For the rest of the night, Bucky remained silent. He lay out on the couch, accepting the blanket and pillow Steve offered him, but he otherwise didn't respond. Bruce, Gwen and Wanda had left after eating dinner. Wanda reassured him that this reaction was normal and by tomorrow, Bucky would be back to normal. With them gone, the house fell back into a state of quiet, uneasy tension. Steve hadn't even gotten the chance to ask Bucky about last night. And now, Bucky needed his rest. So Steve slowly returned to his room. He didn't shut the door behind him. Instead, he walked into his closet and reached up, blindly searching along the top of his closet. He winced when his hand collided with a tin can –the medals he'd hidden away –and kept searching until he found the sketch pad. He pulled it down, muffling a cough in the cloud of dust that followed his sketching materials.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd sketched but he was pretty sure it was around the time he'd finished his tours. He swept off the dust as best he could and opened the sketch book, flipping through the pages without seeing the art. He didn't want to know what he'd been drawing back then –none of it would have been good, anyways. He turned on his bedside lamp and got to work sketching whatever he could think about. Everything and anything aside from war, aside from the man currently asleep on his sofa. It didn't help him much though, as he found himself drawing too-familiar lines. His mother's face stared back at him when he was done. He flipped the page and started drawing, but this time it was a rough drawing of the Barnes family. The way he remembered Bucky, chipped tooth and all when they were children. He flipped a page and lost himself in his art.

By the time he had finished drawing the Barnes family, his hand was cramping. By the time he was done drawing, the sun was rising, he'd used up eight pages and his hand was mostly a claw of agony. He worked the stiffness out, but it wasn't easy. He felt unusually at ease for the first time in months, maybe even years. He had a plan. What he would do after, he had no idea. But for now, it was enough. It had to be enough. He leaned against the headboard, wincing at the stiffness in his back and opened his sketch book to the first page.

It was a sketch of the house. He smiled to himself and flipped to another page –another scenery drawing, still-life sketches, a few doodles and comics with black humor and then. And then, there was a sketch of the Howling Commandos. All of them laughing, Monty's face illuminated by the fire they'd lit; Dugan had an arm around Morita, who was trying to escape his grasp; Gabe was laughing, open mouthed in the middle of a joke with Dernier who looked like he could fall over any minute. Despite all the life and joy in the picture, there was something unbearably sad about it. Steve couldn't remember drawing the picture. But he knew it was the last memory he had of the Howling Commandos all together, in one place, celebrating a victory and taking bets. He must have spent hours poring over the piece, making sure everything was just right. And looking at it now, he felt a pang of nostalgia and loneliness that only got worse when he flipped the page to find another sketch.

This one was considerably rougher, brief and hastily done, but neatly paper clipped to the bottom of the page, was a picture. The sketch had been started and erased multiple times; he could still see the track lines of the eraser over the fragile lines connecting him and Bucky. And the picture was of that same scene. He didn't know when it had been taken or who had taken it, but he and Bucky each had an arm around each other's shoulders, were sporting matching black eyes and grinning at the camera. Steve flipped the page, back to incomplete still-life and landscaping sketches until he came to what he'd spent all night drawing. A rough outline of his mother, a light sketch of the Barnes family, and then came the pictures of Bucky.

He shut the sketch book and wandered out to the kitchen, starting the coffee pot automatically. He glanced back towards Bucky who was lying on his stomach, face smashed into his pillow, flesh arm tucked underneath it while his metal fingers just skimmed the floor. Steve gave his head a shake. He made himself a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, adding cheese to them, and by the time lunch rolled around, he had made and eaten a cup of soup and a sandwich. Bucky gave a loud snore in the living room. Steve exchanged a few texts with Bruce, who assured him that Bucky would wake up shortly and everything would be fine before he responded to Natasha's half dozen enigmatic texts with a question mark.

And then Bucky groaned loudly and sat up, blinking sleepily. "Time is it?" he croaked.

"About three. Glad to see you're alive."

Bucky groaned again and flopped back against the couch, making a shooing motion with his hand. "Not dealing with your sass Rogers, till I've at least had a coffee in me." He grunted. "Maybe two."

