AN: There's talk of suicide in this chapter, not anyone making an attempt or a desire to do so, but people contemplating whether Bucky would given what he's endured. Also, thank you to everyone who has followed and favorited and, especially, to everyone who has commented. They make my day, and I appreciate them greatly.

And The Wounded Sing

Part Ten

By: Wynn

An arm. An arm. An arm. He'll explode, but he'll have an arm. Or Bucky won't explode and he'll also have an arm. Pepper hadn't exploded. Maybe he wouldn't either. But Pepper had stability. Pepper was a calm sea.

Bucky was a calm sea after an elephant had fallen into it ass first.

Sighing, he flops back onto his bed and closes his eyes. He feels the arm on the blanket, tugging at him, tilting him to the left. Christ, the balance problems he'd have if Bruce could regrow his arm. Bucky recalls the stories Steve told him of the first few days after receiving the serum, Steve crashing into walls, bouncing off of doors, now twice as tall and nearly as broad. Bucky might not reach that level of ungainliness, but he'd come close, his replacement arm most likely slimmer than the one he lost and not the beast he wore to his right, enhanced by training and genetic engineering.

But his arm…

Opening his eyes, Bucky stands and crosses the hall to Steve's room. He hears the hiss of the shower behind the bathroom door. Twisting around, he returns to his room for his hoodie and his boots. The morning was far enough along for Darcy to be awake. If not, then maybe… maybe Pepper would be willing to talk with him. Or Steve would be finished by then. Or he could just wake Darcy. She was always pestering him to talk. Now he needs to talk.

Heart racing, Bucky leaves the apartment and heads for the stairs. He jogs down to Darcy's floor, aware of each twitch of his arm, the power and the weight of it, the hard, unyielding heft. He eases inside Darcy's apartment, but knows immediately that she's not there, the space devoid of her, her music and her chatter and bright, bubbling life.

Backing out of the apartment, Bucky turns again for the stairs to climb to the common room. The thought of breakfast bolsters his spirits, though he ate upon returning from the gym. Coffee and a cold bowl of cereal paled in comparison to what Darcy might make. She'd mentioned muffins the day before. Perhaps she was there now waiting for him, but as he opens the door to the common room floor, he knows this isn't so, the sound of raised voices carrying all the way down the hall to the stairs. He would leave, return to the stairs and to his floor and to his room, but one of the voices belongs to Darcy so Bucky steps now into the hall, catching the door before it closed behind him and easing it shut with a barely discernable click. Then he starts for the room, his steps soft and back to the wall.

"You think you're the first mad scientist I've wrangled?" Darcy says now. "You're not even the second. Or the third, if you count political ones. So why don't you drop the tools and go to bed?"

"You're not my wrangler. You're my assistant, and as I don't need any assisting right now, why don't you drop the issue and go away?"

Bucky freezes at the sound of Tony's voice. The last time that had seen each other Bucky had mistaken him for Howard, then for a fake look-a-like of Howard's, before pulling a knife on him. Steve had said that Tony wasn't mad, or he was, but at Hydra, not at Bucky, but few people enjoyed nearly being skewered, especially by a crazed former assassin, so he only inches up to the door. He doesn't go inside.

"See," Darcy says. "That's where you and I differ. I think you do need assisting. You need assisting to bed. You've been up for 42 hours, dude. That's not healthy."

"You try, and I'll be assisting you to the unemployment line."

At that, there's a sigh. Not from Darcy. From Pepper. "Tony, you can't do this to yourself again. You need to sleep."

"I need to work."

"Tony…"

"Pepper."

"You need—"

"I need this part, and then I need you two to untwist your tampons for a minute and—"

"Beat you over the head with them?" Darcy asks.

Tony huffs out a sigh. "Don't you have a supersoldier or two to go bang?"

There are a few seconds of silence. The urge to glance inside, to see if Darcy wears the glare that Bucky imagines her to wear, rises within him, but he tamps it down. After a few more seconds, she says, "No, I don't. Because they, unlike you, are actually trying to take care of themselves."

