I'm going to set a reminder to myself to post because I always forget on Monday evening and remember the next morning.

Anyway.

Apparently Tony Stark was "fine" with the situation. He'd even offered to help, or so Steve claimed.

Bucky didn't think Stark should be okay with the situation. He thought he should be angry.

Then again, he'd only heard about the interrogation, not seen it, and maybe Pierce had said something that got Stark's attention. Maybe Stark hated Pierce, not him.

Steve returned around the time Wilson – Sam – finished the physical exam and they'd spent a while talking about whatever Pierce had said. Bucky voluntarily walked away from that conversation, picking up one of the newer books Ben had lent him and going to the next room.

"Buck."

He put the book down and looked up at Steve.

"Um... we need to see your left foot."

That's random. "Why?"

"Something Pierce said. We just need to confirm it."

He unlaced his shoes and pulled off his socks. Wilson had asked him if it was okay to look at his feet but Bucky had hesitated – the ground was concrete here, not like Ben's soft wood and carpet, and he had bad memories of walking on cold ground barefoot – and the other man hadn't pressed it.

"He was right," said Wilson now. "Can I?"

Bucky nodded. Wilson – Sam – took his foot and pointed at something on the sole. "I saw those before, treating POWs in Iraq. It's an interrogation technique but it can be modified just to cause pain. 'Cuz torture – for information, at least – if you put the subject through too much pain they'll just shut down. They can't think about anything else. But these bigger ones..."

Sam pressed on part of the sole and Bucky jerked his foot back in the milliseconds before his mind went blank.

"...an uncommon reaction to trauma."

The words pulled him back to himself, and the pounding headache he had.

The clock on the wall said it'd been three minutes, and now Steve and Sam were sitting down opposite his cushy chair. He looked down and saw the roundish scars on his sole – and some had matching tissue on the top of his foot –

"Those were the nails," explained Sam, speaking to him now. "Zola made some notes – sort of like an appendix for the file – and apparently a lot of the conditioning involved making you stand still in whatever position till they told you not to. Pierce said when you were more resistant they'd... do something to you to keep you in place physically. 'Parently once they nailed your foot to the ground."

Bucky put a left-hand finger on a scar near his pinky toe, on the top of his foot, and felt the corresponding round shape on the bottom. Again for one in the center, and near the heel, and the second toe. He pushed in and froze – but only for a second, and when he released the pressure he relaxed again.

Anywhere without the scars, or even the ones that weren't from the nails, didn't make him react like that.

"I don't remember that," he whispered.

Sam replied seriously, "Well, Pierce and the file haven't lied yet."

Oh. Okay.

Should he be worried or relieved that they had documented everything? He didn't know.

"Ben and Sharon think he'd dissociate on missions," said Steve.

"That makes sense. It's a more extreme version of what the military teaches you to do in combat. That's part of the reason why vets have a hard time adjusting back to civilian life – there's no training to fall back on."

"I remember. That was hard. So is that... part of the reason he's not active?"

They were talking about him in third-person again. He didn't mind but he did think it was weird how easily they did it. Hydra had done that; these people were supposed to be different.

These people were different – this was Steve. And besides, he'd talked about Steve with doctors before, in the same room as him. It was because he cared.

Another vague memory, another thing he knew but didn't know why or how. He hated it.

Bucky picked his book back up and split his mind in two: reading and listening.

"Probably. Part of it also might've been the 'only exists to kill people' thing, which meant that his personal needs were deprioritized. But he's figuring out he can assert himself, make his own choices. We took a break from the exam for lunch and – I gotta be honest, I wasn't too thrilled about making food for him and –"

"I get it. Have I said thank you yet?"

"Only about fifty times. Yeah, so I put some peas and a box of mac and cheese on the counter and told him to go crazy and he figured it out. He put half the peas in the pasta and kept the other half frozen – when I asked him he said he didn't know which one he liked better so he did both. He also found two more boxes and made those too, so it ended up that he made me lunch."

He looked tired. I thought he shouldn't have to do more work. And the peas taste better in the pasta.

"Yeah. That's what he was like before all this." There was a smile in Steve's voice, and he cleared his throat before saying, "So, before my dead best friend showed up on his brother's doorstep, we had a vague plan to, uh..."