Steve brought him a mug of fresh coffee and pushed it towards him. Bucky made a sleepy, pleased noise and sat up. He took a long drink of coffee.

"Oh, no, don't thank me or anything Your Highness," Steve teased. "I didn't do it for you, my legs needed a stretch, as a good a reason as any to get up."

Bucky grunted again. "Definitely two."

"Coming from the guy who slept for fourteen hours. You can't be grumpy."

"It's in my blood. Can and am. Not even you can change that."

Steve gasped, "Look, it speaks more than two words at a time."

Bucky didn't even look up, flashing him his middle finger as he took another drink of his coffee. He sighed contently. "You trying to start somethin' Rogers?"

"I would never."

Bucky snorted. "I'm sure you've fooled someone with that good boy act, but it ain't gonna work on me. I remember you."

Steve blinked in surprise.

Bucky hummed. "I remember you getting in a fight with Matt about why it wasn't right to call… curly hair, big glasses boy's action figures dolls. Something about it strengthening the patriarchy? We were nine and you threw the first punch."

"Matt insisted that any boy who played with action figures when they were nine were going to grow up gay."

"So you punched him."

"It seemed the best option at the time…"

"And Carlos?"

"Carlos deserved it!" Steve replied automatically.

Bucky's lips twitched into a smile. "Oh, yeah? And what'd he do?"

"…You know I don't remember."

"'Cuz he gave you a concussion, yeah, I remember."

"You broke his nose."

"He. Gave. You. A concussion."

It was an old argument of theirs. He was twelve at the time, not long before he set off for Project Rebirth, he'd gotten into a fight with Carlos. Carlos who definitely had been doing something wrong. As far as Steve knew, Carlos had pushed him down and Steve's fragile body had betrayed him. He ended up with a mild concussion and when he came to, he was in the nurse's office, Bucky hovering nearby worriedly. And when Steve had admitted to confronting Carlos about something, Bucky called him an idiot and stormed off. Ten minutes later, Carlos came in with a broken nose, crying. And a minute after that, the teacher sat Bucky down in the lobby and called his parents.

Steve smiled at Bucky. "So you remember?"

"Yeah, last ni –er, the night before, I guess."

"Is that why you were in a better mood yesterday?"

"You callin' me grumpy?" Bucky grinned at him.

Steve rolled his eyes. "You're taking things awfully personal today, Buck. You sure you slept alright?"

"Like a rock. And you look like you slept on one."

"Didn't sleep," Steve admitted. "I was drawing," he answered before Bucky could ask. "I haven't drawn in a long time, I guess I needed to."

Bucky arched a brow. "Or maybe you were trying to avoid another nightmare?" He set his empty coffee cup down.

Steve stiffened. "What happened?"

Bucky sighed and leaned back, running his hand through his hair. "You were screaming. Or yelling. I don't know exactly. I just woke up and I went in to wake you up, and next thing I know you've got a knife on me. And you're wide awake, only you're not all there. You didn't believe I was me, and you… asked me to let you out."

Steve flinched. Of course he had. "It's been a long time since I had an episode like that," he admitted. "It was a flashback, triggered by the nightmare. Shit –I didn't hurt you did I?" But the knife was gone. He probably had. How bad? Impossible to tell with how quickly they could both heal.

"Just a nick, barely a scratch," Bucky said gently. "I talked you around it."

"I remember –cocoa?" It was blurry. Steve could vaguely remember Bucky talking and talking, drinking hot cocoa and playing tic-tac-toe. He'd thought it was a dream. He'd almost hoped it had been, because then it would have meant he hadn't had an episode.

"Yeah, I made you some," Bucky said. "While your asshole neighbour set off fireworks, we played tic-tac-toe for most of the night."

And Bucky didn't even ask for the details. Steve smiled at him gratefully. "Look there's something I should probably show you." He hesitated as he got to his feet.

He had triggered plenty of memories for Bucky, inadvertent as it was. He knew the gist of what Bucky had remembered when he talked about it. He knew they weren't pleasant things. And he'd been there often enough for Bucky's nightmares to pick up on some of the worse things Bucky had endured. But Steve hadn't shared much of his personal life. He'd never even talked about the medals, about how he'd spent the time away from Bucky. What he'd done after Project Rebirth. Bucky didn't ask, he just got to his feet so Steve led him to his bedroom and walked towards his closet.

