They stared at each other for a moment before Bucky stepped aside to let Steve in. He was still shocked. It may not have had the same effect on Bucky, but for Steve it brought everything back, raw and fresh. Bucky left the door unlocked and motioned for Steve to sit on the edge of the tub while Bucky stood with his back to the mirror.
"Hey, pal," Steve finally said, trying to keep his voice steady. Bucky gave him a twitchy, uncertain smile.
"I look ridiculous," Bucky said, and Steve grinned.
"It's a little outdated," he admitted, earning a short smirk from his friend. "But so are we. How do you feel?"
Bucky removed the hat and scratched his head. He seemed more at ease around Steve than he had ever before, and Steve took it as a good sign, watching as Bucky tossed the hat in the air, distracting himself.
"Alright," he said, avoiding Steve's gaze. "I've felt worse, I guess. Probably better, too, but…" He trailed off and Steve understood. He nodded and looked at his friend.
"Mo said you wanted to talk to me?"
"I—yeah, I guess," he said. "I mean, you know me better than anyone else, right?"
Steve nodded slowly. "What can I do?"
"Tell me about myself," Bucky murmured, and it came out almost as a plea. "Tell me everything I don't know."
Steve scrubbed a hand over his face and thought for a minute. "I mean," he started, "you're my best friend, Buck. You've had my back as long as I can remember; when I was pickin' fights with guys twice my size, you were the one who followed me into that alley and pulled me back out."
At this, he saw Bucky look confused and he shook his head a little, lips parted. "I don't understand."
"That's right," Steve said, "you wouldn't remember. I didn't always look like this. They used this serum on me, and—anyway, before, I was kind of a little guy. See for yourself."
He dug through the box and found a picture of them together, old, faded and colorless, with Bucky's arm slung around Steve's shoulders, laughing as Steve grinned. He handed it to Bucky and watched him warily as he stared at it, his fingers tracing the image. His eyes widened.
"This was you," he said. "And—me?" His eyes were full of wonder.
"We've both changed a bit," Steve allowed.
"I'll say," Bucky said, and there was humor in his voice that Steve hadn't heard before. "Show me more," Bucky said cautiously, and Steve did. He showed him more photos, told him more stories, trying to only discuss the good times, before either of them enlisted. One photograph in particular snared his interest; it was just Bucky, in his uniform, staring ahead at the camera. His brow puckered and he bit his bottom lip.
"I can almost remember," he said, his voice heavy with frustration.
"It's okay," Steve said.
"Keep talking," Bucky said, and Steve did. He told him about how they used to share a room as kids sometimes, for fun; he told him about how Bucky would always step in during a fight, even when Steve didn't want him to. He told him how he'd never treated Steve as incapable, in spite of his shortcomings. He told him that he was one of the kindest, most generous, most loyal men he knew. As he spoke, Bucky's eyes were trained on the photographs, sorting through them after having taken the shoebox from Steve.
He held one up for Steve to see; it was a picture of them at an amusement park. Bucky seemed to be laughing hysterically, head thrown back, eyes closed, while Steve glared reproachfully up at him, wiping his mouth.
"I can't believe that was you," Bucky said, his eyes eager. "But it—makes sense." Steve stood and Bucky looked up at him. "You're taller than I am, now," Bucky said in amazement. "This little shrimp—I know that shrimp!" Bucky was excited; he tried to contain it, but Steve could see it. Bucky's attention returned to the pictures a moment later and Steve laughed.
"Yeah," he said, "looks like you've gotta look up to me, now, buddy."
"I've always looked up to ya, kid," Bucky muttered in an offhanded fashion, and Steve froze. That voice—that was Bucky, without a doubt. He watched his friend's face, watched as he looked puzzled, like he wasn't sure where that sentence had come from, before his eyes widened a little.
"That was me," Bucky said.
Steve was both excited and oddly touched, but he decided to let the latter drop. He just grinned. "You're finding your way back."
