Red Union Bank. Underground vault. Washington, D.C., 4:30 p.m.

Steve Rogers turned his head and spit out the bitter stream of blood in his mouth, leaving flecks of red all over the concrete floor.

"You're gonna have to try harder than that!" Rumlow yelled, kicking him in the gut with the tip of his boot. The chains rattled as Steve's sagging body swayed to the side. His bare feet, grating over the floor behind him, were unable to support his weight.

"I don't know what the fuck you're looking for—" Steve panted, "but if I did... Lets just say I would die before giving you anything."

"That can be arranged," Rumlow sneered and delivered a nasty punch to his kidney, really laying his weight into the blow this time.

Steve groaned in agony but other than that, he didn't provide Rumlow with the desired result. He barely even reacted to pain anymore. They'd done this dance every single day since Steve let himself get abducted like an amateur.

His doppelganger, Rumlow, and a whole bunch of evil Nazi dicks had taken him completely by surprise. Leaving no time to warn the others, they had subdued Steve faster than he'd thought possible, injecting him with some kind of super drug specifically engineered to knock a supersoldier flat on his ass.

When Steve woke up topside, slightly groggy and disoriented from the meds, he quickly realized that shit was about to hit the fan. It only took one good look at his company.

By now, his whole body was black and blue with bruises but Hydra's enhanced interrogation tactics hadn't softened him up one bit.

To be fair, it seemed as if they were holding back. There was no pattern to the torture, no finesse, not even any urgency, only the same old question they wanted him to answer.

Steve was fairly certain that he wouldn't answer it even under the most extreme duress. Not because of some heroic ideation - because he simply didn't know.

"This is starting to bore me."

Alexander Pierce (the other Pierce, as Steve had secretly dubbed him) sat on a chair opposed to him, watching the torture scenes unfold from a distance like an interesting football match. By Bucky's account, he knew that Pierce was a man who enjoyed inflicting a bit of pain himself but perhaps he didn't want to ruin his expensive suit. Steve would make sure to spit on him the first chance he got.

"Time to change it up. Bring in the asset."

Steve, suddenly pulled out of his little revenge fantasy, tensed visibly and instantly reprimanded himself for it. He couldn't play into their hands now. Not when Bucky's life was at stake.

Pierce straightened and looked past him. With his back strategically to towards the door, Steve could only listen when Bucky, their Bucky, the other Bucky strode into the room with heavy steps.

"Commander?" the familiar voice asked timidly, sounding hoarse with disuse, causing Steve's heart to clench more painfully in response than any torture could have done.

Steve trembled in his bonds. He wrapped his fists around the chains and pulled, trying to free himself with new vigor. It was either that, or crying for forgiveness at the asset's feet.

"Ah, yes. The asset. Come forward so the prisoner can take a good look at you."

The asset - Bucky - obeyed without question, commanded by the flick of his handler's wrist.

Oh, Buck... What have they done to you?

The man walked around Steve's twisting form in a half circle until he came to a stop in front of him, completely unmoving.

Steve stopped to struggle at once. He told himself not to look too closely at his best friend's alter ego but curiosity won out in the end.

The black tactical gear didn't hide the asset's emaciated frame, he looked exactly like his own Bucky had that day in DC when the mask came off. Blank stare and everything, looking through him like a void. The fresh smudge of eyeliner around his vacant eyes only highlighted the wrongness of his appearance. Steve shivered.

This is not him, he tried to assure himself. Bucky is safe at home. They can't touch him.

"Whatever you're planning, it won't work. I swear, I don't know anything about a—"

"The asset can withstand a great amount of pain. Did you know that?" Pierce cut him off, his polite smile the ugly mask of a monster who knew neither love nor mercy.

Rumlow and his men stepped closer, as if on cue, forming a circle around them. The asset's gaze was still fixed on Steve's collar without meeting his eyes but there was a flicker of real fear reflected in his expression now.

Maybe, Steve was just projecting the newfound terror that grabbed his heart onto the Winter Soldier. "I know. I know that... Please, you don't have to do this. I really don't know anything about this. There's no need to hurt him," he desperately tried to reason, dreading the knowledge that it wouldn't be enough.