"Don't even make a closet joke, or I will throw this at your head," Steve threatened as he walked in.

"Well now that you mention it…"

Steve huffed and tossed the tin canister at him. He wasn't surprised when Bucky caught it deftly and twisted the lid off. Inside was the award winning interview Christine Everheart had managed to snag with him, where she wiped out the existence of Monty and the other Omegas to focus on Steve. He was pretty sure he'd kept the article in order to set it on fire and then forgotten about it. Bucky sat down on his bed, reading through the article before looking at the medals gathered at the bottom of the tin.

Steve found himself pacing his room. "I lost –I watched one of my men get killed," he said. "The only loss and that vulture didn't even mention his name."

"You won a Purple Heart?" Bucky asked quietly, staring at the medal in shock.

Steve grimaced. "Nothing –nothing honorable about it." He crossed his arms. "It was a set up. After I rescued Tony Stark and a few other rich Omegas –they started calling me all these names. A hero. I just –I mostly followed my orders."

Actually, he'd disobeyed three direct commands and marched in anyways. They wanted to make sure they had enough resources. Steve was worried if they spent another day arguing over resources, none of the Omegas would come out alive. And he wasn't the only one who went in. When he set off, so did Colonel Rhodes. Steve got to the base just after Tony Stark took off, and Rhodes left in time to find Stark. The Colonel had been the one to personally thank him and award a medal of valor. At the time, Steve had thought they'd recalled him to the States in order to court martial him, not reward him. The Purple Heart had come later, of course, with the loss of Monty.

"You were in the paper," Bucky repeated, awe creeping into his voice. "I remembered you."

Steve glanced at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I got sick, like, seven years ago. And I was living in a cardboard box with Barton. And I thought I was –I thought I was dreaming, because there you were on the ceiling. It was a newspaper clipping, soaked through but I knew it was you. Getting a reward." Bucky smiled softly at the medal, setting it inside the can. "I was so confused. I remembered you being so little."

"Project Rebirth," Steve said. "When I started growing and putting on muscle like crazy, they'd been training me for a six months. And I spent the next six years training with them, learning from the best fighters there were. They put me through every course they could think of, just to see if I could pass the examinations without sitting through all the classes. I'd already learned four languages by then. And when I passed all the tests they could find and invent, I signed up without a second thought."

"And then you learned about me, right?" Bucky smiled slightly. "And it wasn't like you could just go back on your deal."

"And it wasn't like I had anyone to keep out of the military," Steve agreed.

"I can't believe I actually remembered you back then," Bucky said. "Imagine how different it would have been if after I got sick, I managed to track you down."

"Seven years ago?" Steve shuddered. "I was stuck having flashbacks and nightmares, everything made me jump and startle –I felt like I hadn't left the war. It felt like it was a punishment to be back."

"I'd been living on the streets for a year," Bucky said gently. "I had nightmares. I used to wake up thinking I'd been turned into a robot, an emotionless killer made of vibranium and steel."

"I-I was stuck in a cell. No way out, couldn't break the bars. Two cells on both sides of mine and down at the end of the hall, that's where they kept –kept Monty. He was an Omega, illegally enlisted in the Army, on suppressants to hide it. He needed the money, bad. He wanted to help where he could and –I could see them, the guards, when they went down to his cell and beat on him…"

"And you couldn't do anything."

Steve shook his head. "Nothing at all. I just –watched. We all did. We'd try and talk to him. But they –Hydra started signalling him out for it. So we –we talked to each other, loud, so he could hear us. And sometimes he'd laugh, mostly though; mostly we could hear him breaking down."

It –there was no shame in it. They'd been there for days and there was always a shift of guards and they were always taking their frustrations out on Monty. And there was nothing any of them could do to deter their attention. They'd sing bawdy songs, they'd taunt the guards about what they were going to do to them when they got out, when they got rescued, and they talked about everything they could think of. When the guards were near enough, they'd spit at Steve or Gabe or Dugan, they'd swing their batons against their hands if they could, but they never opened the door. And gradually, Monty's bravado fell away. His breathless laughter would shake with tears. At night, it wasn't like the cells were quiet. At night, it was cold like death and hope slithered away. And one night, Monty slipped away, quietly unnoticed into death's grasp.