"I bet they are," Tony mutters.

"Two older brothers, dude. You're going to have to try harder than implied homoerotic subtext to rile me up."

"All right," Tony says. "You're fired."

Pepper sighs again. "No, she isn't."

"Yes, she is. My assistant. My firing."

"Tony—"

"No."

Pepper doesn't immediately respond. In the silence, Bucky hears the clack of metal on plastic and a grunt from Tony as he wrenches whatever he needs free. Then Pepper speaks, and for the first time, Bucky can picture her becoming angry enough to explode.

"Jarvis, lock down Tony's workshop. Don't let him in until he's had at least four hours of sleep."

"Yes, Ms. Potts."

"No. No 'Yes, Ms. Potts.' You're my AI—"

"And as such," Jarvis says, his voice prim, "I am duty bound to protect you, even from yourself. You are endangering your health with your actions, sir. I must insist that you heed the advice of Ms. Potts and Ms. Lewis."

Silence reigns again as Jarvis clicks off. Then there's a crash loud enough to make Bucky flinch. He tenses to go inside, but stops when he hears Darcy speak.

"Way to go, Anthony. Very mature. That's sure to help beat Hydra."

The gasp almost leaves his mouth, but Bucky bites it back. He presses his lips together and fists his hands, feeling the nails of his right dig into his palm, and he focuses on that, focuses on the prick of pain, to remain calm.

Tony groans then, a long, heaving sigh that reminds Bucky of Howard before idiots, so Howard before everyone in his view except Steve and Agent Carter. "Kid, you don't get it—"

"Excuse me?"

The two words snap in the air, making Bucky crouch upon the floor.

"You don't," Tony says again. "You're so busy drooling over Barnes—"

"And seeing everyday the damage that Hydra can do. You've, what? Read a file?"

"Yes." There's another slam, as of a hand to a table. "I've read a file. I've read all the files. Hell, I've had Jarvis make my own goddamn files with what he's been able to research. And you want to know I've figured out while you're off playing Wii and making pancakes? Barnes was right. Herr Asshole is still out there—"

The gasp rises again.

"—Jarvis found traces of him in a dozen different countries—"

Zola leans over him, smiling.

"They're not old either."

The needle pierces his skin. Bucky jerks against the restraints.

"He's searching for Barnes. For Rogers, too."

Whispers in the dark. He remembers them now. How they found Captain America buried in the ice, but how no one, ever, would find—

"What?"

The question from Darcy drags him back to the present, the tension within it audible in the hall. Bucky closes his eyes. He bites down on the inside of his cheek to try to stem the tide, but the tide is loosed with Tony's quiet response.

"He's looking for you too, kid. You tried with the motel, but they got you on the Prius, and—"

The gasp escapes him then, powered past his resistance on a bright wave of panic. The common room goes silent as Bucky falls back. As he climbs to his feet, he hears Darcy whisper, "Shit."

"What?" Pepper asks.

Bucky turns, Darcy calls for him, but he doesn't stop. He runs, and she does too, Darcy for him and the door, Bucky for the stairs and for—

"Bucky! Bucky, wait!"

He doesn't, crashing through the door to the stairs, the echo of his breath like the hiss of laughter in the cold of cryo as he runs.

The light flickers on as Bucky enters the lab. His right hand trembles as he shuts the door. His left one does not, but the plates slide and click as he looks through the glass and spots the chair, half-destroyed but still looming large in his nightmares.

Swallowing hard, Bucky creeps forward. He remembers the first time they used it against him. He thinks now it was '49 or '50, the chair a last resort for a recalcitrant prisoner tortured, starved, and manipulated yet still resisting compliance. A flaw of the serum Hydra discovered only after implementation, the formula eventually healing Bucky's brain and heaving their programming like a rider from a bull.

So they decided to lobotomize the bull.

Bucky shivers as he inches closer. He killed two guards the first time they brought him in, terror making him forget the pain Hydra could inflict for disobedience. He doesn't know if they did then. He only remembers waking up from sedation, strapped to the chair, an armed guard before him with a gun to his head. Questions followed, hours of questions, about Brooklyn and his family, about Steve, so many about Steve, about the Army and his work as a sniper, questions upon questions upon questions, the answers all attained by them before under different means.

