There were seventeen freckles dusted across the bridge of Amy's nose. A nose she wrinkled whenever she encountered something that troubled her about the circuitry of his arm. She kept up a nonstop dialogue of what she was doing, but Bucky found he was more interested in watching her face than listening to a mechanics lecture.

Her eyes were never still, their expression rarely the same for longer than a few seconds, and she was forever worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. The cut he'd seen placed there was never going to heal.

His technicians had never bothered to talk to him, had never asked if he was okay, or touched him with anything remotely like care. That much at least, Bucky was slowly starting to recall. He liked Amy's way better, particularly when the first thing she fixed was a short that eased the constant pinching pressure on one of his spinal nerves. He gave a long sigh of relief and relaxed into the kitchen chair.

Amy smiled.

"Better?" she asked.

"Thank you."

The words tasted foreign on his lips. Unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. He didn't have long to savour them however, or to impart how sincerely they were meant.

Amy had found another glitch, only when she tried to repair this one, his arm convulsed and nearly knocked her across the room. She would have been thrown over the back of her chair had she not grabbed his shoulder and ridden out the motion. She teetered on the back two legs of the chair for a moment, before shifting her weight forwards so her feet could touch the floor again.

She gave a low whistle.

"Guess I know what that breaker's there for now," she said, settling herself back on the edge of her seat, completely calm, completely nonchalant, as she went about selecting a different tool for the job.

Bucky could not risk being so blasé, and was staring at her, horrified, as he slowly drew his arm out of her reach.

Amy finally lifted her eyes to his face.

"Sorry. Did I hurt you?"

He couldn't even speak, but she must have been able to read a little of what he was thinking in his face.

"That was my fault. I disabled the rotary control." She looked apologetic. "I'll be more careful next time."

"Next time?"

"Figure of speech," she said. He didn't understand why there was a smile playing on her lips. "Besides, you were fast enough with your other hand to stop yourself taking a proper swing at me."

Had he been? The last few minutes were a blur. He kept seeing the HYDRA guard hit Amy with his baton. Kept remembering how much damage that had inflicted. Kept thinking about all the far worse ways he could injure her if he lost control.

Amy cleared her throat softly.

"You're going to have to let me finish if you want full use of that arm again."

He knew she was right, which was why he reluctantly allowed her to continue. But now he was on edge, alert to every whir and grind of the mechanisms that made up the limb. He was also aware of his pulse picking up speed. He couldn't remember being conscious of his own heartbeat until he'd met Amy and she'd made him confront his own humanity.

"Bucky, please relax. This is like doing open heart surgery on someone while they're running the hundred metres. You're overloading the circuits."

How was he supposed to relax when there was nothing to protect her from him but him?

She was so close he could see each individual eyelash that framed her eyes.

"Please." She lifted those same eyes to his face and begged for his cooperation. "This is all tied into your nervous system. I've got stray currents flowing everywhere now and if you don't chill out something else is going to short. I don't exactly have a stash of vibranium in the garage to make spare parts if we break something."

It would be a lot easier to relax if he knew he couldn't hurt her. Maybe he didn't prefer having her fix him after all.

"I told you to restrain me."

Amy's expression verged for a moment on angry. And then she clicked her tongue, as though he was the one overreacting, rather than her completely underwhelming concern with her own safety.

"You also said you needed my help. Have you changed your mind?"

"No."

The one word confession was ripped from his lips with the greatest reluctance.

"Good. So just remember to breathe and I'll be done as quickly as possible."

Breathing. That's what Bucky tried to focus on. The kitchen smelled of pancakes and coffee, and the vase of flowers that sat in the windowsill. And Amy. Amy's scent was soap, shampoo and citrus. Fresh and crisp and tart.

Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, her lips pinched, in fact, she was the one who was barely breathing as she repaired the damage that she found. If she leaned in any closer she would be in his lap. The thought set a curious curling heat burning in his gut.

"Have you nearly finished?" he asked, much too aggressively.

She looked at him. Hurt. Ironically. He saw it for a second before her expression shuttered.

"Almost," she said, carefully working up the levels of circuitry as she began to seal his arm back together. "I-"

Amy paused, swore softly beneath her breath, and reached for a miniscule pair of tweezers. Bucky stopped breathing as she pulled his hand even closer to her face. She held him still with one of her own hands, unnecessarily, as he had also frozen, and then she oh-so-carefully pulled a microchip out of his wrist. It was smaller than a grain of rice. She held it up to the light.