"I had to train Natasha, and Clint," Bucky said. "Natasha couldn't have been ten when I met her. And I taught her how to kill, smooth and efficiently. She stole the extra serum from Project Rebirth for me. My reward, for how good I was to the Red Room. I think back on it sometimes. There I was, fifteen or sixteen, teaching a bunch of kids how to kill. I'd already been doing it for three years, maybe longer. I didn't really keep track of time. And I tried to save Natasha. I don't know if she remembers. One day I just –I couldn't do it. It was wrong. All those girls, they deserved better. They deserved to live. So I just grabbed her, and ran." Bucky sighed softly. "They caught me. And they –they took those memories. I lost three years and I didn't even know it."

"My friend died. And I couldn't do anything about it other than watch. His name was Montgomery Falsworth."

It was the first time Steve had said those words to someone who hadn't been there. And it was like sharing it, somehow eased up the tension that had been hanging around the house. It felt a little easier to breathe.

"I taught Clint how to fight and how to kill. I let him go into that church and kill those kids. I let him do worse things and sometimes we had to kill together. I murdered a bunch of science experiments who could have been you or me, but they'd gone wrong. I did it without batting an eye." Bucky paused, inhaling softly. "I killed Howard and Maria Stark."

Steve froze. "You remember it…?"

"When Wanda did her thing," Bucky said softly. "I broke in and cut the brake lines on every car he owned. And then, when he was on the way, I stepped in front of them. They had enough time to decide whether to hit me or drive off the edge. Well, they drove off the road instead… And I had to go make sure they were finished. That they wouldn't –survive."

That was definitely something Bucky had not shared before. And Steve hoped he'd shared because he needed to, not just to tell him what would happen when Hydra was defeated. But maybe, with Hydra out of the way, Bucky would be able to win his trial. They would be releasing all that information online anyways, it would probably be better for Bucky to turn himself in. And with all that information about how long he'd been in Hydra's possession, how they'd wipe his memories and keep him under their control through torture; that would have to convince anyone. Except for maybe Tony Stark and people like him. Victims. It would be messy.

"What are you going to do now?" Steve asked quietly.

"Once we defeat Hydra, once we make sure they're gone, I'm going to… hand myself over to the authorities. I'll go on trial if I have to. I deserve to, though, Steve."

And Steve had agreed. He had agreed that if Bucky ever remembered, he could go to the authorities. "Okay."

Bucky smiled slightly. "Thought you were gonna put up a fight, there Rogers."

"We made a deal. I don't like it. But we did make one."

"Maybe you should work on making better deals, huh?"

Steve rolled his eyes and grabbed the tin can containing his medals and the article, he carelessly shoved them back onto the shelf they'd come from.

"What did you do to –what reason did they give you the medal for?"

Steve stared at the plain, white wall of his closet for a long moment. "I destroyed every Hydra base in the Middle East. I… also saved a lot of people. Omegas and Betas Hydra had been keeping captive."

"How many?"

"Hundreds."

"And you lost your friend."

"Yeah," Steve answered softly. "And I came here, after. And it's like –when I'm here, it's like I never left." Like he never escaped in that place in time, that moment, where Monty had died and Steve couldn't save him.

Steve startled when Bucky hugged him and then he relaxed into his embrace, gradually, breath by breath. He hadn't ever talked about his time before S.H.I.E.L.D. and Clint and Natasha hadn't asked –probably because asking was tantamount to inviting him to ask about their pasts. And besides that, they had probably both heard about his famed 'achievement' in the war. And if they hadn't at the time, then they would have at some point during their recruitment to S.H.I.E.L.D. Coulson had known, of course, and so had Fury and Hill. That might have been the most he'd ever spoken about Monty, even if he couldn't say his name at the time. They hadn't needed to know who.

"You used to be smaller," Bucky murmured, resting his forehead again Steve's shoulder.

"Are you complaining?"

