"Oh, look, here comes Sleeping Beauty just in time for eggs," Natasha said, flipping the eggs out of the pan and onto the toast.
Steve rubbed his hand through his hair. "Where did the food come from?" he yawned.
"I popped out and got it," Natasha said, pushing a plate towards him. "You have quite literally no food around here, other than a few condiments and a couple of tins of four-bean mix. Had to get us something for breakfast."
Steve sat down on the stool at the bench. The smell of fried eggs had woken him, but his body felt as though he'd hardly slept at all.
"Tea?" Natasha asked.
"Thanks," Steve said, liberally applying salt and pepper and a healthy squeeze of tomato ketchup to his eggs and toast.
Natasha picked up the jug and poured Steve a cup, before joining him at the bench.
"How was the couch?" Steve asked.
"Fine," Natasha said, "It's certainly one of the better couches I've slept on."
"I should've got somewhere with a spare room."
"Don't worry about it. It's Brooklyn, and you're not that rich."
Steve gave her a small smile. "What time is it?" he asked, noticing the flashing clock on the microwave.
Natasha pulled her phone out of her pocket. "Just after eight. You slept a good ten hours."
"I could go ten more," Steve said, picking up his toast.
"I wasn't going to say it, but since you brought it up, you still look like shit."
"Gee, thanks, Nat," Steve said, taking a bite.
"You sleep well?" Natasha asked.
Steve shrugged. "Well enough."
"What about - "
"Nat, eat first, interrogation later?" Steve asked.
"Sorry, yeah, eat up."
After breakfast, Natasha washed the dishes while Steve dried and put them away, and reset the clock on the microwave.
"I don't think the power went out last night," Natasha said.
"Nah," Steve said, "It was like that when I got back here yesterday. Just couldn't be bothered changing it."
"Where's you phone? It probably needs a charge. I unpacked your bag, by the way. Just threw everything in the washing basket. How many white t-shirts do you own?"
"Ta," Steve said, ignoring the jibe and sitting down on the couch. "Phone was in the pocket of the pants I was wearing yesterday."
"The ones still on the bathroom floor?"
"That'd be them. Why?"
"Group text from Scott."
"What's he saying?" Steve asked.
"Something about 'is there Trip Advisor for prisons?' If so, food in California is better, but blue is more his colour."
"You're kidding?"
"How does Sam know him?"
"I've never really asked."
"Huh. Well, he's sure a good add to the team."
"Yeah," Steve sighed heavily, thinking about other team mates. "Nat, I - I don't know what to do. I hate the feeling. The - helplessness, I guess. I've got nothing. I just don't know what to do."
Natasha sat down beside him. "That's okay, you know. We're all a bit out of ideas."
Steve adjusted how he was sitting. "I watched Lord of the Rings over Christmas, did I tell you that?"
"Nope."
"Watched it twice, first time with subtitles. I'm real glad Clint suggested that, otherwise I would of had no idea what was going on. Then watched it again, just because."
"All of it?"
"Yep."
Natasha glimpsed the box-set lying on the shelf below the television. "Are they the - "
"Extended editions. Clint gave them to me for Christmas. Said if I was going to commit, I might as well go all the way. He was right."
"Ha. He did the same to me. So you enjoyed them?"
"Yeah," Steve said, staring at the box, "I think so."
"Think so? You watched them twice, so…"
"Frodo wouldn't have got very far without Sam," Steve said softly, his eyes suddenly burning with tears.
"Oh," Natasha said.
"I don't fit in, Nat," Steve said, wishing the tears would go away. "Never have. Certainly not pre-serum. Not post-serum. Not in the army. Definitely not in the twenty-first century. Not even in the Avengers. Not really."
"But?" Natasha asked, noticing the upwards inflection in Steve's tone when he stopped.
Steve glanced quickly at Natasha, then leant back against the couch, looking at the ceiling. "I could go to the end of the galaxy in a tin can with Bucky and it would feel like home," his voice cracking as he ended.
"Hey," Natasha said, and took Steve's hand. He leant into her.