"Someone really didn't want to lose you, did they?" she murmured, face tight with an emotion he recognised as fear.

"What is it?"

"GPS unit." She turned it over and around, examining it from every angle. "They can use it to find you, but I think our luck might be holding because it seems to be damaged."

"You're sure? How can you tell?"

"I've seen one before. Not this small, but the same kind of thing." Amy let go of his hand and picked up another one of her tools. This one burned blue at the end. She melted the microchip into nothingness. "Haven't you noticed? I know what all of this does." She waved the tool at the intricate workings of his arm, her face crestfallen. "I've been using the same technology for years on Project Insight. Different applications, but the same technology. HYDRA's technology."

She started to twist the chain of her necklace. Bucky flexed and relaxed his fingers.

"But you can use it to make something better than a weapon," he said, staring at his hand.

"You're not a weapon. And I can't- I'm not fit to do anything of the sort."

"You're smart."

"Hardly." Amy laughed unhappily. "And you'll soon think differently when you have a wider scope for comparison," she said, as she visibly pulled herself back together and went back to work.

Bucky doubted that was true, but what did he know? His head was a mess. He kept still, kept breathing and waited for Amy to finish closing the last few panels on his arm.

"There. Perfect." She patted his shoulder and injected a lightness into her voice that he didn't believe. "I reckon you're good to go. You want to test it out?"

The doorbell rang before he could reply. Bucky was on his feet by the time the last chime sounded.

"We're not overreacting," Amy said, grabbing his wrist, as though she could stop him. "It's probably just girl scouts selling cookies."

"So why are you shaking?"

"I'm not shaking," she lied. She smoothed her hands down her hips in an effort to steady them. "You stay here. I'll go and see who it is."

She started to walk out of the kitchen towards the front door, but turned in the doorway.

Given that Bucky hadn't 'stayed', that he was barely half a step behind her, he practically walked over her. Her sharp intake of breath and the way her hands fluttered for a moment against his bare chest touched something buried deep in his psyche.

She took a step backwards and composed herself.

"You're going to come help me if it's HYDRA, right?"

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"I think you're freaking me out." The doorbell rang again. "Look, just- stay hidden unless I shout, okay?"

The mailbox rattled.

And then a young voice called into the house.

"Mrs Thomas? It's Josh from next door. We hit our ball into your yard. My mom says you're probably still sick, but can I come get it anyway?"

Bucky felt the tension drain out of Amy's body.

"Sure thing, Josh, just give me a second."

She shot a pointed look in Bucky's direction and he faded into the shadows. Probably a good thing. The second Amy opened the front door a young boy zipped into the house. Blond hair, slight build, chattering away like crazy. Something itched at the back of Bucky's brain. He tried to reach it while Amy took the boy through the kitchen to the back door and out into the yard.

Their voices carried through the house as soon as they returned inside.

"Oh wow, my mom goes crazy if my dad brings his tools inside. What are you working on?"

Bucky's eyes turned towards the kitchen as he listened for Amy's answer.

"Um- carburettor for the Dodge."

"Oh neat! Is it nearly finished?"

He heard Amy laugh.

"Not quite."

Their voices were travelling back towards the front door.

"Can I drive it when it is?"

"Maybe. When you're old enough."

"Seriously? Thanks, Mrs Thomas! Thanks for the ball too. Oh hey, I brought your mail up for you." The boy handed over a bundle of letters that Amy thanked him for as she ushered him out the door. "I hope you feel better soon. I think you're starting to look pretty again by the way."

"Goodbye, Joshua," Amy said, closing the door with her foot as she looked through the mail that was now in her hand.

Bucky stepped out of his hiding place.

"Why did he think you were sick?"

Amy's eyes flicked up from a flyer she was reading. They dropped for a second to his chest and then snapped back up to his face. There was that slow aching burn in the pit of his stomach again.

"You might have missed it, but there was a little incident in Washington a couple of weeks ago. I somehow ended up in hospital with a few broken ribs and my face smashed in. Josh's mom baked me a pie."

"Sorry."

"Why? I'd have ended up in the morgue if it wasn't for you." She hesitated and then handed him the piece of paper that she'd been studying. "Do you think you should go?"

Bucky looked down at the flyer. It was from the Smithsonian. For their Captain America exhibition.