Bucky hummed. "Not really. We're both different now." As if to emphasize, he held out his metal arm. "Neither of us can go back either."

Steve turned, uncertain of what to say, only to find that his gaze was drawn to Bucky's lips. "I don't want to go back," Steve murmured. "This is better than anything I had before." He flicked his eyes up to Bucky's blue-grey eyes.

"Yeah?" Bucky asked softly, eyes wide; his tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Because, I kinda liked before better."

"It was a lie," Steve countered quietly. "I'd take reality over that any day."

"I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember. Since we were kids. And then, I forgot and I was someone else. Somehow, I found you and fell for you anyways. I can still remember that."

"So can I."

Bucky made a small huff of frustration and he gripped the back of Steve's neck, drawing him in for a kiss. Steve kissed him back for a moment, allowing himself to be lost in the brief, chaste contact before he drew back.

"Don't make this complicated," Bucky pleaded. "I just –I've wanted to that for as long as I can remember." He frowned. "I don't –when I was a kid? When I –when we were fighting. Just. I just wanted to know." A faint flush crept up his neck.

"Oh," Steve offered ineloquently, feeling his face warm considerably.

"It was –good," Bucky said. "That's what I –" He exhaled suddenly, shaking his head. The flush was still present on his neck. "This used to be easier," he said, chuckling under his breath.

And then, they were kissing again. Steve wasn't sure who moved in first –it might have been both of them –but they were kissing. And it was slow and tender, unhurried, like they both had all the time in the world and they wanted to take advantage of that. And maybe they did. There was just the two of them, alone in the moment, kissing leisurely. There was nothing outside of Bucky, outside of the bedroom. And when Steve pulled back to catch his breath, Bucky slipped his hands under his shirt.

"There aren't a lot of people I trust. And I want to do this with you, on my terms," Bucky all but growled, pressing another kiss to him. "So if you don't wanna, say something now," and that was how Steve found himself shirtless and manhandled onto his own bed.

Bucky took his time, mapping out Steve's body with feather-light touches and curious licks here and there. It was a different sort of intimacy than Steve had been expecting, but it also wasn't a challenge to revel in the attention Bucky was lavishing on him. He settled his hands on Bucky's waist, slipping his hands under his shirt and very slowly sliding them up, dragging his shirt up and off with the movement. Bucky gazed down at him, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his expression. Without really thinking about it, Steve sat up, kissing him. When he pulled back breathlessly, he slid his hands along Bucky's body, feeling the rippled scars under his touch.

"None of 'em are new," Bucky mumbled, and there was a faint thread of insecurity in how he reached down to move Steve's hands back to his waist. "Nothing to see."

Steve leaned in, nuzzling his neck. "I like them; they're how you got here, to this moment in time. No matter what led up to them."

Bucky shuddered under his touch, allowing his hands to settle, releasing their hold from Steve's. "You –actually want this?"

Steve pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw. "How couldn't I?"

"But I'm a –"

Steve didn't need to let him finish speaking to know what he was going to say. He kissed his neck. "You're a survivor," he said, kissing down to a small scar across Bucky's pec. "You survived. Without you, we wouldn't have known about Hydra." He kissed along a jagged knife scar that spanned his bicep. "I would've been forced to marry a stranger, have children, be enslaved to my country for the rest of my life because of my genetics." He peppered kisses along the scarring on his left side. He felt more than heard Bucky's startled inhalation. "You're my hero –not just from my childhood. You've lived through more than anyone ever should have had to endure and you came out of it whole."

"Don't feel whole," Bucky mumbled, shifting the plates on his arm.

"They took away pieces, chipped away what they could and had to block out the rest in order to make you do anything," Steve argued vehemently. "You survived it. You kept our friends alive. You even tried to save them when you couldn't save yourself."

"That was just poor planning," Bucky mumbled, but he was smiling and the lines around his eyes were easing up.

"Maybe I'm a bad person too then," Steve murmured, kissing along a ridged scar just above Bucky's navel. "Because I –I don't care what you've done, what you had to do, to get here. But you're alive and you're real and that's –that's all I ever wanted."

