Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is my own head-canon.

James Buchanan Barnes: A Winter Soldier story

Chapter 11 - Recuperation

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Listen to "First Defeat" by Noah Gunderson

Natasha would only ever admit it to herself, but it was a guilty pleasure of hers to watch Steve interact with Bucky when he was having a clear-headed moment. Barnes would smile freely during these times, elbowing Steve as though nothing terrible had happened to either of them.

"The landlady wasn't so happy about it," Bucky was snickering into his hand in the middle of a story, smacking the arm of the couch he leaned back.

"No, she wasn't!" Steve's face was openly happy and laughing, clapping his friend on the back as he reclined beside him. "But you remember when she thought I was your son?"

"Oh, yeah!" Bucky's eyes lit up with even more humor, catching Natasha's grin from where she stood leaning against the wall and feeling it necessary to fill her in. "So, this tiny guy," He squeezed Steve's shoulder, "shows up at my door one day, unannounced, and she takes one look at him and says, 'Sonny, are you lost?' and Steve gets so red in the face that he…"

But, as with most of these clear recollections, something would set Bucky off and the life in his eyes would immediately dim, his features falling from the bliss of an emotion to the deflated frown of a man who has seen unspeakable horrors.

"He…" Bucky seemed lost for words and stared into nothing, his hand unconsciously sliding down from Steve's shoulder as Rogers dimmed in response to his friend's sudden blankness.

"It's okay, Buck," Steve said, keeping a tentative hand on Barnes' forearm. "We'll tell her later. Let's go get something to eat."

Staring blankly ahead, Bucky nodded, eyes still fixed on empty space though he allowed himself to be led toward the kitchen. Natasha mentally logged it away: Steve's response to a scenario ending with Bucky staring at nothing was to feed him. At first, she wasn't sure why he did that, but it slowly dawned on her that he was seeking some form of control. It was amazing that his best friend had been returned to him—an outcome none of them could have hoped for under the circumstances— but there were still reality checks and reminders that 'Bucky' would never fully be the same.

"Natasha," Steve found a moment alone with her, standing just outside the kitchen as Sam talked off Bucky's seemingly numb ears. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, Steve glanced through the doorway at Bucky, who was errantly nodding at everything Sam said, though his eyes showed that he wasn't in the same room.

"What's on your mind, Rogers?" She couldn't help but let her eyes twitch to the doorway as well.

"I need help."

Natasha frowned, crossing her arms. "With?" It had only been three days—what had happened?

Steve ran a tired hand through his hair and this was the first time Natasha had noticed the bags under his eyes. "I know I can't keep this up, but I don't know what else to do. And I know that if I lose any more sleep then I'll be no good to Bucky when—"

"Hold on," Natasha held a hand up, pressing her lips into a line. "Back up. I can see that you're sleep-deprived, I can gather that much just by looking at you. Does that mean Barnes isn't sleeping?"

Blowing out a breath, Steve gathered his thoughts and then tried again. "Bucky didn't sleep for the first two nights, and then last night he kept having dreams and waking up. Sam says—"

"Sam isn't helping with this?" Natasha tried to rein in her surprise, but Steve shook his head, asking her to suspend her accusation.

"Sam has been helping, but he's got responsibilities, too. With his work at the clinic, he already does this kind of thing on a daily basis and I can't ask him to take shifts with me in the night."

"So, you're asking me to take shifts with you?" It was an honest question, but Steve seemed think her tone meant she was unwilling. Far from it, she wanted to give as much assistance as he would let her!

"Please," his voice sounded so defeated, "I didn't want to ask, but I—"

"Steve, calm down." Natasha inserted quickly. "I wasn't saying no, I was just asking for clarification." Tilting her head to look through the doorway again, Bucky's focus seemed to have returned and he was weakly smiling at whatever Sam was saying to him—though the smile looked weighed down with internal thought.

"He trusts you, Natasha," Steve hung his head tiredly. "I don't know all of what you did for him, but… thank you."

