"So," Natasha Romanov drawled, stirring her coffee. "How long am I going to be your messenger for?"
Steve Rogers stared into the dregs of his tea for a fair amount of time before glancing up at her, opening his mouth to speak, then closing it again. He refocused on his empty mug.
They sat at a downtown cafe, at one of the patio tables. The traffic rumbled by; it was quiet, for New York. Romanov was here on leave between jobs for a few months, and she'd made time to catch up with Steve when she could.
Unfortunately, he was hitting a difficult roadblock in his relationship with Barnes, his best friend. Subjected to a slightly more volatile mixture of the serum than Captain America had been, The Winter Soldier emerged, and nearly consumed what had been left of James Buchanan Barnes.
"Damn it, Rogers, are you a soldier or aren't you?"
"What?" His head snapped up then, and the glare she gave him was more piercing than any he had seen in her arsenal.
"You can't run away from your problems anymore, Steve," Natasha softened her gaze, and laid a hand on his arm. "You should sit down and talk this out- without bringing down a building, this time."
"Tash, you know how unpredictable he is." The blonde blinked a few times, his brows furrowing.
"I can't keep running messages between you two. He's your best friend, and you're avoiding him like he's a leper."
"Thanks for the imagery, Nat, but I can't. Not yet."
"What's the point of all the work Vision and Tony have put into this? Don't you trust them? I mean, I know Tony's a douche, but he's not that much of a douche. He wouldn't throw a challenge like this just to spite Barnes. Or you, for that matter. He does respect you, Steve."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. A lot more than he'll ever admit, actually. Maybe you should kick his ass again." Natasha smiled, but she didn't get as much from Rogers. "He's not the Winter Soldier anymore, Steve. He hasn't been for a long while, and you're still making him feel like he's a monster."
At this Captain America could say nothing. He stood, leaving money for the bill, and walked away.
"I care nothing for interpersonal relations myself," Vision began, and Bucky shot him a look. "However," he continued, "I have a plethora of advice to aid both you and the Captain in this… turbulent time; all of which can be concisely summarized by a simple statement. There will be no progress without communication."
"What are you, my shrink?" Bucky snorted, shrugging the A.I. off. He flopped down on one of the worn gray couches in the apartment. "I don't need you to tell me how I should handle this, Vision. Your little club should stop taking turns babysitting me."
"My apologies," the android said, with as much sarcasm as he dared.
"You guys are all talking like we need marriage counselling." Barnes stared at the ceiling, following the patterns of old cracks through the tasteless white plaster.
It was a sparse place, all things considered. He'd never been one for the white picket-fence life, and he'd never set his heart on anything material. He was upset with himself though, every time he caught sight of his few belongings, scattered about. He couldn't help feeling like they weren't enough.
After all Bucky had been through, though, how could he be dissatisfied with a safe place to call home, and free? He had no clue. It was becoming a bitter cycle of self pity and self loathing; he could never settle on which was worse.
He stood up abruptly, and Vision turned to glance at him.
"What will you do, then?"
Instead of answering, James wandered over to the tall shelves that sat empty along the back wall. Empty except for a few old newspaper clippings, some photographs, and a journal. He hadn't a desk, and hadn't thought to get one. He'd also left a few of his wood whittling things on the higher shelf; Bucky hadn't had the desire to work on any carvings for a while now.
Barnes thumbed through the journal again, raising a brow every now and then, and Vision decided against making his impatience known. Rather, he said, "It's your decision, James. If he is your friend, then he will understand." With that, he turned and left, through the wall of the apartment.
"Uh huh." He said it aloud, to the empty room. "I'm going out." He stared up at the camera in the corner of his living room.