It won't be easy but – "
"What was my full name?"
She looked at him speculatively for a moment. "James Buchanan Barnes."
His brow furrowed as he concentrated, willing the memory that was just out of reach to come just a little closer. And then it was. There was a small, frail boy tugging him by the hand. He looked back at him with a smile and urged, "C'mon, Bucky!" when the boy turned away it was gone.
He gasped, his eyes darting to meet the woman's patient gaze.
"He…he called me Bucky. Steve."
She smiled at his awe-filled gaze. "Thank you Bucky, I'll see you tomorrow. Try not to strain; your memories won't come back any faster that way."
-XOX-
Steve had to fight back tears of his own as he watched the session. He had wished that he was allowed to go to Bucky when he was asking for him, and he could only barely manage to stop himself. He watched as the psychiatrist left, and Bucky was once again left alone in the room. He turned his head to stare at the one way glass, directly at the one way glass, directly at him.
"Steve…" He murmured with longing.
The door opened again, and Bucky was escorted unrestrained from the room.
"You should've told me I was barking up the wrong tree, trying to set you up with women."
Steve jumped. Natasha had the ability to be unnaturally silent. He had forgotten she was there.
"Not entirely. He's…the only one I've ever…"
"Steve its okay. Things are a lot different to how they were in the Forties."
"They are?"
"Yeah. You know Alice? Hills P.A.?" Steve nodded. "She's married to another woman."
"Married?" Steve spluttered in shock. The church wasn't condemning them anymore?
"Yep. They're going through the adoption process too." Steve's head spun. "Some people are still against it, of course, but it's widely accepted nowadays."
Steve wouldn't take her word for it; he made a mental note to ask Sam about it during their morning run the next day. Sam was realistic, down to earth and wouldn't mess with him. Natasha did that sometimes.
-XOX-
Steve made it to the viewing room just in time the next day – the psychiatrist was just taking a seat in front of his friend. Sam had confirmed what Natasha had told him the previous day. The two had spent longer than usual running that morning, giving them time to talk about the situation.
His focus shifted back to the pair in front of him when the psychiatrist asked, "How are you today, Bucky?"
"Better."
His friend gave a small smile. He had shaved off hi developing beard, making him look more like the Bucky he knew. The star had gone too, the red one on his metal arm. Steve knew that would have helped with the change in his mood.
"Good. Have you been sleeping well?"
-XOX-
Bucky looked away at the question, almost embarrassed by his weakness.
"No. I have…dreams."
"What kind of dreams?"
Bucky fidgeted with the hem of his vest. There were no other kinds of shirts provided in his room and Bucky didn't like to ask for others, as much as he hated them, because Shield was already doing so much to help him. Vests were too…exposing. Back in the day, he hadn't minded lounging in his apartment in one, though he didn't know quite when he had remembered that.
No though, he was self-conscious about his prosthetic arm. Not exactly the arm, but the flesh it was attached to. His left shoulder was a tangled mess of scar tissue, and Bucky knew people would look at it with disgust.
"I used to be a soldier, didn't I? In a war."
"Is that what you dream of?"
"Sometimes."
"What do you see?" Bucky wasn't trying to be difficult; he knew that he was hindering his progress. Bucky had never been overly fond of talking about himself. He cleared his throat softly.
"There are dozens of us, all in different uniforms. Most of us ragged…some are struggling to walk. A man in blue is leading us…to base I think. He has his arm round me the whole way. I think he's afraid that if he lets go he will lose me again. He's always worried of that."
The woman looked contemplative for a moment. "What does this memory make you feel?"
"Happy. Relieved. And scared." Bucky dropped to a whisper for the last word. "Scared that I'll lose Steve again."
He doesn't mention the filthy whispers in his ear of what Steve had wanted him to do when they were finally alone.
"I think he was my best friend."
She looked at him for a long moment before scribbling something on her pad.
-XOX-
Steve never missed a session, even when the weeks merged into months. He had watched as Tony snuck into the room after one in order to 'investigate how this hunk of junk works'. Never once, throughout all of his phenomenal progress, did Bucky even hint at their relationship being more than platonic. The psychiatrist had even started using Steve to confirm events and suggest prompts to things he was close to remembering.
In the end, Tony could do no more than offer Bucky an upgrade, explaining with much jargon that removing the existing prosthetic would cause more harm than good.
Bucky got frustrated often, but somehow there was always a non-dented table in the room every day. The only time Bucky had truly flown into a rage was fairly early on. He had asked if Steve was watching the sessions, as well as demanding to know why Steve couldn't watch from inside the room.
Bucky did not like being told that he couldn't see Steve until he was deemed not a threat.
He had only calmed when Steve begged him over the comm. System, pointing out that getting angry wouldn't get them what they wanted. Bucky kept his hair long.
Then the psychiatrist hit a wall.
Progress had ground to a halt, almost. The psychiatrist had long since suspected that therapy alone would only be able to do so much for Bucky. She took her case to Director Hill, and got it approved. The next day after therapy, the woman joined Steve in the observation room.
Steve made no move to speak, so they stood and watched Bucky for a moment.
"I've got permission from Director Hill. Sessions are being reduced to twice a week."
Steve gave a weak smile; this was the only time he could see Bucky and it was being more than halved. Still, he was happy for his friend.
"That's great, doc!" She smiled widely – the most emotion Steve had ever seen on her face.
"We're releasing him into your custody Captain Rogers, for a trial period to begin with, but hopefully it will be on a more permanent basis."