Listen to "Another Glacier" by Peter Broderick

Bucky felt like his body was floating, but it was falling upward, rising through layers of something cold and tingling like clouds. His senses began to sharpen and in the distance he could hear a siren. Fingers twitching, he realized he was waking from a deep sleep, and he felt something rough and sharp in his throat as the siren continued to grow louder and louder in his ears.

It was becoming too loud now and he wanted desperately to throw his hands over his ears to block out the sound—it wasn't a siren, someone was shouting. A long, drawn out, consistent wail…

"Bucky!" another voice was muffled by the loud and terrified cry. "Bucky, open your eyes!"

He did. And when he did, he understood that the pain in his throat and the loud sound filling his ears was his own screaming. The sound stopped and he took in a deep, choking breath, blinking until he could see the warm light of a lamp and the taupe walls of Stark's guest room.

"Bucky?" The person repeated.

He sat upright and swiveled his head to see Natasha. Natasha? Was she on watch? They never talked about it in front of him, but he wasn't stupid. He knew someone would always be supervising him.

"Are you with me?" Green eyes were trained on him, locks of bright red hair on either side of them.

"Natasha?" Bucky's mouth was dry. "What happened?"

Natasha sat back in her chair, her feet propped up on the edge of the mattress. "You were screaming."

Bucky turned his head to look at the single bed sheet draped over him in confusion. "I was? I don't remember…"

"Were you dreaming?" Natasha crossed her legs and waited for him to speak.

"I don't remember." Bucky admitted with a small amount of shame. A wave of embarrassment washed through him when he realized he was only wearing sweatpants, shirtless with only a single sheet draped across his lap while he sat upright.

Why his modesty mattered was confusing to him, and there was a portion of his brain that instantly remembered he'd shown no embarrassment when he'd stitched up Natasha's stab wound—and she had been much less covered than this! But the natural part of Bucky Barnes, the part that was accustomed to the world he'd grown up in, the part that was still remembering the 1940's, stabbed at his heart. He'd been so calloused with Natasha, and never would he have dared under the natural influence of his mind to undress a woman so. The two parts of him were at war, and it took a moment before he snapped back to the present.

"Are you with me?" Natasha repeated herself, and he got the feeling she'd been talking to him, though he hadn't noticed.

"I'm sorry." He said automatically. "Was I staring again?"

Natasha nodded and said, "About three minutes." Panic started to fill his chest when he understood how much time he lost to these "blank" moments.

"I don't know why I do that." He groaned, taking his face into his single hand. Why was it so hard to keep focus? The panic was starting to creep into his limbs and his left arm was throbbing where it ended at the elbow.

Bucky knew what he wanted—the comfort of touch, something he was beginning to realize he'd done without for a long time—but he didn't know how to ask. He wasn't even sure he deserved that comfort, after his slow recollections of all the wrong he'd done. Was touch even a human privilege for him anymore?

"Barnes?" Hearing his name again, he was terrified of slipping focus and losing another three minutes to numbness. His right arm twitched and he raised it to her for a moment, a desperate plea for consolation, but then retracted it— It disgusted him that he should be begging for comfort from one of the people he'd hurt.

But Natasha, having some secret window into his mind, seemed to understand his silent cry for help and rose to her feet, picking up the edge of the sheet and pulling it back.

"What are you doing?" The panic in his chest increased and he could hear the throbbing of his heartbeat in his ears.

"Lay down," Natasha gently commanded, slipping off her shoes and sliding her feet under the sheet. When it struck him that she was joining him in the bed, his mind was torn again, a 1940's mentality raging against his 20th century de-sensitized callousness—and it didn't help matters that she had dropped her T-shirt onto the floor, leaving her in yoga pants and a tank top.

"Nat," He was starting to object, but she pressed against his shoulder, causing him to roll onto his side as she lined herself up against his back.

"Breathe," she ordered, having laid a hand over his heart and felt his heartbeat racing. "Count inside your head. Fifty, downward."

Doing as he was told, Bucky closed his eyes, concentrating on the mental countdown, and when he reached the end of it, he found himself calmer. Natasha's closeness was like a stinging medicine against a scrape—a pain that almost felt good. Her arm was curled around his waist and he couldn't stop himself from lining his good arm along it, unconsciously stroking the skin at her wrist with the pulps of his fingers.