Bucky shook his head sharply and blinked a couple of times before holding up the same photo. "Did you throw up?"
It was such an odd question, but Steve nodded. "You made me throw up."
"You shouldn't have done it if you knew you couldn't handle it," Bucky pointed out, and there it was again: Bucky. Again, he looked confused and shook his head. It was silent for a while until Bucky finally spoke again, murmuring, "I think this is working."
They went on talking for a long time, and it was the longest conversation they'd had since Steve had found Bucky again. And it felt good, talking with his friend again, even if Bucky couldn't necessarily remember they were friends. The more they talked, the darker the subject got, however; you could only go on talking about the good times for so long, especially when it seemed like there was so much bad. Steve told Bucky about his fall from the train, and Bucky revealed that he'd had nightmares sometimes, not knowing the story behind it. This went on until, finally, Steve was telling him about facing off with him again, present day.
"You would have let me kill you," Bucky said, and his eyes were dark. Steve hesitated, then nodded. "Why?" Bucky's voice was nearing a growl.
"Because the way I saw it," Steve said, "only one of us was gonna make it out. And I wasn't going to kill my best friend. I was gonna save you, or die trying; you'd have done the same for me."
"Would I?"
"Without a doubt."
Bucky's expression was suddenly dark, directed inward again. "But I tried to kill you."
"You didn't, though." Bucky shook his head and growled, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Hey," Steve said. "That's enough for now, isn't it? What do you say?"
"Yeah, maybe you're right," Bucky said, closing his eyes. Steve gripped his shoulder and Bucky looked down at the hand, for once not shrinking away from the touch, and then looked at Steve's face. "You really think I can do this," Bucky said.
"I do," Steve said, shaking his shoulder a little, though Bucky still looked uncertain, too scared to hope. "C'mon," Steve said, releasing his friend. "Why don't you get changed and come join us?"
Mo was curled up on the couch beside Sam, in her matching flannel pajama set, her wild hair knotted on top of her head. Maybe it was a little too early for pajamas, as Sam had pointed out, but then, was it ever too early for pajamas? Her laptop rested on Sam's lap and her legs were tucked beneath her—or leg rather; her prosthetic had been detached and was under the table, hidden from sight, and it was much more comfortable this way.
Steve and Bucky were still talking, and Sam took it as a good sign that there wasn't any shouting or breaking things. He and Mo hadn't spent all that much quality time together since she'd arrived, so they were taking this little opportunity to do so.
"Oh," she said eagerly, "look up 40s swing videos."
He did, and they clicked on a couple of videos and watched the couples danced and swung each other around to the swing music. After watching one man twirl a woman around and toss her between his legs, Mo burst out laughing and Sam cut her a look.
"What?"
"This is their era," Mo laughed. "It's just—can you see them like this? Can you imagine them dancing like this?"
Sam was still for a moment, and then his mouth twitched and he burst into laughter, nearly doubling over as he watched more of the video. Mo danced a little in her seat, bouncing to the rhythm, imitating their arm and hand movements. Sam was laughing at her, his heart swelling a little. He had been a long, long time since he'd seen her this happy. Mo had always been a goofball, always striving for a laugh, and that was something he had never seen in person. He'd only ever seen it in the videos she'd shown him, videos of her time in Afghanistan. There were a bunch of them, cell-phone and computer recordings of her and her boys goofing off, having dance-offs, pranking each other.
"You could mop the floor with these guys," Sam said, nodding at the dancers on the screen.
"Oh, please," Mo said.
"What? I've seen the videos. You were good, girl."
"Ha," she snorted, "Okay, first off, no, I wasn't. And second, that's when I had both legs, so…"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Excuses, excuses."
She made a face at him and leaned over him to click the next video, and soon the two were in tears imagining the two super-soldiers like this.
"What's so funny?" Steve asked, and Mo jumped violently beside him, spinning around with a little gasp.