The asset blinked. He looked up, studying Steve's familiar face with a puzzled expression. There was no recognition whatsoever, just... Genuine confusion mixed with fear.

"Tell us what we want to know or he'll pay for your silence," Pierce said.

"I already told you, I don't know—"

Rumlow didn't wait for Steve to finish. Instead, he leaped forward and struck the asset - Bucky, his name is Bucky - across the head with a stun batton.

"NO!!!"

Bucky went down hard. Blood spurted out of a laceration on the back of his head and yet, instead of defending himself against the assault of stun batons which the Strike team rained down on him, he curled into a fetal position and stayed down, crying out only when they aimed to hit his scarred shoulder with electricity.

Steve began to beg in earnest.

If he was hoping for Runlow's help, or Pierce's, he didn't know. All his efforts were in vain.

Avengers tower. Midtown Manhatten, New York. Same day. 4:30 p.m.

"Where is she going?"

Bucky nodded towards Natasha, who suspiciously trailed after Steve with just the right distance to seem incidental. Well, to someone less versed in espionage at least.

She'd certainly managed to be far less conspicuous than Bucky who had sat on the sofa halfway across from them, watching Steve's back longly from afar during the entire conversation.

It was a nice backside. Couldn't blame a guy for feeling a little sentimental.

"Following our great leader, I guess," Clint replied with a shrug.

Bucky eyes narrowed as he looked at the archer in disbelief. "What? Are you serious? She's tailing him?"

Clint just shrugged in reply.

"Why?" Bucky asked bewildered. "What for?"

Clint gave him a sheepish smile and scratched his neck. "You know Natasha. Once a spy always a spy. She..."

He cleared his throat and leaned closer towards Bucky, whispering conspiratorially. "Ok, so, I'm not supposed to tell you this but she said she had a hunch."

"A hunch," Bucky parroted dumbly, determined to keeping his voice at a normal level because this wasn't middle school. "About Steve?"

Clint cringed. "I know how it sounds but she— she said he lied to her."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "People tend to do that sometimes, pal. It's not a crime."

"No, it's not that he lied to her necessarily, it's... This is gonna sound so paranoid—"

Bucky snorted. "It does. The FBI's got nothing on you. Believe me. Only difference is they're not investigating their own people," he remarked with a disapproving shake of the head. "You two have seen way too much shit."

"—Maybe, but she said it was a good lie."

"Huh..." Bucky frowned. During the war there had been a grand total of 1 covert operations during which Steve had tried working as an undercover agent, and Bucky still wanted to die from second hand embarrassment every time he thought back on it.

Blond hair and being build like every Nazi's wet dream alone couldn't save your ass if awkward stammering (and having no acting talent to cover for it whatsoever) gave you away the second you had to bend the truth a little.

Out of the two of them, Bucky had always been the untruthful one, learning the art of selling lies pretty early on. There was an unspoken rule to being in love with your best friend, when said friend packed the same equipment as you and all you wanted was to stop kissing dames and get on your knees for him: You fake it till you make it.

"Huh... Like believably good, could've fooled Nicolas J. Fury himself? That kinda lie?"

"Exactly."

"But Steve is a horrible liar."

"He is, isn't he? I mean... Usually."

Bucky squinted. "Huh."

"I don't know, man." Clint pinched his nose. "It's what she said."

"Ok... I'm listening. You got my full attention now, Barton. Lets hear it. What did he lie about?"

"Nothing big. Just... She asked him where he was going this morning and he said he wanted to check out some Shawarma place and—"

"He hates Shwarma."

"Nat said so, too, but he gave her a whole story about some big plan to celebrate Christmas there with the rest of the team and whatnot, and she said: I quote 'that bastard almost had me convinced it was my idea in the first place'."

"Weird."

"Yeah. Apparently, he told her it's exactly what we all needed without once mentioning that it made him throw up his guts— Oh." He paused at Bucky's unbelieving expression.