"Kick Hydra ass?"

A laugh. "Yeah. Something like that. But if you're, y'know, if you didn't want to leave what you have here..."

"No, man, I'm still on board. I actually thought you'd be busy, y'know, with..."

"Well – yeah. But I figure it might help sometimes if I wasn't around. Not be smothering, if that's the right word." A pause. "What?"

"I can tell you that you're already thinking about this better than half the vet spouses I've talked to."

"Oh. Thanks. Though the comparison is maybe not..."

"Accurate? Sharon messaged me through the whole interrogation. It's twenty-fourteen, Steve. The courts've been overturning gay marriage bans left and right for six months. I'm not... homophobic. Biphobic, I think that's the right term. They're actually different."

Bucky froze again, but this time it was different – his brain was swarmed with thoughts, panic and alarm because how did Sam Wilson know about that?

"I didn't think you were. You never know, but I didn't get that impression. For the record, we were never..."

He hadn't even remembered it till the word "homophobic" because it sounded like "homosexual" and Steve was halfway to that –

"Well you'll have to be shouting that from the rooftops now. Even with Pierce saying you never did anything, people are gonna wonder –"

– Pierce knew?

Oh God, he'd told him, and of course he'd tell the world out of spite –

And now everyone in the government knew. The president knew, the army knew... and it'd get out eventually and if Steve leaked the video like he told Sam he might...

"Sam, I need the room."

Was it really that obvious how panicked he was?

"Yeah, 'course."

"Buck – Bucky –"

Steve pulled his chair up so that he was facing him, and leaned forward. He shook Bucky's shoulder and said, "It's okay, it's legal. What Sam mentioned, about the courts – Sweet Mary, how do I explain this..."

He rubbed his forehead with his free hand and took a deep breath, mirroring the ones Bucky himself was taking to try to calm down.

"It's legal now. A lot of people still don't like it but just as many people are fine with it. They got rid of the ban in the military, and now all these state courts are saying that marriage is a right...

"It's all right. Honestly I'm relieved. So don't worry about it, and don't worry how it got out."

Steve was lying. He could tell – the little grimace he made when he said he was relieved. He wasn't happy, he was terrified and regretting ever having talked to Pierce.

Sometimes Bucky wished people would just tell him what he knew they were really thinking. This time, though, he decided to say something about it. "Liar."

"Okay, yeah. Maybe I am. But that doesn't mean it's your fault. And I'll get used to it eventually. Okay?"

He kept his best friend's gaze for a long moment, just to make sure he wasn't upset, and finally he nodded. Okay.

"Great. Panic attack averted."

"They're not panic attacks."

"That's the word Ben used."

"Sam says they're anxiety attacks."

"There's a difference?"

" 'Parently."

"Well, he knows more about them. Anxiety attack averted."

Steve gave him a little grin – encouraging, questioning – and Bucky couldn't help but smile a little before the grimace took over. "Yeah. I guess."

"All right. I'll make something for dinner when you finish the book."

He walked away, out of the room, leaving Bucky to wonder yet again why Steve was so upbeat. Pierce never made anyone feel happy.

Sharon came by the next morning, and Wilson stood up straight when he saw her and said, "Ma'am."

"I'm not in uniform," she pointed out.

"You're the closest you can be to being in uniform without actually being in uniform."

"Thank you. That's the idea." She looked around the safehouse – bunker, whatever the original designer have called it – kitchen and told him, "I'm looking for Steve. I have a few things to check up on with you, though."

"Shoot."

"You're a group counselor at the VA in DC, right?"

"Yup."

She pulled out a pad of paper from her bag – a briefcase with a strap, an old thing of her father's that she'd gotten when he retired – and found a pen. "Okay. Official position?"

"Peer Specialist. GS-5."

"Based out of?"

"Meade."

She scribbled "FT Meade MD" on the paper. "Education?"

Wilson raised his brows. "That's necessary?"

"I like to be prepared when I go up against the government."

"Just wondering how much you needed. University of New Orleans, Air Force ROTC, class of ninety-seven."