"I don't fit in, Nat. I just don't. But for a couple of days there, just for a bit, I thought… ah, it doesn't matter now. I thought wrong."
"No," Natasha said, rubbing her thumb across the back of his hand. "You didn't."
"I should have known I'd only lose him again," Steve wiped his eyes with his spare hand.
"Steve…"
"That's why I can't sleep. Because I can never get off that damned train. The eagles never come. What's the point of being Captain America and saving the world, if every single time I lose Bucky?"
"I - "
"It doesn't matter," Steve said, standing abruptly. "I - I'll go clean my teeth. Have a shave. I won't be long." He shut the bathroom door with more force than he meant.
Natasha sighed. They learnt a lot of things in the Red Room, but they sure as hell didn't learn to deal with this. Steve needed someone else to talk to, someone who knew the right things to say. Sam, maybe. Bucky's notebook still sat on the coffee table. Natasha picked it up and opened it on a random page.
Steve was on the train with me. It was cold. I held the shield.
The were no more words on that page, and the ones on the page opposite looked to be a shopping list, with the strange mix of Cyrillic and Roman letters. Natasha closed the book and wrapped her arms around it and herself.
Back in the day, Steve and Bucky's day, people didn't say things like 'I'm not coping' unless their ailment was physical, either serious injury or illness. So for Bucky to say that he didn't trust his own mind, and he didn't trust it so much that he would rather be in cryo-stasis possibly forever, rather than attempt rehabilitation, then he must be a bigger mess inside than any of them could imagine. But something inside of Natasha told her that they would find a solution, that they would be able to help Bucky, to undo some of the damage that all those years as a Hydra slave had seen inflicted upon him. She needed them to, and she couldn't quite explain why.
The bathroom door clicked open and Steve emerged, looking fresher and more alert. "I'll be…" he began gesturing towards his bedroom.
"Yeah, sure, take your time," Natasha said, though this was his flat, and she wasn't sure what they were waiting for.
Steve gave a sharp, military nod, and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door.
Bucky remembered everything. Which meant he remembered her. She remembered him too, of course. Once she would have killed him. Put him out of his misery. Permanently stop the threat. But she didn't believe in that anymore. There had to be a way to save him. She'd made it out, so he could too. They just needed something powerful enough to combat seventy-years of Hydra brain-washing.
"Oh," Natasha said out loud, her eyes wide. She looked to Steve's bedroom, but the door stayed shut. Oh, it would be risky, but between the two of them, it might just work. Bucky didn't need a something, he needed a someone. Someone who could bend reality. Change it. Manipulate it. And a magic, intergalactic, mind-altering rock would probably assist as well if they could figure out how to use it.
Steve's door opened, and he stepped out in his compression pants and a t-shirt. "You ready? I just gotta grab my trainers. I've got a couple bills in my pocket. Figure we can grab a second breakfast afterwards."
"What?" Natasha asked, her mind running through all the possible scenarios.
"Run?" Steve said, grabbing his trainers and pulling them on.
Natasha looked down, having forgotten that her change of clothes had been her compression tights and a sweat-shirt. "How far?" she asked, slipping the notebook back onto the coffee table as Steve tied his shoelaces.
"Three hours?"
"My pace or yours?"
Steve chuckled, "Half and half?"
"Well, I'm running at my pace the whole time."
"Okay."
"And anywhere specific for brunch?"
"There's a pancake place on Smith Street I want to check out. Also I'm not convinced that 'brunch' is a real word."
"Did you find this place in your Lonely Planet book?" Natasha asked, standing up and stretching her quads.
"Nope," Steve said, shoelaces done. "My good friend Google." He turned and looked at her, and Natasha thought that just for a moment, perhaps he'd come to the same realisation that she had. It was amazing the things you could come up with cleaning your teeth. So how to get everyone on board? It would be risky, but it was a risk Natasha was willing to take. Wanda was a clever kid, and Bucky was so much stronger than he gave himself credit for. He was still alive, after all.
"Are you thinking…?"
"Nat," Steve said, "Right now, I just need to run."
"Yeah," Natasha said. "Run it out. Talk over brunch."
"Let's go."