"That was after the Citauri invasion," Clint explained. "Early team bonding. Way before your time. Like, I remember him saying 'I just want to die again' while he wretched in that public bathroom for half an hour. It wasn't pretty."

"So... What does she think his motives are? Maybe he's just private about stuff."

Maybe he's meeting Sharon again...

"I honestly don't know. It's probably nothing. Perhaps Nat's just bored and needs a project."

"Weird hobby though."

"Seen weirder."

Bucky huffed and put his feet up on the couch. He didn't feel like dealing with this strange development any more than he felt like kissing Stark on the mouth.

"Right. So... You wanna keep talking about Nat's urgent need to see a shrink?" he asked casually, while digging out the remote behind the cushions. "Or do you wanna watch a spy movie with me, and not choke yourself on popcorn this time? I got some of the really bad ones."

Clint gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and then pitched his voice high, fanning himself theatrically like the protagonist of some Jane Austen novel. "Oh, Mr. Barnes... I thought you'd never ask."

Watching not one but two cheesy spy movies with Clint that didn't even remotely touch on the reality of actual intelligence and espionage put Bucky in an exceptionally good mood for the rest of the day. He'd missed laughing with his friends more than he had realized. The drama free company of the archer provided a comfort completely unlike the mess that his thing with Steve had become in the past week.

Which, on second thought, was exactly what Bucky needed more of right now. Maybe he should take some time off, and...

Entering the dimly lit apartment he shared with his best friend, Bucky immediately did a double take to make sure he was still in the right place and hadn't gotten lost somewhere along the way daydreaming.

The sign at the door said 'Rogers Barnes' no matter how many times he read it over and over.

According to his medical records, his eyesight and reading comprehension still scored a perfect 100% (no signs of his hypothetically old age the doctors liked to talk about so much) but this just couldn't be right.

There were candles everywhere. On the floor, on the drawers, on the tv stand... Painting the entire flat in a soft orange light.

"What the hell..?"

"Oh, you're home," Steve called out happily and came strolling into the living room.

Bucky's jaw dropped at the sight of him. Steve had put on the world's tightest white T-shirt that clung to his pecs obscenity, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, only to top that with a pair of red dress pants that hugged his ass in the most lewd fashion. His hair was slightly mussed up with gel and he looked, for a lack of better words... Incredible.

Mouthwatering...

Like he was on a date.

The realization sobered Bucky at once. His heart clenched painfully, as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry. Were you expecting Sharon? Or— someone else? I mean—It's none of my business, clearly, but—"

Steve reached out, gently laying a hand on top of Bucky's cold metal arm and made him lose all track of thought. The limb came strangely alive under his palm. The plates hissed and shifted almost unnoticeably.

"No. It's for you, silly. I did all of this for you."

Bucky's stomach did a little flip. It was so unexpected. He'd almost given up all hope and resigned himself to never getting what he wanted from Steve...

"Are you sure?" he swallowed hard, bracing for the painful rejection that would come any second now. It had to be a cruel joke. It had to be.

"Yeah. Of course I'm sure. What kinda question is that? Come, sit..." Steve pointed at the table dressed for two which he had dragged into the middle of the room. It was decorated with candles and God almighty, rose petals.

"Steve, this is completely unnecessary. You didn't have to do this on my account..."

"Of course I did. I owe you an apology. Please." Steve pulled out his seat for him and Bucky, no longer able to form a straight sentence, sat down heavily.

"...OK."

Steve took the seat opposite of him and held up his hand. "Hear me out. I realize I went a little overboard with the manhandling yesterday, and... I know I scared you, and I hurt you. Nat told me about it. Bucky, believe me, I had no intention of—"

Bucky stopped him with the wave of his hand, suddenly embarrassed.

"It's fine. Steve, it was nothing. You just... You freaked me out a little. After Hydra I... I don't react to that sort of thing the same way I would have when we were kids. And besides, that wasn't just rough housing to me."

"I know, I know Bucky, and I'm sorry I treated you like that. It's just— I was so angry and I grabbed you too hard and then you went all— still. I misjudged the situation. It was just... With the way you reacted, I thought you liked what I was doing."

With an erection you mean...