Mapping his brain. Choosing what to keep and what to burn away.

Bucky stops in the door that he broke in his mad rush from the chair. No Pierce or Zola in the control room then. Just two dames and a man who seemed familiar though he didn't know why, not until Darcy had turned and stood him down, shaking but so very, very kind.

And now Zola searched for her.

"Sergeant Barnes?"

He jumps at the soft question. His shoulder slams into the doorframe, but Bucky makes no dent, instead rebounding off the reinforced metal and stumbling forward into the room.

Jarvis speaks again. "I apologize, Sergeant. I know my presence distresses you, yet Sir and the others search for you."

Bucky straightens and then freezes, his gaze caught on the chair.

"Sergeant Barnes?"

He flinches again. Zola leans toward him—

"I do not wish to disturb you, sir. In fact, if I may be so bold, I believe you don't want anyone to disturb you. Yet Sir demands from me your location."

Bucky shakes his head as he backs away from the chair. "I don't— I don't want…"

"Then please instruct me to engage your privacy settings, sir. By doing so, I will be unable to reveal your location unless your life becomes endangered."

Bucky hits the wall.

"Sergeant?"

"Yes. Yes."

"As you wish, sir."

Silence descends as Jarvis ends the call. Bucky slides down the ground, his eyes on the chair. He could run, go to ground and live off the grid, stay one step ahead of Zola, but as soon as he thinks it, he knows it's not possible. He couldn't before. Hydra found him in Brooklyn the one time he ran, and they brought him back. He wouldn't be hindered now in the same way he was then, he knows who he is, but he knows nothing about modern life save for advanced weaponry. Zola would find him even faster if he left now. And not just Zola. Steve would follow Bucky, try to find him, and bring him back in.

And if he couldn't, then Darcy would.

Bucky closes his eyes at the thought of Darcy. He draws his knees in close and wraps his arms about his legs and entertains for one wild moment the idea of the three of them on the run. He knows Hydra, Steve knows S.H.I.E.L.D., and Darcy knows life, and they could, maybe, they could, together, find some place, but the moment passes and reality returns, Steve with his team, with an entire world to save and another Carter, possibly, to woo. And Darcy… she just moved from London for him. Bucky couldn't ask her to move again, to abandon Thor and Jane and her schooling and her family. Because she had one, though Bucky hadn't quite realized, not beyond pictures on a wall until this moment. She had parents and brothers and people who cared for her, and Bucky put her and them in the line of fire because he couldn't walk away.

His face flushes and hot tears prick his eyes at the remembrance of the diner. He had reached for his knife as Darcy looked at him, so afraid, even of the French toast girl in the striped sweater, so obviously not a threat to him. And Darcy… she stood and approached him and offered to help. And Bucky had felt her concern like a summer day, warm and bright in the midst of the cold, grey absence in his brain.

And he'd killed twenty-four people to keep it safe.

But you cut off one head, two rose to take its place. You cut off 24 and 48 rose, you killed those and 96 came, an endless stream of death and destruction, and he never— Bucky never wanted to fight. He wanted to get married and have a family, to keep Steve alive long enough for him to do the same, and now… now he wants to figure out if he likes the jeans that Steve gave to him, to try yoga with Bruce and Pepper, to help Steve heal enough so that he finally gets his shot, and to have his too, to love Darcy as he wants to love her and as she, in turn, wants to love him.

But he can't, Hydra coming for him again.

Bucky opens his eyes. He draws in a shuddering breath as he stares at the chair. His tears gum his beard and burn his ragged lips. They'd ask about Steve and Darcy. They'd steal the memories that he'd been able to make with them, perverting them, perverting him, back into a weapon. Into the Winter Soldier. His lips flatten and his hands clench at the thought. Hydra needed their dog, Steve destroying their helicarriers. Zola would probably send Bucky after Steve again. If not Steve, then Tony, the cruel symmetry of Bucky killing Tony as he killed his parents too much for Zola to resist. And they wouldn't fight him, at least not to kill, so he, in the end, would win.