"Grew up down there?"

"Yup. Lost most of my accent on tour but" – his tone shifted, his vowels elongating and his Rs fading – "I reckon it's a good idea to keep it handy. It comes out when I'm distracted or drunk, or rankled. And daggonit if I'll let my folks hear the east-coast accent I use 'round these parts."

Sharon assumed Aunt Peggy's polished British accent: "Very good, soldier. Changing one's voice to suit their environment is a rather useful skill to have. What course of study did you pursue in university?"

Sam grinned and informed her – he kept the thick Louisiana accent – that he was pre-med. He'd planned to go to go to medical school after serving his four years but then he was tapped for pararescue with a friend.

"Where is he now?"

"Arlington. Near the Carillon."

She looked up from her writing and said, "Oh. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Got hit pretty hard when he died so there went my plans for med school. 'Course it qualified me for my current job so there's that."

Sharon finished her questions about Sam's background and expertise and asked him for a rough assessment of Bucky's mental state.

"Mind, I'm not a doctor and I don't counsel friends or friends of friends," he told her.

"I am aware. However I need something when I approach the relevant government officials"

"Aight. I'll talk slow so you can get all of it."

"Go ahead."

His accent faded back into a dull east-coast tone as he spoke: "He has severe memory loss. He can't remember anything that happened after he joined the military and has vague memories of his childhood and early adulthood. He experiences flashbacks to events that happened when he was in Hydra and sometimes will be nonresponsive for minutes when that happens. He has several trigger phrases that we know about that cause him to dissociate but only one has worked more than once, so they were probably use-in-case-of-emergency. Irritating certain scars – probably the ones that happened under more traumatic conditions – will also cause him to dissociate.

"He doesn't initiate conversation or everyday activities. He has very little concept of his own comfort but he does express minor personal preferences. If you explicitly say he can do something he will feel comfortable doing it, though usually you have to walk him through how to – hey. You're up early."

Sharon turned and found Bucky standing in the doorway that she supposed let to sleeping quarters. "Oh, hi. We can move to another room if you want to eat breakfast and not have to hear about this."

No response. He walked over the refrigerator and pulled out the milk carton.

"Do you mind if we stay?" she asked. "Do you want us to leave?"

Bucky found the cereal and a bowl. Sharon took a guess and tried: "Can we stay?"

"Yeah."

"All right. Keep going, Sam."

Wilson continued to recount his observations, though in a lower voice.

"In summary..." she said when he was finished.

"Severe PTSD, definitely. It's an anxiety disorder, it explains the anxiety attacks. He has a chance of developing depression even with treatment. And then there's the induced amnesia and conditioning."

"Brainwashing?"

"Not that I can tell, actually. Just very strong, brutal conditioning."

"All right. I already got Ben's medical observations but I'll need your notes too."

"Got it."

She went back to her English accent and asked, "Are there any necessities you find lacking in this safehouse?"

"Nah, there's enough canned food to feed an army. By my reckoning the two of 'em should be good here for another couple weeks. I'm not planning on stickin' around that long."

"That's perfectly understandable."

She glanced back at Bucky and couldn't help but laugh at his bewildered expression. "Oh, Buck, we're –" She composed herself. "We are practicing the different speech patterns we can assume in times when disguising our identities would be needed. I of course learned a British accent from my aunt –"

"– and I'm from Nawlins, 'course I've an accent."

Bucky looked between them, said a simple "Uhuh" and pulled out a book to read.

Sharon and Sam talked for a few minutes, still in accent, until the former dropped the funny talk and said, "Hey, Bucky, is Steve still asleep?"

"Last I checked."

"All right, I won't bother him then. Either of you, or both, let him know I went in. And, Sam – one last thing."

"Shoot."

"You live in McLean. I'm probably gonna have a good number of tails on me, and I don't have an apartment anymore..."

"I have a guest room. I dunno if it's made but you're welcome to use it."

"The house is in your sister's name, though. Everything with Hydra happened too quickly for anyone to figure out you lived there and I'm pretty sure they still don't know."

"Right, yeah. I have a PO box 'cuz my mailman's shitty."

"And the military drags their feet on records. But if I stay there they'll definitely know."