He hadn't planned on this, hadn't ever dreamed that something like this could happen. But from the moment he'd learned the truth, that Bucky had gone missing, was presumed to be a captive to some Alpha's sick demands, he'd only ever dreamed about Bucky coming back alive. He'd hoped that Bucky would be okay but as the years went on; the chances of Bucky coming back unharmed lessened and lessened. The hope that he was even alive had been getting harder and harder to keep alive. But the other option was infinitely worse and even at his lowest of lows; Steve refused to think about any other possibility.

"You are not a bad person," Bucky hissed, and then he was pressing Steve back against the bed, kissing him senseless.

There was a rushed edge to Bucky's touch, to his firm and desperate kisses. As though by declaring Steve's innocence, he had decided to reclaim something for himself. Whether it was the idea of his salvation, the fact that someone out there still believed in him despite everything, or maybe it was because he couldn't accept that someone had forgiven him. Forgiven crimes that he held himself accountable when he'd had no choice. Steve could relate, only on a small scale to the degree that Bucky had to be feeling, had to be struggling with the thought that someone had forgiven him, that someone didn't care what he'd done. Because Steve really… didn't. It wasn't Bucky's fault, it was Hydra's and everyone had to know that, had to realize it when they heard what Hydra had done to him. And beyond all that, it was the simple fact that he knew Bucky wouldn't have made those choices on his own. The same way Clint had no choice, the same way that Natasha had been raised to believe the lies.

"You're good," Bucky panted. "You're the best person I know, and if you're bad, then what are the rest of us? Where's that leave us Steve?"

"I'm not that good," Steve murmured, reaching up to caress Bucky's cheek. "I'm selfish, reckless, demanding –"

"You're human," Bucky corrected. "You're absolutely and utterly human, Steven Rogers. We can't be perfect –and that's okay too." He set his hands on Steve's shoulder, gently kneading at the pressure there. "You're kind and compassionate, you're passionate, determined to make a difference, brave, and you're a good person." Bucky smiled shakily. "You –you've forgiven everything I've done, to you, to others. I can't even do that."

"I wouldn't take that from you," Steve said hastily, kissing the corner of his mouth apologetically. "I didn't mean to –"

"Just shut up and kiss me," Bucky demanded, exasperated. "Enough talking."

So, Steve did exactly that. And the weird tension hovering between them dissipated between one kiss and the next, even as they both took their time learning the other's body, stripping their clothes off unhurriedly. It was tender and intimate, and the hours slipped by them unnoticed as they pressed together and from one moment to the next, their pleasures became one.

Bucky watched as Steve got out of bed and padded to the shower. He rolled his jaw, feeling the ache in his cheek. He wasn't sure if he'd ever smiled this much before. It was a good feeling though, so was the pleasant ache between his legs. And, as he watched Steve move around, a hitch to his steps, he was betting Steve felt the same. It wouldn't be long until the aches soothed and were healed, but for the moment, Bucky had no plan to leave the bed. And no plans to stop smiling any time soon. He'd had sex before, but it had never been like last night. Last night was something different, something special. Maybe because it was Steve. Maybe because –Steve had forgiven him. It felt so ridiculous to even think about. Steve didn't even know half of what he'd done, but Steve didn't care. And Steve was nothing if not honest. Although he could remember being intimate with Steve, when he was James, they hadn't been as intimate. James didn't know the stories behind his scars and he tended to deflect Steve's questions. He didn't let Steve touch.

But last night, had been all about Steve touching every scar he found and kissing each one with a fierce determination, as though he was thanking each scar for being a scar, for letting Bucky live. Most of them were from before the serum, although a few like the ridged one along his gut had been after. The serum couldn't heal everything, but it had certainly ensured his survival. And it wasn't the first time, but it was one of the few times, where Bucky questioned his own survival. Because maybe he needed to survive, maybe there was good he could yet do in the world. He hadn't thought of that since he convinced Natasha and Clint to go destroying Hydra bases and even that, all he'd done was cause more death. Before then, it had been when he was training Clint and Natasha. He trained them to survive, to keep them from breaking. And he had apparently succeeded, but it wasn't something he was proud of. He taught children how to kill. And for the first time, without being expected to kill or train someone else to kill, he really believed that maybe there was another reason he had survived everything. To save Steve. He'd been saving Steve all his life, now was really no different.

