Authors note: So I liked writing the first part and thought I'd give another part a go. No plot here just scenery.
Somewhere behind the machine there is a personality.
Steve watches his old friend, his lost friend, stumble into the new world. Bucky's like a foal staggering around on new legs, not yet sure how to run without tripping, still determined to try. What gets Steve is that it's almost sad just how gentle Bucky is with everything, like he's afraid moving too fast will shatter the peace or awaken violence.
He reaches for things with exaggerated care, holding them for a few seconds too long, inspecting each element as if expecting it to trigger some horrid memory, or, as Steve hopes, he is simply seeing it all with new eyes. It's disquieting to watch, but that's all Steve can do.
Bucky's voice is always measured, as if the weight of each word could do him harm if not used in the right way, not carefully thought out before hand. But there is change in him, a growing confidence, or perhaps he has found a way to ground himself in the world he hadn't been allowed to be part of for so long.
Those guilt laden stares into blank spaces, when his mind was traveling dark paths became easier to disrupt. It breaks Steve's heart when Bucky is like that, he makes a point to stand beside him and make some quip, some terribly transparent comment about the weather, or even just to call his name to bring him back to the present. With deliberate practice, bringing Bucky back takes less and less effort.
The others help, they encourage comments, jokes, scathing rhetoric and Bucky had begun to play the game in return, offering almost imperceptibly sniping remarks. The had all caught on fairly quickly, Natasha especially enjoys them, she picks up on them much faster than everyone else, her eyes taking in much more about the soldiers subtle facial movements. Her lips often quirked into small smiles, merriment dancing in her eyes as she listens to Bucky talk.
They spar in the mornings, while the others are willing to help Steve trains with him the most. Bucky doesn't need to pull his punches against a super soldier, although, even with that element on his side, the Captain had his fair share of bruises; being hit with a metal arm doesn't exactly tickle.
Still, Steve doesn't mind, he even relishes the challenge, the once Winter Solider never holds back, not even for a sparring match. Bucky's new metal arm is lighter, faster; despite that he he still hits like a truck, now it's just twice as much work to avoid.
It even has Steve working up a sweat as he blocks the insane barrage of punches, while trying to get the upper hand, but Bucky isn't letting up. The Captain rolls back on his heels to avoid a strike that would have broken the jaw of any regular man, but is still unable to press any advantage to swap from defense to attack.
Bucky barely gives him any breathing room, determined to push Steve's buttons. The captain is convinced this is no longer just sparring to the soldier, this is a battle of domination, Steve has to stop it before it gets out of hand.
"Bucky!" He ducks, deflects with his forearm and shifts away again. "Stop!" There is already a welt forming on the flesh of his arm.
"How are you going to get revenge if we do?" Bucky replies in such an off-hand manner that Steve stops and stares, unsure how to take the comment at all, but as the metal fist comes careening towards his face he has little time to process it.
Steve dives to the side, recovering a few precious steps of ground, a frown knitting his brow, uncertain whether to continue or to be mortally insulted. Then he sees it, the unmistakable quirk of lips, the glint in his friends eyes. Bucky is teasing him. He feels a rush of excitement, it's almost like looking at his old friend. He feels his face split into a grin.
The soldier's eyes crease with acknowledgement and challenge, Captain America feels the enthusiasm to not only carry on but also to win. He will not back down, not when it could mean more secret smiles, more taunts and games from the damaged soldier who thinks himself not a man at all.
There would be a sacrifice of a few free hits to get past Bucky's onslaught, but it would be so very worth it to see the surprise, or the glee liven up his old friends face. He takes his chance when Bucky's non-metal fist slams heavily into the right side of his rib cage. The air rushes from his lungs but Steve still manages to take the chance, his own fist circling outside the soldiers stance to knock Bucky square on the cheek.
Bucky reels, falling immediately into defense, and stepping out of Steve's reach to touch the battered flesh, he is going to have a shiner tomorrow. His face is a mask, one Steve is determined to remove.
"I count that as revenge." Steve grins at him, bouncing on the balls of his feet, there's a split second of silence but then Bucky smiles. It's like watching the sun come out from behind rain clouds, Steve could almost hear the angel choir singing in the background.
"You can do better." Bucky taunts, the smile turning determined, and it's like he's alive again, even for the briefest moment, this is the Bucky Steve knows. He has little time to celebrate as the soldier is already driving forward for another assault. There's no rage between them, it becomes a game, of who can best who, what will the victor do, what words, what taunts, what human interaction can pass between them.
They end in stale-mate, each gripping the other in a ridiculous hold that leaves neither of them any hope of further movement without one or both of them relenting. They are both on the floor, battered, bruised and a little bloody, panting and exhausted but laughing.
Steve honestly can't recall a time where he had felt so relaxed, not since the serum. Seeing Bucky, his Bucky surfacing from the confines of the Winter soldier is like a breath of fresh air.
"Punk." Steve chuckles, it is the trigger for their simultaneous relinquishing of each others limbs. They lay there on the mats, side by side, while they catch their breath. Neither feeling the particular urge to stand and break up the moment. Reality could wait a little longer.
"Thank you, Steve." Bucky's voice is gentle, sincere.
"Bucky." Steve turned his head to regard the other man, dark hair still slicked with sweat sticking to his forehead in unruly strands. Words faltered against his lips, what could he say? Nothing seemed quite adequate, instead he poured what words he couldn't find into a smile. It's reflected back at him, perhaps not as broadly, but the heartfelt sentiment is still there. It's enough for Steve.
When they finally get off the floor, it's as if they are leaving something of the weight of the world behind. Bucky moves with straighter shoulders, his smile replaced with a quiet resolution. For the first time in a long time, it seems like things are going to be okay.
Nothing can shake the smile from Steve's face for the rest of the day.