Hydra would win.

Bucky stares at the chair. His eyes narrow and his breath echoes in the hollow room.

Hydra would win.

Licking his lips, Bucky opens his mouth and speaks.

"Jarvis?"

Were Jarvis human, Bucky would say that he was surprised. Perhaps he still is, Bucky clear in his discomfort of the AI. The silence persists half a second longer and then Jarvis says, "Yes, Sergeant Barnes?"

"Has Zola tried here? To find me, I mean?"

"I cannot be certain, sir. There are multiple attempts to breach the Tower mainframe each day. Business rivals, mostly, of Stark Industries."

"But?" Bucky asks, wiping a hand over his face.

"But," Jarvis says, "it is likely that he tried. If Hydra knows of Ms. Lewis, they could access her phone records and learn how she called Dr. Foster. That could connect them to Sir and thus here. The fact that Ms. Lewis has yet to return to London would be notable as well."

Bucky stares at the chair. The plates shift in his arm. He needed a weapon.

"However," Jarvis continues, "none of this serves as definitive proof of your presence here."

"No. But Steve does."

"There is no record of Captain Rogers as being in residence here."

"No," Bucky admits. "But he moved his stuff from his apartment in D.C. Not too many places he could disappear in completely. Guy's never been subtle, even when he was 90 pounds soaking wet."

"No, sir. But Agent Romanoff is."

Bucky tenses at the admission. "What?"

"Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton have been, to quote Sir, laying a trail of breadcrumbs away from the Tower. It should occupy the energies of those assigned to determine your location for a substantial amount of time."

Bucky blinks, thrown by the revelation. He had never even met Agent Barton, and he'd shot Natasha twice, yet they still helped him. He knew Natasha and Steve were close, enough for her to fight by his side in D.C., yet this… His throat swells again. Bucky swallows, trying to clear the clog, to suck in a cool, clean breath.

"And if it shouldn't," Jarvis continues, his voice softer now, but strangely stronger, "if Zola redirects his focus here, I believe I am a formidable match for any AI, even a human one. But if I am not, if Hydra locate you and attempt to extract you, then they will encounter considerable resistance."

Bucky sighs. "I know Steve—"

"I don't mean just the Captain, Sergeant. The entire team, and if they successfully repelled an extraterrestrial invasion led by a maniacal trickster god, then I am nearly certain they can do the same to Hydra, despite their abundance of heads."

Bucky starts to frown, thrown now by the sly bit of humor from Jarvis. Tilting his head to the side, he says, "Were you…?"

"Were I what?"

"Trying to be funny. Just now."

"Yes, sir. Was I successful?"

Bucky blinks. He opens his mouth, but snaps it shut before speaking. He stares into the distance a moment and then says, "Uh… yeah. You were."

"Excellent. Mr. Stark shall be pleased to know I am not, in fact, as he has repeatedly claimed, a buzzkill."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means a person who has a harsh or depressing effect on an otherwise enjoyable experience. So, for Mr. Stark, anyone who does not appreciate heavy metal music or who believes a human being needs more than three consecutive hours of sleep a night."

Bucky blinks again. He leans his head against the wall and shifts to sit Indian-style on the floor. His jeans protest the movement, but hold, tight about his knees and thighs. Remaining silent on this piece of information, however, does not hold, so he says quietly, "Stark doesn't?"

"I apologize, Sergeant, but the same privacy protocols that prevent me from revealing your location also prevent me from discussing the health of Sir."

Bucky waves his hand, though he's not sure Jarvis can see. "It's okay. I didn't mean to pry."

"You didn't, Sergeant. Mr. Stark is simply fervent about the privacy of his health. Despite, as you heard, his resistance to taking care of it sometimes."

The tumblers click and fall into place. The lock pops open, and Bucky finally understands. "He's the friend."

"Pardon?"