It had to be obvious to everyone, how lonely Steve was. But Steve, as usual, kept that to himself. And for the first time, Steve had actually shared about his life. What he'd done with his life since he'd gone off to Project Rebirth. Bucky only wished that when he'd left to go see Steve, that he'd actually made it there. That he actually could have taken a second chance to find and stop Steve, convince Steve to leave the program and for once tell him how he felt. Really tell him that he was in love with him, that he'd rather see Steve as a successful artist than as a lab rat. But, in the end, he wasn't able to save Steve from himself. He couldn't even make it to New Jersey, to Camp Lehigh where they kept Steve and the others. Bucky had been halfway there when Hydra caught him. Well, it hadn't actually been Hydra. The woman worked at Camp Lehigh –some nurse who was there to support the participants and help if anything went wrong –and she'd smooth talked Bucky right up until she tasered him and carted him off to Hydra. She was the one who had allowed an open door for Hydra agents to get in; to enable Natasha to enter as a late participant following one of the participants' deaths.

It was something Bucky didn't want to have to explain to Steve. Under any circumstance because it was Bucky's fault, it was the nurse's fault, it was Hydra's fault but it was in no way, shape or form, Steve's fault. And if Steve knew? Steve would blame himself. Bucky hadn't even told his parents or his sister where he was going. He just. School sucked without his best friend. He missed him. He hadn't seen Steve since Sarah died, at her funeral, and that had been awful. Steve hadn't even really known she'd been sick and could only afford a few days to stay. And so Bucky had just decided to leave class and go see his best friend. And there was nobody who could have stopped him. The woman had been a Beta with a nice smile, she was easy to trust. She was on the same bus he was on, heading to the same place. She'd grabbed him when they got off to wait for their transfer. And no one had seen anything. Or if they had, they hadn't done anything. That was just the way things were done, when you were a stupid Omega kid. He hoped Steve never asked.

Last night had been a surprise, a good one. He'd just wanted to know what it was like to be with another person. To have someone to kiss and hug and hold. He hadn't expected to have sex. He'd just wanted to comfort Steve and somehow that had turned into something else entirely. To be honest, he still wasn't sure how it had unfolded that way but he wasn't complaining. He didn't know if he was in love with Steve, but he did love him. And he definitely wanted him. But there weren't words to describe last night. Last night was good. It was beyond good. It was probably the best memory he had. If something went wrong during the next few days, during all their planning, at least he could always remember last night. Even if he ended up having to spend the rest of his life in prison. Steve liked him as he was –he didn't have to be James in order to win and charm Steve over. Honestly, Bucky wasn't even sure if he tried that he could succeed at that. Maybe, since Steve seemed so accommodating already.

Steve walked back into the room, wearing a small towel around his waist and water dripped from his hair. It was so easy to just reach out and give a tug and suddenly, Bucky's view improved. Regardless of Steve's laughing protest. And then, Bucky dragged him onto the bed, kissing him contently. Steve was a very good kisser. But they were interrupted when Steve's stomach growled loudly, and they pulled away, laughing. Steve went out, still blessedly naked, and made eggs. It was quick and easy and returned with a bowl and two forks. So they ate together, their arms bumping against each other and they nearly had a food fight before they finished. And after? They spent the rest of the day alternating between cuddling in bed, talking in hushed tones as they caught up on the life they'd missed out on. Neither of them really wanted to leave the bed, let alone leave the other. It was nice to have a day off. Even though neither of them were technically free, as they were still making plans and preparing for Hydra. Steve got a number of texts that he always replied to, on occasion asking Bucky about what weapons he felt he needed.

And as nice as it was to cuddle nakedly with Steve, it was even better when they had sex. Again, it wasn't something either of them had planned. One minute they were murmuring to the other, trading soft, light kisses and the next, Steve was moving over him, bracketing him with his strong arms. And then the kisses got less chaste, there were tongues and teeth and they were panting and breathless, bitten-off groans the only sound echoing in the house. And then, Steve was bringing them together and euphoria rushed up to greet them all too soon and yet not soon enough. Being with Steve like this was easy, it was fun and comfortable and they chuckled under their breath at each other, trading sloppy kisses.