Bucky's love for Steve was strong—that brotherly love born from a history he could feel all the way to his bones, even if he couldn't call back all of the specific memories. But his trust and, yes, love for Natasha was sharp. Steve's affection was like a soreness in Bucky's heart, consistent and unwavering, but Natasha… she was like a finely-sharpened narrow blade that pierced delicately, but quickly, right to the source of him.

Listen to "Touch" by Daughter

Natasha admitted to herself that Bucky's soapy scent was beginning to grow on her, nuzzling her nose into the back of his neck as she spooned against him. She couldn't tell if he was sleeping, but at least his heart-rate had slowed. They'd narrowly avoided a panic attack, she recognized, and she was about to drift into sleep when she felt his fingers caressing her wrist.

That so small a touch should stir such a strong response in her was puzzling, but Natasha quietly allowed herself to enjoy it.

"Natasha," Bucky said with a shaky voice, slightly twisting his head as though he could turn to face her while her nose was pressed into the back of his neck. "Turn around." It wasn't a request, but there was something gentlemanly about the way he said it nonetheless.

Rolling over to face away from him, Natasha tried not to jolt in surprise when he pressed his chest against her back, sliding his right arm under her neck. Bucky let out a trembling breath, perching his chin over her head, and went to rest his left half-arm against her waist— but then pulled it back as if stung.

"Does it hurt?" She asked quietly in reference to his arm, but she felt him shake his head.

"I'm sorry, didn't know if you were… disgusted by it."

"I'm not." She smiled into her pillow.

Bucky made a noise that sounded like relief. "I'm glad."

"Oh, Barnes," Natasha rolled her eyes, reaching gently to bring back his left arm to her waist again. "You'd better not be thinking that, 'I'm only half a man with one arm' bullcrap, because nowadays people don't think like that."

Bucky laughed bitterly into her hair. "Old habits die hard."

"Well, kill it quickly, because it doesn't apply now." She grumbled, snuggling herself against him and shutting her eyes. Natasha seemed to be doing all sorts of things unconsciously because just before she wandered into sleep, she felt the twitch of his hand against hers, having intertwined her fingers with his as his right arm pillowed her head and wrapped around her.

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re`cup`er`ation – Recovery from a traumatic experience or injuries

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By the way, Marvel just released that at the end of Ant-Man, we'll see a snippet of Steve finding Bucky (and I'm not sure what to think, but read it for yourself) - This is an excerpt from a news article:

The scene has Captain America, The Falcon, and The Winter Soldier. Cap and Falcon have located The Winter Soldier to a remote location where The Winter Soldier is tied up.

Falcon asks Cap "Should I call Stark?"

Cap replies "No."

Falcon replies "I know who to call." Implying Ant-Man.

Ugh, I don't know if I like the sound of that. Please, someone tell me Hydra was the one doing the tying and not Steve, because if it was him... that's just wrong. And please tell me he isn't going to be rehabilitated behind the scenes- sort of a "well, we didn't want to tell that story, so it happened 'in the past', and now here's Captain America: Civil Wars where Bucky is all better". Um, excuse me? No! We want to see!

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So, I know it's hard to figure out what to say in a review, but if you like this chapter, do you think you could leave me a smiley-face as a review? It'd make me so happy!

KnowInsight—That's for sure! I think it's totally feasible that he could forget all the insanity for a few moments and revert back to his previous flirty self—what's more; I think Natasha hasn't had a whole lot of experience with that kind of charm ;)

Sherimi—Yay! I love referring people to music! I have whole playlists dedicated to the types of moods I want for my chapters—if you want to check me out on Spotify, my username is Sassafras Cass and my profile's an old picture of myself as a red-head (not read anymore—now it's blue)

The same goes for the rest of you who would like to get inside my head for reading prompts—check out my playlists on Spotify under Sassafras Cass! You'll know it when you see the folders that say "Writing: Anguish", "Writing: Overjoyed", "Writing: Quiet Happy", and so on!

A big thank you to all followers! You guys are amazing :D

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