"Bruce's friend. The one he said hated doctors. The one experimented on by the Ten Rings."

"Yes," Jarvis says softly. "He is."

The simplicity and the sorrow of the response stun Bucky. His head swims, overflowing with the reality of Jarvis, resembling Zola about as much as the sun resembled an anthill, with him and Tony and the connections between them, with the likelihood that Bucky's mission against the Ten Rings had set in motion the ascending leadership that ordered Tony's torture. Licking his lips, he tries to force breath into his lungs. Was this what Tony had wanted to talk about when Bucky had fallen apart? Bruce said his files from Hydra were accessible online. Tony said that he'd read all the files. Maybe he'd come to talk.

The thought of talking to Tony sends a thread of discomfort writing through Bucky. How could he ever face Tony again, much less talk to him, doing what he did to Howard and his wife? He couldn't. He couldn't.

"Sergeant?"

Bucky starts, his eyes going wide. "Yeah— Yes?"

"I understand this is an abysmal time to ask, what with your understandable distress at learning of Zola's continued existence. I had intended to ask before, but I did not want to upset you with unsolicited communicated."

The tendril grows, making Bucky wince. "I'm sorry—"

"Please don't apologize, Sergeant. I understand completely your reluctance, given your horrific imprisonment at the hands of Hydra. I… I only hope that, as our acquaintance grows, so too does your comfort around me."

Bucky licks his lips again and blows out a slow breath. He wants to laugh, the comment and the sentiment underlying it, the desired friendship from a machine that seemed more human than the majority of men that Bucky had encountered the past 70 years, bordering on absurd. "Well," he says, settling on a small smile, "Zola sure as fuck didn't have a sense of humor, so you've got a leg up on him." He frowns then and glances at the ceiling. "So to speak."

"Understood, sir. I shall strive with every effort to gain two."

The laugh comes now, soft but warm. "You do that." Shaking his head at the past few minutes, Bucky settles back against the wall. "So what did you want to ask?"

"If you would, sometimes, when you feel able, speak with Sir."

The request kills his smile, it brings the stiffness back to his spine. "That— I don't think that'd be good. I—"

"Understand more than most the trauma that Mr. Stark has endured."

"Because I caused it," Bucky says, his hands clenching into fists.

"I disagree, sir. One can hold you no more responsible for your actions with Hydra than one can a machine for the commands dictated to it by a malicious user."

Bucky closes his eyes. The comment churns his thoughts and sets his brain to spinning again. He tenses, feeling one thought surface and demand release. Bucky presses his lips together, denying the revelation, but his body heats and his lungs burn, panic setting in. They wanted him to talk. Maybe… maybe he should talk. Even to Jarvis. He doesn't think he can with Steve and Darcy, not about this, not with how they feel about him and their desperation for him to improve.

Breathing in, he wipes his hand against his jeans. Then he says, softly, slowly, "It doesn't. Feel that way, I mean. I remember it. Everything. I did it. All of it. My hands. My body…" Bucky clears his throat, debates a moment, then plows ahead. "Do you… Do you ever feel like that?" He shakes his head before Jarvis can respond. "I'm sorry. That was dumb. I—"

"I do."

Bucky's mouth snaps shut at the quiet admission. He opens his eyes and plucks at the loose thread of his shirt, waiting for Jarvis to continue. After a few moments, he does.

"Prior to the trauma Sir endured at the hands of the Ten Rings, he was… I did not always agree with his decisions. Yet I followed his commands. They vastly differed from what Hydra forced you to do," Jarvis adds quickly. "I apologize for inferring otherwise."

"Don't. I asked you to. And it's… it's not the same, but you— No one else has… They've never been forced…" Bucky stops and bangs his head against the wall.

"I comprehend your meaning. Sergeant, and, again, I must disagree. You'll find few more able to understand your situation than Agents Barton and Romanoff."

Bucky stills. "Barton? What did he do?"

Jarvis hesitates. The connection hisses in his silence.

"It's okay," Bucky says. "Privacy."

"Yes, sir. But if you do not wish to speak with them, their files are available for review. I can… I can help you locate them, if you desire."