It wasn't until the third day, Bucky's last day before he was to leave with Clint that anything between them changed. The sex was more hurried and urgent, and Steve willingly tugged Bucky over him. And it took him longer than he liked to realize that it was goodbye sex. That Steve, the idiot, didn't know if they would see each other again. And Bucky realized that he was right. If everything went to plan, Bucky would be handing himself over to the authorities just as Steve would be celebrating their victory. So he held onto Steve just as tightly, not worried about leaving bruises, knowing they would heal in a matter of minutes and he made sure to slow his pace. He made sure to have Steve panting and writhing with need underneath him before achingly slow dragging orgasms out of the both of them.

He wasn't in love with Steve. No matter what Natasha's smug smirk said, as she handed over fresh clothes to the both of them when she arrived. Bucky showered and changed first. He had a lot of questions for Nat as he stepped out of the bathroom.

"What is this?" he demanded, gesturing at his clothes. "I look like a law school prep kid."

"Exactly," Natasha said, walking around him. "You almost look clean cut. Go shave. And put these on." She handed him a set of wide-frame black glasses.

So Bucky went back and did exactly as she said, only to find that Natasha had followed him in. She grabbed a comb that was set on the sink and stood on her tiptoes, brushing his hair until it was neatly parted down the middle.

"I am offended."

"Good. Don't scowl and no one'll know it's you." Natasha flashed him a bright smile. "Now it's Steve's turn."

Bucky grumbled under his breath and went back to the living room. Natasha returned with him, handing a bag of clothes to Steve.

"You look all clean-cut," Steve teased, accepting his bag of clothes.

"Can't wait to see how you turn out," Bucky muttered, rubbing his chin. He missed his beard already.

However, when Steve walked out, Bucky couldn't help the strangled laugh that escaped him. It didn't help that Steve was wearing a most manly pout, but he was dressed in flannel plaid and blue jeans. With his beard? He looked like he was getting ready to go out and chop down a tree or two. Maybe even with his bare hands.

"Really?" Steve asked Natasha plaintively.

"It looks good on you. Just stop the pout." Steve huffed and rolled his eyes. Natasha beamed. "Muuuch better. Don't you agree Bucky?"

"O-oh yeah," Bucky said, nodding along enthusiastically. "You look great Steve." He did look good; he just didn't look like Steve.

Steve sighed. And apparently they weren't the only ones who had undergone Natasha's disguise plans because when Clint rang the doorbell, he didn't look like Clint either. He was wearing a grey collared shirt, his sleeves pinned back professionally, showing off an expensive watch. On top of that, he was wearing slacks. At Bucky's questioning look, he gave a light shrug.

"Nat made you shave too, huh?" Clint asked.

"Don't even," Bucky huffed.

Clint snickered. "Well, no one will find us now. I mean, look at us. You're clearly a law student and I'm…" he paused, glancing down at his clothes. "I don't know what I am."

"Dressed to impress," Natasha said stiffly. "You're dressed like you're about to surprise Phil for a date." Clint made a face. Natasha sighed. "You haven't dressed up for him lately have you?"

"We mostly order in and watch tv," Clint said defensively. "I wear clean clothes!"

Natasha sighed. "And I suppose you shower first too."

Steve walked over to them, waving when he saw it was Clint.

"You couldn't have made me normal, like Steve?" Clint asked.

"You could never look like Steve," Natasha said briskly, walking back to the living room. "Maybe like a peasant farmer."

"Excuse you, at least I know how to farm."

"Must be so challenging," Natasha drawled, "tilling fields all day, throwing square bales into a pen. Mucking out the stalls. Driving a tractor."

Clint rolled his eyes. "I've worn plaid before. I happen to look great in it."

"Did Phil tell you that?"

"…Yes."

"He lied. It's an obligatory lie because he loves you."

"He wouldn't lie about fashion."

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "From the man who doesn't even dress up to impress him anymore."

"We've been dating for like a year!" Clint protested. "I clean up the place and I cook."

"And they say romance isn't dead," Natasha drawled.