Sam shrugged. "I reckon they'll figure it out anyways. Let me give you a key and the security code."

"Thanks."

Sharon took a roundabout route to the Fort Totten Metro station, getting off at Metro Center, and dialed Tony Stark's number from her regular cellphone once she had reception.

"Has Cap told you to go screw yourself yet?"

"And a good day to you, Tony. No, he hasn't. Probably has something to do with how he's a figurative boy scout and also a former army captain..."

" 'Figurative'?"

"He doesn't like it when people call him a boy scout. Teasing in general, really. Might want to keep that in mind for the future. Anyway, I need you to get me on the phone with the president."

The person next to her going through the faregate gave her an odd look, and she replied with a mind-your-own-business glare.

"I haven't heard from him yet, Sharon. The FBI's a better –"

"Yeah, but I figure I might as well go straight to the top given the topic."

"You know they can trace your phone."

"Oh, I know. The call is a heads up that he should clear his morning schedule. I'm going to the White House right now."

"Y'know I can't say I'm surprised."

"Are you gonna do it or not?"

"Yeah, yeah. Gimme a few seconds."

Tony came back on the line just before she hit the top of the escalator. "Yeah, so, here she is, sir."

Sharon couldn't remember the last time she'd heard him say "sir" to anyone.

"This is President Ellis."

"Sharon Carter, sir. Formerly of SHIELD. I'm calling because Captain America asked me to follow up with you regarding the interview he did yesterday for the FBI."

The same man as before – now on the escalator to her right – was staring with his mouth open. She sped-walked off the escalator and out of the station.

"Did he now."

"Yes. I can show you what I have in-person but I should inform you that it'll take a while."

"How long is 'a while'?"

"At least until noon, if you can see me soon."

"I can have you picked up at – what address?"

"Nice try, sir. I'm a block away from the East Wing."

"All right. Give your name to security on Pennsylvania Avenue and they'll bring you in."

"Excellent. Thank you, sir."

She hung up, pulled her dress shoes out of her bag and bent down in the entrance area to a closed shop to change shoes. No one sane wore heels on the Metro, or sneakers when they saw the president.

Stark and Sharon called a few times, one on the larger phone and the other on the plainer-looking phone. From what Bucky could gather Stark had appointed himself a go-between for Steve and the government – something about tracking phone calls; and Sharon was presenting evidence, like the recording she'd made of his account of the helicarrier fight, to the Attorney General and something called "CID".

One call was different: Steve put it on speaker, for one, and insisted that Bucky listen; for another, both Sharon and Stark were on the line. It had been two days, or so Steve's phone said, since Pierce's interrogation and the government already had an offer.

Offer for what?

"I really don't understand what the big deal is," said a man whose voice he didn't remember. "This would be much more convenient to do in person –"

"Yeah, you'd like that, General," said Stark. "Then he could just lead you right to –"

"That is a ridiculous accu –"

Sharon cut in, "It's what I would do in your situation. I would also come up with excuses like, how do I guarantee that I'm talking to Captain Rogers instead of someone else, or, we need physical proof that Barnes is alive. Stark can vouch for the first one, and I for the second. I would advise you, Major General, to accept that you're not going to see Barnes until we've confirmed a deal for him."

Oh. This is about my life.

He looked over at Steve and saw him smiling a little, though there was no trace of it in his voice when he said, "Just tell us the offer, General."

"Detainment at a military hospital. It's in the best interests of everyone that Barnes be kept where he's not a potential threat to anyone, including himself. He'll be questioned" – Steve frowned, followed by Sam shaking his head – "regarding what acts he committed for Hydra. And if he cooperates –"

"How long a detainment?" Sharon asked.

"Indefinite."

"Well, that sounds like a great time," said Stark sarcastically.

"Given the seriousness of the crimes and the seriousness of the risk that Hydra poses to our national security, we have to act quickly and keep any possible threats contained."

"Which is even more incentive for us to get this done with sooner than later," Sharon told him. "The president dragging his feet on a serious deal isn't in his best interest."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it's an observation. When you want people to put their lives on hold to do your work for you, you have to give them something."

"This is Captain America!"