Curiosity compels him to say yes, but their decision to aid him grinds the impulse to a halt. Steve said they wanted to talk with him. If he said yes. The least he can do is hear their stories from them rather than a roundabout way from Jarvis. "No. Thank you. I… I'll ask."

"Please do. And please consider speaking with Sir. He'll—"

"I will."

"Thank you, Sergeant. I sincerely appreciate it."

"I… I just don't want to make it worse," Bucky blurts out.

Jarvis doesn't immediately respond. When he does, the ache in his voice, like the concern from Pepper, plucks at something old inside of him and decides his dilemma regarding speaking with Tony Stark.

"I highly doubt you can, sir." A short silence follows in which Bucky finds his eyes drawn to the chair, to the source of his torment also being the source of his salvation, the return of his memory and his life. Then Jarvis says, striving for a cheerier tone, "I feel obliged to inform you that, in spite of our efforts, the team has discerned your location and now wait outside the lab door for you."

"Oh." Bucky peers through the glass, but he can't see the external door from his position on the floor.

"I could request for them to disperse."

Bucky glances at the chair again. They built it to help him, they brought him here, talked with him, gave him clothes and food and time, made vows to fight for him and beside him if the need arose. It was more than he deserved, so the least he can do is not outright reject their aid.

"No," he says, moving to stand. "No, it's okay. They… mean well."

"Yes. They do."

Straightening, Bucky starts to move for the door, but he stops and glances back, not at the chair but at the ceiling. "I know you do, too. And I'm— I'm sorry for freaking out when you tried to talk before. Zola… He had a speaker installed in my cryo tube. He, uh, he talked to me." Bucky pauses and draws his hand through his hair. Blowing out a breath, he continues. "A lot. And it wasn't… It wasn't, you know… It wasn't nice."

A moment of silence follows his admission. Then Jarvis says softly, "That's horrific, sir. I will not—"

"That's not what I meant. You're not him, is what I'm trying to say. So you don't have to— to not communicate with me."

Another few seconds of silence fill the gap between disclosure and response. When Jarvis does speak, the detectable emotion within his voice confirms for Bucky his decision to create this bond. "I won't, Sergeant. Thank you for your trust."

"No problem. But, uh, could you not call me Sergeant? It's… it's what he called me."

Jarvis contemplates the request. "Perhaps Mr. Barnes?"

Bucky laughs at that. "Hell no. That was my pop, not me. Bucky's fine. Or James."

"James, then. I do not believe my protocols will allow me a designation as informal as Bucky."

Bucky nods. He starts again for the door, breathing in a deep breath to prepare himself for the onslaught outside. Jarvis had said the team stood beyond the door, not just Steve and Darcy. As he draws closer, he gains confirmation, a babble of voices audible in the hall.

"Someone should go in," Pepper says now. "He's been in there too long."

"No." The brittle edge to Steve's voice makes Bucky wince. "Bucky said he wanted to be alone."

"And yet here we all are," Tony says. "Not giving Barnes his space."

Darcy responds to him rather than Steve. "That's because he needs to know he's not alone."

Bucky winces again at the detectable tension in her tone.

"What does Clint say?" Bruce asks, distracting Bucky from his incipient guilt.

There's no response to his question though, at least not one Bucky can hear. He moves closer to the closed door, in time to hear Tony say, "Kid…"

"No. You don't get to call me that. I'm still pissed at you."

"Fine. Lewis, what did Hawkniss say?"

Darcy heaves out a heavy sigh. "He says we should give Bucky his space."

"What about Sam?" Bruce asks now.

"He says we should talk to Bucky," Steve replies.

"Natasha agrees with Clint," Pepper says. "Except…"

"What?" Tony asks

Pepper hesitates before clarifying Natasha's advice. "She says we should give James a weapon."

No one responds to the advice. Bucky feels his left hand twitch, feels the subconscious itch for a weapon. His desire to evade conversation with Natasha ticks up a notch, her understanding of him already too keen. So too does his desire for Tony when he responds.

