I re-wrote this chapter at least four times.
But they didn't go out the next day. Or the next. Bucky was having flashback. Awful flashbacks. Flashbacks that would bring him to his knees wherever he stood. Flashbacks that made him confused and delirious. Steve had the bruises to prove it. The Winter Solider had come at him swinging in a blinded rage as he fought enemies that weren't really there. Bucky came back with a noticeable a nerving change. When he had realized as he stood over Steve, eyes wide with horror, what he had done and had retreated into the darkened hallway. Steve heard Bucky's door slam a moment later. His cheek ached and his stomach felt bruised from where the metal fist has slammed into it. The wall he was leaning against had a gaping hole in it (Tony was going to be thrilled about that) and his head was beginning to pound. However, he forced himself to rise and dust himself off. He went and sat outside Bucky's room, his back leaning against the door. However, no matter what he said, he didn't get a response.
He sat on his bed with his knees pulled up to this chest, eyes blank. He knew Steve was out there. The man on the other side of the door was speaking, telling stories that stirred something within the Solider. He didn't respond though. He just sat, silently, listening. The Asset wasn't sure how much time had passed before the stories turned into questions.
"Remember that time we snuck into Mrs. Jones backyard to get our baseball back as kids? I was too weak to climb the fence so you had to give me a boost?"
"Remember that time your dad took us camping and we fell into a patch of poison ivy?"
"Remember that time out convinced me to go skinny dipping in the river then you stole my clothes?"
"Remember when you made me ride the Cyclone at Coney Island and I threw up?"
"Remember when I was too sick to go out and play so you came in and sat with me all day, telling me stories and making me feel better?"
And the Solider did.
Steve had done his research. He had done so much research. To much research. He deserved an award of all the research he had done. Tony would have been proud of him. He'd done it all on his laptop, and he'd only gotten confused twice. After his conversation with Bucky last week, and his promise of possibly getting a pet for them, he'd done research into service animals. Steve was pleasantly surprised at what he had found. Many articles claimed that animals helped people recover from traumatic events, depression, disabilities, panic disorders and even provided comfort to the elderly and terminally ill. All of this had made him seriously consider getting Bucky a pet.
Now he logged back onto his laptop, using the towel around his shoulders to ruffle his wet hair. He'd taken a quick shower break, and now it was back to business. He hesitated on Google, then finally typed in, New York Animal Shelters. He was still incredibly unsure, so he did what he always did when he was indecisive about something. He called Natasha.
"A pet?" Natasha's voice echoed on the other line when he told her.
Steve nodded as if she could see him and scrubbed the palm of his hand over his face for the hundredth time that evening. He continued scrolling through a list of local pet shelters with his phone in one hand, the other on the mouse pad.
"What kind of pet?" Natasha asked after the moment of silence.
"I don't know. Maybe a cat." Steve replied as he clicked on the link of a shelter that was only six blocks away.
"A cat?" Natasha replied. He could hear the smirk in her voice. "Why not a dog?"
"I don't think Tony would appreciate a untrained pup running around his tower drooling and peeing everywhere. Plus, don't you think that's a little much for a recovering brainwashed assassin?" Steve asked pointedly. He added after, "I've done some research into Service animals." 'Some' being the understatement of the century.
"Dogs make wonderful service animals. The unconditional love and companionship may do both of you well. And who said it has to be a pup?" She countered.
"I don't know, Nat. I just don't know." He sighed and leaned back in his chair with a sigh of resignation. He squeezed his eyes shut against the bright artificial light of his laptop and pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyelids.
Natasha seemed to pick up on his tone.
"Its been rough, hasn't it?" she asked gently.
"I don't know what to do, Nat. He doesn't come out much, and when he does I try and start a conversation but he shuts down and mumbles some lame excuse and goes into his room again. It's like the more he remembers the more he pushes me away." Steve vented, feeling heat rise behind his eyes.
Natasha was quiet, then asked softly, "Has it ever occurred to you that he may be afraid of hurting you again?"
Now it was Steve's turn to be silent. Natasha let her words sink in before continuing, "The more he remembers how much you meant and still mean to him the more he'll most likely be terrified of hurting you. It was the same way with Clint. After that bastard Loki brainwashed him he was afraid of hurting me because every now and then he would still have the impulse. He tried to push me away too."
Steve contemplated this for a while. Natasha stayed on the line with him as he did so, both sitting in a comfortable silence until Steve spoke up again.
"How did you get your friend back?"
"I showed him a wasn't afraid, and that I cared for him deeply. I did things with him. Took him to amusement parks, the movies, even just out to lunch. I listened to what he had to say." She paused and then sighed. "Things will never be the same between you and Bucky. But, things can be similar. They may even be better."
Steve nodded and rubbed his eyes again. "Thank you, Natasha, I don't know what I would do without you."
"Well, for starters, you'd be lost a lot."
He chuckled and she did as well. When they lapsed back into a silence, Steve said, "Bucky really is sorry about Clint."
"I know he is."
"And Clint?"
"He knows as well."
"He is afraid there is no way he can make up for what happened."
Natasha chuckled now, and said, "Oh, I know a way!"
"You'll have to tell me tomorrow, right now I have to do something before I change my mind." Steve grumbled, shutting the laptop down.
"I will." Natasha said good-naturedly. They said goodbye and Steve ended the call. He pulled a jacket on and crept to the back of the apartment. He stood outside Bucky's door for a moment, listening. He couldn't hear anything, and he gathered up the nerve to knock.
"Buck?"
Steve could hear feet scrambling on the other side and the next moment, the door knob turned and the door opened partially.
"Hi, Steve." Bucky murmured softly.
"Hey, Buck. I'm going somewhere, and I'd like you to come with me." Steve said with an encouraging smile.
The door opened a little wider and Steve could see Bucky's metal arm gleaming. "I, uh, I don't think-"
"Oh, come on, it will be fun!" Steve exclaimed, then purposefully reached out and grabbed Bucky's left hand. Bucky looked mortified that Steve was touching the metal prosthetic, but Steve pretended he didn't notice and practically dragged Bucky out of the cool darkness of his room.
"Steve-" Bucky yelped, practically losing his footing. "Where are we going?"
Steve released Bucky's hand once he and his friend had stumbled into the living room and he tossed a jacket at Bucky.
"Lets go." Steve said eagerly.
"Its dark." Bucky stated.
"Point?" Steve asked, eyebrows arched. After a moment of silence Bucky let out a sigh.
"Punk." Bucky muttered under his breath.
And that's how Steve knew he was doing the right thing.
Sorry it took so long guys. I had a lot of trouble with this chapter.