"And this is the only thing he's asking for!"

"The US government does not accommodate terrorism –"

"No one here's a terrorist."

"Barnes could fall under that category."

"Where'd you get that from?"

"He killed John F Kennedy –"

"– under duress, just like everything else Hydra made him do."

A pause, and then Stark said, "You're not getting any backup from over here."

"Look – Hydra's the public's biggest boogeyman since Bin Laden. The last thing we can do right now is look like we're going soft on those people!"

"Did you miss the part where he was only one of 'those people' because of Zola's mind wiping machine?"

"Of anyone, Stark, I would expect that you would understand the –"

"– effects that kidnapping, serious injury and captivity can have on a person. Yeah, I do understand."

Obviously Bucky was missing something that everyone else knew.

– Stark and that infernal suit of his. If he doesn't stop soon he might uncover another one of our satellite groups – Yes, I understand, Malick, but that doesn't mean it'll necessarily work.

He shook his head. Pierce's voice kept popping up in his memory – words, phrases, descriptions of events that he shouldn't have known about except that his handlers had mentioned them.

He caught Steve looking over at him, concerned, and he shrugged. I'll tell you later.

"Captain?" the General asked.

Steve looked once more at Bucky, and then back down at the phone. "You can do better than that."

"Look, I have – I have the Interim Secretary of Defense, the Attorney General and President Ellis dictating what I can and cannot offer. I'm just the messenger –"

"Then apparently the president didn't get the message. Tell him that I'll be happy to talk to him personally. Clear up any misunderstandings about what I'm asking for."

He tapped the end call button on the screen. "Maybe negotiation isn't my strong suit," he admitted.

"It never has been," muttered Bucky. He thought the deal was perfectly reasonable but then again he also supposed Steve knew more about this than he did.

Sam sighed and stood up. "Okay. I gotta get back home."

"Go ahead. Thanks, again."

Bucky returned to the sleeping room, where he'd left the book he was reading – a new one he'd started a few hours before. Sam said he read quickly.

Steve stayed and he heard him say goodbye to Wilson, and then follow Bucky into the other room. He poked his friend in the knee and asked, "What's your opinion on New York?"

"City or upstate?"

"City."

"It's a big place."

"What about upstate?"

"Also a big place."

Steve sighed. "I keep forgetting this is how you were. What d'you think about living in New York City?"

"I said, it's a big place." I need more information.

"Oh. Right. Manhattan."

Bucky vaguely recalled that that was the borough that thought it was better than all the other ones, and made a face.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But I just got an open invitation to move there."

"How're you leaning?"

"Towards yes. Told 'em I'd think about it."

He frowned. "I thought that meant you were gonna say... er, turn 'em down."

"Usually. But I had to talk to you first."

"...Why?"

" 'Cuz I'm not leaving you here. And it wouldn't be right now – we have to clear things up with the feds."

Bucky nodded. "Stark lives in Manhattan."

"Yeah, I know. He's the one who offered. You heard him on the phone," Steve continued when the frown on his best friend's face deepened. "He told me himself, he hates me right now but I'm not you and you aren't me. Apparently he also has panic attacks. Probably has something to do with New York – the battle, not the place – yeah he almost died on the other end of the universe and barely made it back through the wormhole after Romanoff shut down the Tesseract machine with Loki's – what?"

He'd balanced his book on his knee, pushing it around in a circle as Steve talked. "You're rambling."

"Yeah, I do that when the person I'm talking to won't say anything."

Bucky nodded but didn't reply.

"Buck, c'mon. Do you want to go to New York?"

"Manhattan," he said quietly.

"Manhattan. You gotta give me something here."

Bucky caught Steve glaring at him – not seriously, more like teasing – and smiled a little in return.

"All right. Let's go to Manhattan."

The Netherlands Carillon is right next to Arlington National Cemetery, so what Sam means is that his friend is dead.

USACIDC (CID for short) is the Army's investigative crime "command". It's headed by a Major General. If you know about the show NCIS, this is the Army's equivalent.

Anthony Mackie is from New Orleans, so I decided Sam Wilson would be too.

Ten points to whoever can write up tweets for the guy on the metro.