Bucky felt himself color with shame, wishing he could sink right through the floor and make the Earth swallow him whole.

"It's not your fault. Really, I wasn't... 'Communicating' the way I should have been."

It was as his therapist always told him. Communication is the key to a healthy relationship.

Steve smiled at him. "I'm glad we got that sorted out. I hate fighting with you."

"Yeah, me too. So..." Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly. "About the other night—"

"What night?"

"You know the one where we—" Bucky stumbled over the right words like a schoolboy and rolled his eyes in annoyance. It was amazing how Steve and him had known each other all their lives and still were in no way capable of talking about their damned feelings. It was probably just the era they were born in where men were taught to be strong and keep everything in, but sometimes it felt like they were a particularly stunted pair.

"Oh, that right!" Steve exclaimed. There was a teasing tone to his voice now. "I wasn't sure what you were referring to."

"Yeah, jackass, that night. So... Did you mean it?"

"Did I mean what?"

Bucky felt his own face burn. "When we... When we had sex, ok? Intercourse. Fornicated. Had relations. Whatever you wanna call it. What was that to you?"

"What do you want it to be?"

"That's not fair. I asked you first."

"You asked me first? What is this, kindergarden?" Steve retorted.

"Steve, I'm serious: Why? Why did you decide after all this time that I was finally... good enough for you? I mean, did you just know about me? All this time?"

"What about you?"

"That I... Damn you. That I like you. You know... Like that."

Of course 'like' didn't even remotely cover it but Bucky didn't want to scare Steve away with the big L-word just yet. He was already transparent enough, and currently talking himself into an early grave if Steve didn't feel the same.

"There I said it. Are you happy now?"

"You're into me?"

"Shit. Yeah, I guess, but we don't have to make a big deal out of it. You really didn't know?"

Steve shook his head but otherwise didn't react to the big confession. It was nerve wrecking.

When Bucky went on, his voice threatened to fail him. "I just need to know: Was it a conquest to you? A pity fuck? A punishment? What? Whatever it was: You win, you had me. Alright? As far as I'm concerned nothing else has to change. I'm still here. I'm always gonna be there for you. Whether you want me or not. And if you don't, if you can't stand to—"

He took a deep breath. "You know, I've always felt this way. About men... about you, but I can try and be normal. If you want to go back to being friends and pretend nothing ever happened that's fine, I'll do it, but I think you owe me a straight answer. Was that all you wanted from me, or is there something else?"

Steve's eyes considered the crumbled napkin in his metal hand thoughtfully, seemingly oblivious to the human catastrophe with an existential crisis right in front of him.

"Bucky, in case you haven't noticed, we're on a date. Like right now."

"I—" Bucky blinked like an owl.

"Is that something you'd be interested in?" Steve asked him casually, sounding utterly relaxed.

"Yes? I mean, yes! Oh my God. Yes! Of course, I'm interested. Very interested. Just so you know... You should give a guy a little warning. I'm about to have a heart attack and I'm completely underdressed for the occasion."

"Don't worry. We can change that later," Steve said with a conspiratory wink.

Bucky was floating on cloud nine. "So, just to be clear, you don't want to go back to being friends?"

Steve laughed. "No, Bucky. We're not gonna do that."

The butterflies in Bucky's stomach went batshit. He coughed to clear his choked up throat, and tried for nonchalance, although the million watt smile on his face would surely betray him. "Is that right?"

Steve hummed agreeably.

"Not that I'm one to look a gift horse in the mouth but— Did Nat threaten you earlier or something?"

"Even if she did, I'm not afraid of her. And no, pretty sure it was all me."

"You're such a liar. She terrifies you." Bucky laughed.

Steve blessedly ignored the remark and instead of commenting on Bucky's conspiracy theories any further, got up to serve the food.

When Bucky wanted to help and make himself useful, Steve gently bullied him back into his chair with a firm hand on his shoulders.

"No, you sit. Let me handle the rest."

That certainly was a first. Bucky barely tasted the delicious meatballs which were served to him with self-made pasta and wine.

Steve's heated gaze distracted him all through the main course.