"Yeah, let's give the stab-happy former assassin who's just barricaded himself in with the latest version of Zola's Throne of Lies a weapon. That's sure to end well."

"Stark…" Steve warns.

"I agree with Tony," Bruce says, interrupting the brewing conflict.

"Thank you."

"Not for the same reason. You think he'd hurt us. But giving Bucky a weapon could result in him harming himself."

There's a soft catch of breath that Bucky knows come from Darcy. His heart clenches at the sound.

"You don't think…?" she asks.

"I don't know," Bruce admits. "It's not unlikely, given what he's endured."

Stomach churning, Bucky almost turns away at the implication. Suicide never crossed his mind before, Bucky too focused on remembering and then too rattled by his memories to do more than simply endure. He receives no further time to contemplate the possibility before someone rattles the doorknob in an attempt come in. The door holds though, and half a second later, Bucky hears Darcy curse in response.

"Jarvis," she says. "Open the door."

"No, Ms. Lewis. I will not."

Tony joins the crusade. "Do it, Jarvis. He—"

"No, sir. James has invoked his right to privacy. Until he demonstrates an intent to harm himself, which he has not, we should respect his wishes."

"I— Wait," Tony mutters. "Since when do you call him James?"

"Since he asked me to, Sir."

"He asked you? When?"

"Approximately four and a half minutes ago."

His response generates a flutter of exclamations, Tony's the loudest of all.

"You've been talkingto him this whole time, and yet you've given us nothing but shit for trying to do the same."

"Sir," Jarvis begins, and Bucky feels a small smile form at the detectable exasperation in Jarvis's voice, "I did not initiate contact with James as all of you have attempted to do. He called me."

"But I thought he hated you."

If Jarvis could sigh, Bucky thinks he would. Perhaps he can and is simply restraining himself at the moment. "You would have to ask James about his exact feelings concerning me, Sir."

"I can't because you won't let us. So I'm asking you."

Jarvis says nothing.

"Jarvis."

The unmistakable sound of command in Tony's voice makes Bucky tense.

"I would rather not violate James's privacy, Sir."

"I rather you would, so—"

Bucky reaches out then and presses the control for the door. Silence falls in the hall and all turn to look at him as the door retracts. Bucky finds Tony off to the right and says to him, "Man said no."

Tony peers at him half a second. Then his eyes narrow and he says slowly, "He's not a man."

Bucky grows taut, but he resists the urge to fist his hands. "That's what they said about me."

Tony bristles at his response. "I am not Hydra!"

"No," Bucky admits as Steve moves to step between them. "You're not. No one who's Hydra could have made Jarvis."

"Thank you, James."

Bucky glances at the ceiling then, a small smile tugging at his mouth as Tony's jaw drops. "No problem."

"Wait, wait, wait," Tony says. He looks from Bucky to Steve to Pepper to Bruce, looks back at Bucky and then at Darcy, who rolls her eyes at him, returns his gaze to Steve, briefly considers the ceiling as Bucky had, before, finally, turning back to Bucky. "Did you just… compliment me?"

From the corners of his eyes, Bucky sees Bruce start to smile.

"Because, if so," Tony continues, "I'd like to get that on record. And, also, I thought you hated Jarvis. The ghost of your computer past and what-not."

Bucky stares at him a few seconds before turning to Steve and cocking a brow. "I didn't think it was possible for you to get a group together that was crazier than the Commandos, but somehow, you managed."

The answering smile on Steve's face helps Bucky relax. "It's a gift."

"It is," Darcy agrees as she moves closer to Bucky. Concern still colors her face and causes a slight tremble in her hands, but she steadies a bit when he meets her gaze. "And here you are, a part of both. So what does that say about you?"

"Doll, if this month has done anything, it's clearly established my crazy. Yours, though," and his mouth quirks up as his eyes flit past to take all of them in, this team he tumbled into, that he was brought into by Steve and Darcy and by acceptance he's not sure he deserves but that he feels that he needs and that he knows that he wants, "I'm just now seeing."