"Oh, hey, Steve," she said. "How'd it go?"
Steve grinned. "I think it went well," Steve said. "He seemed to act like his old self a couple of times, even."
Sam glanced at Mo, feeling himself puff up with pride. At her worst—and he had seen her at her worst, he had been there the night she had been in pieces—he would have never imagined either of them sitting here, Mo with that gigantic, goofy, giddy smile on her face.
"That's amazing," she breathed, and she and Steve exchanged a smile.
Steve's eyes cut to the computer screen. "What are you guys watching?"
"You ever dance like this?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows at Steve and angling the screen for a better look.
"No, he didn't." The three of them turned around; Bucky had entered the room, hands in his pockets, a cautious look on his face. "Did you?"
Sam saw Steve give Mo a look and she gave him a huge smile.
"No," Steve said. "You're right."
Bucky nodded and edged closer, like an animal ready to bolt.
"What about you?" Mo asked, resting her chin on her arm on the back of the couch. Sam looked between her and Bucky, who was dressed in clean clothes, his hair tied back. Bucky didn't answer immediately, taking a long time to consider the answer, a crease forming between his eyebrows.
"I…" he hesitated. "I was good. Wasn't I?" He looked at Steve.
"Wasn't a girl around you couldn't sweep off her feet," Steve confirmed, and Bucky looked a little relieved.
Steve had mentioned to Sam before the silent communication Mo seemed to have with Bucky, and this was one of the times when Sam noticed. Bucky looked at Mo, and Mo's face sobered, just a little, and she pushed away from the couch.
"Anyone want some hot chocolate?" she asked, standing and balancing on her one leg. Sam moved the computer and she raised a hand. "I'm fine, Sam," she said as his hand touched her elbow. "I've been like this for years." To her credit, she only sounded a little annoyed. He watched as she hopped a little to turn around, then sighed. "Damn it," she said. "Bucky, a little help, yes?"
Sam turned to face Bucky, who looked alarmed, but came forward. "Thanks," Mo said, gripping his forearm and using it for balance as she hopped into the kitchen. Sam wondered if she'd planned it, using it as a way to get him alone, then shrugged.
"Man," he said, turning to Steve. He clicked through Moriah's files until he found the folder labeled AFGHANISTAN. "You've got to watch some of these videos."
Bucky felt more nervous than he would care to admit with Mo using him for balance, her smooth brown hand gripping his forearm. He didn't like he little hops, not when he was walking smoothly on two legs beside her. Finally, growing a little frustrated, he put an arm around her waist and hauled her into the kitchen. She squirmed, and when he released her in front of the counter she looked furious for a moment.
"Excuse you," she snapped.
"You were taking too long," he countered as she turned away from him, edging toward the fridge and pulling out some milk.
"Hot chocolate?" she asked, and he shrugged.
"Sure," he said, not caring much either way. She continued to gather things around the kitchen, and he cleared his throat impatiently. At this, she straightened up and looked at him, resting her hands on her hips.
"So?"
"So," Bucky said, rubbing his hand over his face. "I think… do you think I could go running with them tomorrow? Do you think that's safe?"
She folded her arms, considering.
"On a scale from one to ten," she said, "how bad are your urges to kill Steve?"
"Um." He paused. "Two? Three?"
She sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Okay," she said, "the right answer to that was zero."
"I thought you wanted me to be honest." He gave a dull laugh.
"I do," she said softly. "I think it'll be fine," she finally murmured. "But Sam has to go, too. Just in case."
"I want you to come."
At this she laughed, pointing both fingers down to her missing leg. "I don't think so."
"You have a running leg," he pointed out, "I've seen it."
"No," she said.
"I'd feel much better if you were there," he tried, and she groaned.
"Manipulator," she said. "Fine. Now get out of here."
AN: Next chapter: their run, and watching some of those videos Sam mentioned! Please review :)
